Fred and Tweeters:
What a wonderful story. You mentioned the calls of Marbled Murrelets.
Last summer of group of us went on a camping trip to the outer
Washington coast using "A Birder's Guide to Coastal Washington" by Bob
Morse as our guide. After camping at Ocean City State Park the first
night (reservation info is in Morse's book), we traveled north to Pt
Grenville and saw some Tufted Puffins on the rocks and in the water
below us. That night we stayed overnight in an old-growth campground
call Campbell Tree Grove south of Lake Quinault. The trees were huge.
The next morning some of us woke up very early to try to hear the
Marbled Murrelets as they flew out of the woods. There were no sounