The snowshoe hare, on the other hand, well, I was reminded of the killer bunny scene in Monty Python’s The Holy Grail.

In 2014, on a trail in Rocky Mountain National Park, a showshoe hare charged toward me. I wondered with confusion how this was going to play out when he stopped, regarded me for a moment, and then ran off into the woods just over a yard away from me.

I had a similar experience this summer while hiking the Sherman Peak Loop Trail in eastern Washington. As the trail snaked up the mountain, I rounded a curve to see a snowshoe hare sitting on the trail. I stopped. The hare didn’t move. Suddenly, he bolted in my direction. I wasn’t sure what his intention was when he slowed and came right at me. Initially, I thought he was going to blow past me. I was simply between him and a preferred hiding spot, a warren or a family. I stomped my foot as he stopped next to me, and he startled, disappearing into the brush. I’m not quite sure whether he touched my pant leg or not. It all happened so fast!

What is it with the snowshoe hare?!? I’m reminded of an exotic animal veterinarian who remarked, “If rabbits had canine teeth, they would rule the world.”

Starting up the connector trail, I thought, “This must be the bobcat’s favorite trail,” because of the frequency of feline scat along the route. Joining the loop on the east side, the habitat is dark and wet with a few mosquitoes. Small rivulets trickle across my path.

The forest opens up to a rock slide dotted with dense stands of willows, where I talk aloud as I hike so as not to surprise wildlife – snowshoe hare or otherwise.

Elk sign becomes prevalent along the way, and the mountainside is covered with huckleberry bushes. Two people on muleback, going downhill, pass me. Mules are perfect for this rugged terrain. As I continued to climb, rounding along the south side, wildflowers began to flank the trail. Although it’s called the Sherman Peak Loop, I expected it to loop around the peak. But with all of this elevation gain, I’m beginning to wonder if the peak isn’t part of the loop!

The route levelled out at 1150 feet from where I started, 6400 feet above sea level, in an area of meadows, with lupine and pine trees. There’s mountain lion scat on the trail. I stop to look for any other signs of this beauty. I find that I’m more at ease where the trail traverses treed slopes thick with windfall. It seems like animals are less likely to hang out there, but these broad, park-like flat areas are easy-going for all of the animals that call this mountain home. It makes me a little uneasy.

From this side of the mountain, there are views southward for days. I can almost see my house from here!

Passing the Kettle Crest trail junction, I round onto the west side. I leave the forest and stop in awe at the expansive fields of wildflowers – lupine, buckwheat, paintbrush.

The ground squirrels are chastising me, chattering from their lookouts downslope. I keep stopping to marvel at the beauty.

The carpets of flowers get more dramatic with each step. I can’t afford to linger as much as I’d like because I got a late start today.

Leaving the meadows, I enter a dense stand of young trees crowding the trail. Again, I’m talking to myself, nature, no one, and everyone. My bear spray is at hand, but it’s best that I don’t need it. I’m curving around to the north side on a gentle descent, again seeing the bobcat-sized feline scat that was so common at the outset. There’s another snowshoe hare just off the path. It’s not until this moment, when I see the scat and the hare together, that it clicks.

Snowshoe hares are lynx’s favorite prey. This could be lynx scat!!

When I get back to civilization, I learn that I was hiking in the Colville National Forest Lynx Recovery Zone! My first lynx (scat) encounter!!

This loop has been a wonderful trip through a diversity of habitats. Over three hours and five-and-a-half miles, every step was a delight.

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The post Sherman Peak Loop Trail appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

It’s obvious upon arriving at Big Cottonwood Canyon why it’s so popular. The road from the Salt Lake City valley into the Wasatch Front follows Cottonwood Creek as it races down the mountain, turbulent with spring snowmelt. The road winds through switchbacks lined by towering rock walls, climbing 3000 feet to the Cardiff Trailhead parking lot at 7300 feet elevation.

The Hike

I opted to hike the Donut Falls Trail from the Cardiff trailhead instead of driving another mile to the Donut Falls trailhead. The trail begins at a wide meadow (it looks moosey) before winding upward through aspen and conifer forests.

This section of the trail should be renamed “Clematis Way.” I’ve never seen so many clematis blooms. The drooping, delicate, subtly striped, lilac-colored petals make it one of my favorite mountain wildflowers.

Will you grow tired of pictures of them? I even photographed buds gently beginning to curl open. I’ll exercise restraint.

All of the other common spring mountain flowers are here: small-flowered miterwort, mountain bluebells, forget-me-nots, Solomon’s plume, hooked spur violets, and more.

As I approach the small parking lot for the Donut Falls Trail, ground squirrels scurry through the leaf litter along the sides of the path, eating grass and peanuts, and wondering if I might have something better (I don’t feed wildlife).

A Steller’s Jay in dramatic blues flits about the trees, eventually landing on the trail behind me.

The Detour

I knew the trail had a bridge out, and I intentionally bypassed the detour. Trail reviews led me to believe I could wade across in my Tevas. Not today. Not this spring river. I could backtrack. It’s not that far. The makeshift bridge is double-wide, sturdy, and has a relatively short span.

I considered my options, stowed my camera into my backpack, and mustered up all of my courage. (I’m afraid of heights). I stepped up onto the flat logs and tensely, slowly, shuffled my way across. It wasn’t bad, but I’m going to take the detour on the way back!

I pass through dense aspen groves before coming to the Mill River again, where the trail seems to end. After watching another hiker easily navigate the short distance through the fast-moving, ice-cold, ankle-deep water to dry land, I followed. The rocks weren’t slippery, and the water wasn’t deep enough for any significant force, but in the 60 seconds it took me to traverse this flooded spot, my feet had become numb. There’s no question that this is the end of the trail for me.

The Falls

Ahead of me, others are re-entering the rushing, frigid water to cross a much longer section with a knee-deep jaunt to get to the other side at the base of the falls. Arms flail. Legs wobble. No thanks. I can see the flooded namesake donut hole from where I am, and I have a full view of the falls. I’m not missing anything by opting out of hypothermia and possible drowning. 

It strikes me that this hike is never the same twice. The river is always different. In the fall, this torrent is a trickle, and people walk across the dry rocks here to reach the cave behind the falls. Right now, I can’t imagine what that would look like. A quick Google search when I get home shows me the dramatic difference.

I lingered a bit and then retraced my steps, stopping at the aspen groves and taking in the peaked mountain tops and azure blue sky.

At the washed-out bridge, I take the detour along a service road that hugs the creek. At times, the creek seems to be reclaiming this ravine and the road with it.

As I descend the half-mile down this trail, the creek slows and widens. By the time I cross the creek again (the road goes over a culvert), the forest has become the river.

Stunning!

Then, I’m back on the Clematis Trail in the warm evening light. At the meadow near the parking lot, several different professional photographers are preparing to photograph a wedding party, a quinciera, and a large, well-dressed family group. It’s obvious why the photographers and their clients chose this spot to memorialize their occasions.

It’s an easy hike, whether you take the four-mile trail I did or the one-mile trail. The scenery can’t be beat. Cottonwood Canyon Road closes with significant snow and requires chains in the winter, making this a good spring, summer, and fall hike, especially on days like this one, where the valley temperatures are pushing one hundred degrees.

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Looking for a relatively close, new hike for this spring afternoon, I decided on the Mineral Point Trail. It’s a four-mile out-and-back along Lake Pend Oreille through forested habitat. The trail courses up and down through inland temperate rainforest, pine forests, and mixed forests along the bluffs high above the lake.

Recent All Trails reviews of the Mineral Point Trail overwhelmingly mention the wildflowers and mosquitoes, and recommend bug spray. There was a nice breeze initially, enough to deter flying insects. As the trail took us through hot sunshine and cool shade, we found some mosquitoes. They weren’t bad, and I never broke out the bug spray. However, I’m comparing this to a Wisconsin summer where I have to make a mad dash from the car to the cabin and still end up with a few welts!

The variety and number of wildflowers on this spring hike were an unexpected delight. Each turn and elevation change in the trail altered the microclimate enough that new species flourished. Small patches of western ginger blooms hug the ground beneath towering red cedar trees. The sunny, open hillsides are carpeted in joyful yellow balsamroot flowers.

Heartleaf arnica flower petals twirl artfully in part-shade.

Southern-facing rocky cliffs provide the perfect home for bush penstemon. All along the wooded trail, bead lilies are budding.

Diminutive hooked spur violets dot the grassy areas. Saskatoon service berry bushes burst with a confetti of white blossoms along the edges of the understory. The variety of flowers is more than I could’ve imagined.

One small section has the rare combination of soil, light, and wind to host a dense cluster of delicate fairy-slipper orchids. Another small localized spot has a cluster of dramatic shooting stars.

The fireworks of aptly-named paintbrush keep stopping me in my tracks. The tips of their leaves appear as if dipped in paint, outshining the tiny, ordinary flower.

Delicate fairybells hang under their broad, flat leaves in shadier sections. Yellow swamp violets, craving moisture, cluster in one damp, shady spot in the rainforest. Western meadow rue flowers appear as a showerhead of stamens. Their seedheads, once the flowers fade, are equally remarkable.

All this art of nature is accentuated by periodic viewpoints across Lake Pend Oreille to snow-capped mountains. Views that make me feel like I’ve stepped into a postcard. It was a perfect spring afternoon hike. I’m still marveling at the beauty of wildflowers on the Mineral Point Trail: all flowers and few mosquitoes.

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When I talked with people in town, everyone recommended the Boulder Lake trail. “It can get kinda busy on the weekends, but it should be good on a Wednesday. With that, I set out to Payette National Forest. I drove further up a dusty, rocky forest service road than expected, checking the map to ensure the lake was still ahead of me. Two pickup trucks were parked at the end of the road at the base of a steep embankment.

The Trailhead

This must be it. I walked into the woods to explore the quietly flowing creek before hiking up the levee. It quickly disappeared into a dense, dark forest. A calm lake framed by pine-spiked mountains appears before me. A carved wooden sign on a tree simply says “Trail” with an arrow. Distracted and pulled toward this body of water, I’d walked past the trailhead and its large information board thirty feet into the trees. Reoriented, I found the trail and learned that this was Boulder Creek reservoir.

The Reservoir Section

It took me almost an hour to go the first half mile. An osprey grabbed a fish from the lake while mergansers dove under the surface. I glassed the rocky slides across the water for marmots or bears. I stood on the trail as clouds of fireweed cotton cascaded around me. I felt the dispersal, free, floating, one with the breeze to destinations unknown.

False hellebore plants shoot tall spikes of flowers far above their leaves. The flower petals and seeds weigh down the stalks, hanging like Cleopatra’s jewels from the curved stem. I’ve marveled at this plant’s unfurling leaves in the spring, but I’ve never seen the flowers or seed pods! They are just as amazing!

This is part of why my pace is so slow. But life is a journey. The timeline today would ideally get me back to the car before dusk. Otherwise, I’ve got nothing but time.

Pearly everlasting is in bloom. The dogwoods are showing beautiful berry clusters. Red and white bane berries decorate the understory.

Solomon’s seal berries hang like lanterns from their arching stems. Western sunflower marks the trail’s edge with it’s subdued purple flowerhead without petals. In addition to all the wonder along my path, I keep ducking down side trails to marvel at the reservoir.

The Ascent

Once I pass the reservoir, the trail begins to make a gentle ascent. Where a seep crosses the trail, I pause and inhale deeply. There’s an intense smell reminiscent of celery. Some cow parsnip is growing here; it’s related to celery, but I’ve never noticed it emitting any odor before. I wonder if this is an animal scent that I don’t recognize, like the distinct musky smell of a fox. I linger. Looking, listening, scenting the air. I can’t place it, nor can I find any other clues. Onward.

The proliferation of fireweed stops me in my tracks. I love everything about this plant: beautiful magenta flowers on tall, spear-shaped stalks (they say that summer is over when the fireweed blooms to the top), each seed artfully attached to a whisp of cotton, and after the seeds fly, the stalks curl in graceful ribbons. My pace is slowed once again.

The air is clear today. Yesterday, the wind brought smoke from area wildfires. The air quality and visibility were poor, and it gave me a headache. Today will prove to be the last clear day for weeks.

The path gets steeper on switchbacks over rocks and roots. A quiet waterfall brings a creek across the trail, where I skip across the rocks.

The trail curves back up, and I skip over the same creek a bit higher. At this elevation, the understory is carpeted with huckleberry bushes whose leaves are turning yellow and then red, giving this part of the hike a decidedly fall feel.

Boulder Lake

I can see the top of the bare granite rising to my left while I hike through the Douglas Fir forest extending to my right. I knew I was hiking to a mountain lake. I didn’t know it’d be a mountaintop lake! I come up a rise and am eye-level with the lake. A small rocky levee holds back the lake on this side.

A narrow spillway lets a torrent of water run down the mountainside. Two solid twelve-inch wide planks cross ten feet over the rushing outflow. I cross the makeshift bridge to reach the sandy shores of Boulder Lake.

It’s September, and the lake level is low. The inflow of snowmelt and spring rains is long gone. Evaporative losses from the impossibly dry summer air drop the lake levels until the fall rains come.

I find a comfortable spot on a granite boulder to sit and take it all in. Across the calm lake, a round mountain is dressed in the hues of autumn. To my left, I scan the rugged granite peaks, looking for bighorn sheep. It’s not long before a hopeful golden-mantled ground squirrel cautiously approaches, peering over rocks strategically closing the distance. Ultimately, she’ll have tried her approach from three different sides.

None of these results will result in the handout she’s hoping for.  A yellow pine chipmunk peers over a distant boulder. It seems he sent a sentry. Seeing that the squirrel isn’t eating, he disappears without approaching further.

After I lingering and basking in the solitude under the warm afternoon sunshine, it was time to start back down the trail. I’m at about 7000 feet elevation lakeside. The trailhead is about two miles and 800 feet down. Then it’s another eight miles down 1000 feet back to town.

Over the course of three miles, this trail has it all – lakes, waterfalls, grand old trees, babbling brooks, creek crossings, fireweed, ferns, berries, berries, berries, a little bit of summer, a little bit of fall and solitude on a Wednesday afternoon. Five stars. Would Recommend.

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The post Boulder Lake Trail in McCall appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Grebes

I thought, “I don’t need binoculars to identify that bird.” Nobody’s got a bill like that but a Northern Shoveler. The drab, dull brown feathers mean she must be a female, and she’s kinda far away for a good picture, so I keep driving. Further down, I see another bird on the water with a different shape, so I pull off the roadway to look through my binoculars. It’s a red-necked grebe!

Then I scan to my right to check out the “Northern Shoveler.”  It’s also a red-necked grebe with a fish in her mouth swimming determinedly towards her chick! Once she gets closer to the chick, they turn to swim towards her, meeting halfway. The mom carefully gives the live fish to her chick, who proceeds to drop it.

She fishes it back out and puts it back in her chick’s mouth. This scenario repeats itself a dozen times over before the chick finally gets the fish oriented to swallow. I wonder if the dropping is an important part of the learning process.

The chick floated off, and the mom resumed fishing. After watching her fish unsuccessfully while the chick tooled about further and further away, I decided to move on.

Lily Pad Bay

We’re in a record-setting heat wave. It’s going to flirt with 100° today. At Fernan Lake, I’m 90 miles from Canada. It shouldn’t be so hot. The heat will likely concentrate wildlife activity to the ends of the day more so than usual. Consequently, I’m out early.I stopped at a picnic table, drawn in by water lily blossoms along the shoreline. Movement catches my eye. Waves of grass are undulating along the shore, indicating something swimming through the vegetation. This can only be a muskrat. I watch the blades sway, tracking her course. She pops into the open, moving purposefully toward the dense lily pad beds her tail propelling her quickly over the open water. When I first glimpsed her, she had a mouthful of sedges. She emerged empty-mouthed, leading me to conclude her den is along his shoreline.

She disappeared into the dense, invasive lily pads. I watched a pair of dragonflies (twelve-spotted skimmers?) with their dramatic light blue and black spotted wings. Dragonflies hunt on the wing, and these two don’t take a break.  They are too small, and too fast for me to catch in flight.

Flowers

There is shade at the boat launch, and the sun will be behind me, allowing less glare and easier observation of lake activity. As I park at the launch, a flight of swallows zooms past. They’re behaving like gulls when one has a fish (or french fry) and the others want it. Mine! Mine! As with the dragonflies, these guys are too fast and too erratic to photograph. An osprey soars high overhead, searching for fish. Kingbirds pluck insects from the air. Lily flowers bloom propped up on stalks above the water. I’ve only ever seen these floating on the surface. I wonder if this is related to water levels or if it’s a different species.

More Than Birds

For an instant, I think I see a river otter. My heart leaps. I pull my binoculars to my eyes to see it’s just a curled lily leaf! A turtle warms himself in the sun on a curled lily pad.

A large beaver lodge catches my eye. Birds are perched atop the dome, backlit by the morning sun. Maybe kingbirds? I move toward the inlet to get the sun behind me so I can see them more clearly.

Swallows

Before I get that far, I see violet-green swallows nesting on the cliff face along the road. They are busy catching insects to feed their young.

The nestlings are the color of earth. It isn’t until I stop to really look that I see that they are perched all over the rock face. There are nests in seemingly every crevice.

There are cliff swallows, northern rough-winged swallows, barn swallows and violet-green swallows.

I can hear a great blue heron hoarsely croaking, a duck quacks, and then a big splash. The lake is obscured from my view by bushes. So much is happening at once! I don’t know where to be! I stayed with the swallows a bit longer.

Turning back to the lake, I watch cedar waxwings pluck insects from the air and alight in the shoreline bushes. These lily pad beds provide an insect buffet.

A Surprise Sighting

Walking further east again still trying to get the sun behind me, I hear an abrupt squawking from the tall pines. It sounds like a crow and I don’t investigate further. I take a few paces and a responding call comes from the thicket in front of me. I use the Merlin app to identify birds by sound. They’re not crows! They’re Steller’s jays!! I love these iridescent blue corvids. Once again, distracted from the lake, I try to make out the form of the dark shadow in the bush. The jay launches from the bush to the bare cliff for the briefest of moments before disappearing into the shadows of the pines. How lucky was that!?!

Back to the waxwings, beaver lodge and great blue heron with his turtle entourage.I didn’t know what to expect from Fernan Lake. I knew photographers came here, and occasionally, river otters were seen, so I’d put it on my (ever expanding) destination list. I didn’t know about Lily Pad Bay or the Fernan River gorge that feeds the lake. I just set my alarm, packed my camera bag, and set out to see what might come. As Winnie the Pooh’s Piglet says, “I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today.”If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me at SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

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The post Birds! Birds! Birds! at Fernan Lake appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

I’d heard that moose are ornery. Many experienced outdoors people say they’re more afraid of moose than anything else out there. When I spotted a young cow moose at Turnbull National Wildlife Refuge, I was cautious and respectful. I stayed next to my car and waited for her to reappear between tree trunks as she grazed in the coniferous woodland. She was relaxed, never altering her behavior due to my presence. And she was a lone cow moose. Surely, the bulls and cows with calves are the ones to be especially wary of. I would afford her the same consideration I give to deer and elk.

To my left was a hill. If I walked along the road away from the moose, I could follow a wildlife trail through the hip-high willows up to the top of this rise. I would be the same distance from the moose but have a much clearer view. I kept my eye on her as I quietly relocated to a large ponderosa pine, which I would use as a blind. She knows I’m here and doesn’t seem to care.

The bugs are bothering her, and she keeps shaking her massive head. She’s cartoonishly rubbery – ears, chin, lips and dewlap distorted in all directions.

I watched her and photographed her for about five minutes when she abruptly alerted: head up and erect, ears perked forward.  She’s staring intently into the woods, away from me, her back to the road. Then she wheels around as if gliding on air, moving surprisingly quickly toward the road. She’s only trotting but rapidly covering ground, floating through the thick willows that I couldn’t walk through.I’m struck by her speed. And scared. She’s closer than I’m comfortable with. She stopped between me and my car, looking back over her shoulder toward whatever it was she sensed in the woods. I look to move away from her down the steep hill and back to the road when she turns and starts walking in my direction parallel to the road. Now, my only option to give her space is to move away from the trees, which provide my only defense should things go bad. She seems to want to come up the path that I took to my spot on the hill. I cannot yield the path without making myself more vulnerable. She’s walking past my path, and as she gets close, I peer around the tree trunk and think she’s surprisingly big for a yearling cow! She’s continuing parallel to the road and moving away from me now. My heart rate begins to return to normal as I scramble down the incline and head back to the safety of my car. Another vehicle had just pulled up.  “Did you see that moose that just crossed the road?” they inquired. Did I ever!! I waited in my car a bit to see if whatever had scared her away might appear. She took that secret with her. Whether it was the wind or a credible threat, I’ll never know. I saw her grazing deeper in the woods when I passed on down the road. It’s amazing how well such a big animal can blend into the background.

Turnbull National Wildlife Refuge is always good for a wander. After my moose encounter, I lingered among spring wildflowers.

And watched the migrating waterfowl dabble and preen.

The songbirds were busy belting out their courtship tunes and chasing after airborne insects.

Turnbull is always worth a visit if you’re in the area. It often delivers wild encounters that feed my soul.

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The post A Moose Encounter appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

I’m here with the Idaho Native Plant Society learning the local flora. It’s odd to see sedum in the wild. It’s such a common midwest ornamental that it’s hard to think of it as “belonging” here.  I’m loving the prince’s pine (Chimpaphilia umbellata, aka pipsissewa) with its fruit striped like a Big Top Circus tent.

I’m surprised to learn that Idaho has twenty species of orchids. I always associate them with more tropical environments.

Overlook

Three-quarters of a mile shy of the north peak lies an overlook. Expansive rock scree on the western slope clears the way for dramatic views. I can see Silverwood, the amusement park, and the highway turnoff to my home.

Taking the fork to the left, we head to the north peak. The south peak is another three miles up considerable elevation with the reported reward of excellent huckleberry picking. My route traverses a boulder field, of which I’d seen pictures, and thus chose hiking boots and not my usual summer hiking sandals. Many rocks have marble veins in infinite patterns occasionally punctuated by map lichens.

The views in every direction are breathtaking – Lake Pend Oreille to the north, the Bitterroot Mountains to the east, the prairie to the west, and the Coeur d’Alene Mountains to the south. Can you image Lewis and Clark summiting the eastern peak of the Bitterroots, allegedly expecting to see the Pacific Ocean and instead seeing 100 miles of mountains!?

North Peak

The north peak is a short climb further through subalpine fir and wildflower meadows. At the top lays the twisted metal and toppled timber remains of an old fire tower. And the old box spring mattress that cradled a person long ago.

The hike down was almost harder on my thighs than the climb up. This was my second hike with the Native Plant Society. Little by little, I’m learning about my new home and dreaming of the gardens I’ll plant.

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The post Chilco Mountain Hike appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

The Scenic Byway

A Washington State scenic byway twists and turns following a 25-mile stretch of the Yakima River through the Yakima Canyon. The sheer cliffs rise 2000 feet above the river, providing ideal nesting habitat for raptors, home to the state’s densest nesting population of eagles and hawks. The Yakima Canyon road is moderately trafficked, has a 45 mph speed limit, and many blind curves. Add to that a lack of safe pullouts, and it can be a bit challenging for a photographer to navigate.

Eagles, Hawks, and Ravens

At my first stop, I pulled off to watch a golden eagle soaring, swooping, and circling near the clifftops. The eagle repeatedly swoops low over a grassy bowl allowing me to practice panning with my heavier 150-600mm lens. Usually, I get a couple of quick shots before the bird sails out of sight. Today, I left before this bird did!

During one pass, the eagles had fisticuffs with a red-tailed hawk concealed in the grass. It happened in a flash. The eagle made his regular swoop low over the grass. Another eagle flew in. There was a flash of activity and then three birds were in the air.

The birds were talon to talon for a moment before breaking away.

Suddenly there are four raptors in the air. But there’s not a red-tail in the bunch. It’s ravens that are chasing off the eagles in a short-lived chase before they all go their separate ways. The ravens harassed the golden eagle on the same scale as a red-winged blackbird dogging a red-tailed hawk.

The golden eagle resumed his laps. Even after looking at the images, I can’t quite make sense of what happened.

The next turnout overlooks a horseshoe bend. There are animal trails worn into the opposite hillsides. I scanned with my binoculars, looking for bighorn sheep and mule deer, to no avail. From here, the road drops down to the Yakima River.

Riverside

I pulled into a small parking lot and picnic area to get up next to the river. A small paved path beckons through the woods, along the river, and curves around a small, stagnant pond. Tall, knotty cottonwoods full of cedar waxwings line the route. A friendly, western terrestrial garter snake lies coiled in the sun soaking up the heat of the asphalt, disinclined to move as I slowly stepped past lupines and balsamroot bloom in a grassy field. The pond is quiet, void of life except for the mosquitoes that prevent any lingering.

Umtanum Creek

My last stop is Umtanum Creek Recreation Area, “the best site in the canyon,” according to the Yakima Valley Audubon Society. A sturdy suspension bridge ferries me across the roaring, flooded river. Once on the other side, I step down into four-foot tall grasses that partially obscure the trail, and I think this might be a short hike. In ten feet, the path opens up the rocky bed of railroad tracks. I duck under the railroad bridge, where it traverses the creek and continues along the railway several dozen feet, where I’m relieved to see a bonafide trail heading into the valley.

I didn’t see the narrow, overgrown creekside trail spur, so I continued up the hillside, where I was rewarded with fantastic views down the valley. I spotted some people deep in the valley through my binoculars and thought, “that’s where I want to be,” and immediately backtracked to the creekside trail.

The greenway along the creek is full of bird activity; cedar waxwings, lazuli buntings, yellow-breasted chat, sparrows, and more.

I encountered three birders on their way out who were looking for a reported western kingbird nest. We scanned the trees along the creek without finding it. 

A thick stand of cottonwoods opens up into a narrower valley. It keeps getting more beautiful at each turn.

It’s getting late, and the sun is low. Reluctantly, I turn back, making a note to explore this place a little more another day.

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The post Yakima Canyon Scenic Byway appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

It’s hot. Recording setting hot in Yakima, Washington, this week (August 2022); 105-110 degrees. Tired after a day’s work and still fighting a cold, I headed up the Chinook Pass Scenic Byway, hoping to find cooler air for a hike. I’m not optimistic. Even though Chinook pass, at 5430 feet elevation, is in the Cascade Mountain Range on the way to Mount Rainier, whose peak is at 14,411 feet, it’s been hot up here, too.

As I twist and turn up State Route 410, I watch my car’s thermometer slowly drop from 105 degrees. At the Pass, it’s 93 degrees at 5:30 pm. There’s a nice breeze, and it doesn’t feel like 93 (it’s that dry heat!). So, I geared up to hike the Naches Peak Loop Trail.

Finding the Trail

I generally avoid hikes with the word “peak” in their name. I couldn’t find much information about this hike except that it’s rated moderate and “good for families and kids.” After stopping at Chinook Pass to look back down the valley where I’d come from and photograph some hummingbirds in the wild (as opposed to at my feeders) feeding on penstemon, I round the bend to this stunning sight. Sudden and breathtaking, Mount Rainier towers on the horizon.

Of course, I stopped at this pullout, too. The next sign along the road says Naches Peak Loop with an arrow. I parked and started out but quickly detoured to a small lake surrounded by swaths of glacier/avalanche lilies.

I walked a few yards back to the trail, and the next sign had arrows to the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and Dewey Lake Trail, yet the path also continued straight ahead. Hmmm. Left looks to be the right direction. There’s snow on the trail. In the 90-degree heat. I returned to the car to get my hiking stick and put on my hiking shoes. I clipped my bear spray to my waist belt and returned to the trail.

Wildflowers

There are colorful wildflowers everywhere, so it’s slow going as I take it all in. Before long, I encounter a group of red-faced, sweaty hikers. They confirmed that I was on the Naches Peak Loop Trail and asked how much further to the end. “Almost there!” They looked ready to be done. 

Mount Rainier looms over the conifer forest. Jagged peaks dotted with snow surround me in every direction.

Fields of bear grass, clusters of paintbrush, occasional lupine, and pasque flowers decorate the mountainsides.

The dramatic views of Mount Rainier are endless. Mount Adams makes a surprise appearance in the distant haze. Mount Saint Helens is part of this alpine trio, but I wasn’t able to spot her on this trip.

I arc around a mountain pond where a bear was seen cooling off in its waters a few days prior.

On the back side of the mountain, Dewey Lake sparkles far below. A ground squirrel wonders what I’m photographing.

I encounter a family; one of them cautions me that there’s a lot of snow on the north side if I’m going to hike all the way around. I should’ve asked them where they were from. A lot of snow to a Californian is quite different than a lot of snow to a Montanan.

Waterfalls

There’s a fork in the trail; PCT left, Dewey Lake Trail right. Heading down to the lake is not a good idea, so I veered left. I’m in the shade now. Waterfalls come tumbling down the mountain and crossing the path. Snow cornices decorate the trail.

If I stop too long, the mosquitoes find me. Lilies are dense on the trailside. Only one of the snow crossings traverses a long, steep slope. The snow is deep; a slip and fall will result in a very long slide. Without my walking stick, I would’ve crossed with shaky knees. As it was, I planted my heels hard and used my stick for balance.

Into the trees, the slope becomes steeper, and lakes dot the landscape below me again.

After two and three-quarter miles, I can see the Chinook scenic byway. Sweet relief! I will end up back where I started! I follow the PCT over the highway and switch back down through towering trees to Tipsoo Lake. Some small waterfalls at the edge of the lake carry mountain runoff into the basin. Frogs unexpectedly dot the edge of the lake. Amphibians aren’t often seen in subalpine environments.

I encounter some pasque flowers backlit back by the setting sun at the parking lot where my car is. They’re reminiscent of Dr. Suess characters.

And I have a drop of water to spare.

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any of the images you see here, please email me: SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

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The post Naches Peak Loop Trail at Chinook Pass appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Just past the visitor’s center, two pronghorn bucks called for a detour. The short prairie loop takes me right past these two as they graze across the plain. They are North America’s fastest land animals that evolved to outrun saber-toothed tigers. They’ve been around a long time and are so exotic looking.

Red Sleep Mountain Drive

Back on the main drag, I take the Red Sleep Mountain Drive up the hill. It’s a one-way, seasonal road that cautions drive at your own risk: no guard rails, steep drop-offs; stay in your car. The road climbs around the side of the mountain, offering expansive views of the Flathead River, then drops back down into a valley. The lane follows a small creek thick with bushes and songbirds. A lone white-tail doe is high up on a far hillside.

A visitor center map had stickers indicating where animals were seen today. The first two stickers were bison along the road I’m on, and bison were sacked out in those exact spots! The next sticker is a bear. I’m optimistic!

Bitterroot Trail

At the bitterroot trailhead, a cluster of 6-8 people with cameras and binoculars are looking off into the woods. (This is just past the bear sticker on the map). A woman said there was a bear with two cubs that she’d lost sight of behind a tree as they were heading downhill. I stopped to look, but couldn’t find them. A family, getting ready to depart, says, “well, since there’s a grizzly bear with a cub around, we probably shouldn’t hike this trail.” They left, and that’s exactly what I did.

The first part of the trail cuts across a slope full of arrowleaf balsamroot. I must come back in the spring when they’re in bloom (if the road opens in time, I’m at 45oo feet, and the road doesn’t open until Mother Nature clears the snow). It must be spectacular!

I have the trail to myself. A lone bison rests in a wallow far below. A few bitterroots are still in bloom, reminiscent of crocuses with their sinewy stamens. The yellow salsify has mostly gone to seed. I spent a lot of time photographing them – while looking over my shoulder for bears. The views from this ridge of the Bitterroot Mountain range are breathtaking.

As I head back up the trail, the path rises and curves over a hill before dropping back to the parking lot where the bears were. It’s a blind curve. “Hey, bear! Just a friendly human here. Hey, bear!”  I talk as I crest the hill to find all of the people have departed. I wander over to the side of the road and find a cinnamon black bear foraging down the mountain a bit. “Hey, bear!” I quip to be sure she knows I’m here. She’s a “park bear, ” used to having an audience, glances in my direction, and continues on her way. As I watched her browse, her black spring club frolicked into view. The cub acts carefree as she plays a fair distance from her mom. Confident mother. Confident cub. They start up the hill to the road where I’m standing. I retreated to my car and waited for them to crest the hill and appear roadside. They didn’t come up to the road, and I can’t see down the hill from where I am. Not knowing where they went and the potential for them to be in a place where I would be way too close before seeing them, I decided it was best to let them be.

Mission Valley

The next pullout, Highline, was crowded with cars and hikers, so I drove by, even though this is where the second bear sticker was on the park map. From here, the trail switchbacks down 1600 feet over three miles to the Mission Valley, the site of glacial Lake Missoula. I try not to ride my brakes the whole way down.

Bison Bison Bison

Herds of bison are on the prairie – old, worn bulls and fresh, new, red calves. They are milling about, wandering, wallowing, and grazing. I love the moptop on this big, old guy.

Mission Creek

I made a quick stop at a pond and Mission Creek. Another warning sign. I didn’t see any elk, angry or otherwise, but I did see two white-tailed bucks bedded down about twenty feet from the trail. They were very tolerant—Park deer. I also found an adorable, wary groundhog in the picnic area.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll make another loop before heading back home. I spent the night at a nice hotel at the Nine Pipe Wildlife Refuge.

The Next Morning

The Bison Refuge opens at 7 am. I was there just past seven and was surprised to see a few vehicles ahead of me on the road. I drove the Red Sleep Mountain Drive again, seeing some bison along the way.

This morning, there are chipmunks all over the road. Unlike most places, when I stop my car here, they don’t flee. Since people aren’t supposed to get out of their cars except at the designated trails, a stopped vehicle doesn’t predict danger in the way it does in so many other places. And people are always stopping to look at things on this road, so it’s not unusual for a car to stop. I could pop out my sunroof and photograph a few of them. 

The Highline Trail

I bypassed the visitor’s center this morning, so I don’t know where the bear stickers are today, and I didn’t see any bears. I hiked the Highline trail I’d skipped yesterday with its songbirds, wildflowers, and incredible views. The sign on the trailhead cautioned to stay near your car, but it didn’t say the trail was closed. “Near” is relative, so off I went. I had the path all to myself this morning.

Mission Creek Wallowing

Back down in the prairie, a large herd of bison was escaping the heat in Mission Creek, bellowing and wallowing. They are surprisingly chatty with rumbles, bellows, grunts, and snorts in a language all their own.

The whole herd slowly crossed the road and headed into the creek. They didn’t stay long before seeking a shady place to nap.

I stopped by the pond again on my way out. It’s midday now, and no one is around. I bought the annual pass ($20 versus $10 for a day pass), so I’m motivated to come back in different seasons.

Side note: I’m wearing my hiking sandals again. I’ve learned my rattlesnake lesson and stayed on the sidewalk at the visitor’s center.

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any of the images you see here, please email me: SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

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The post National Bison Range appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.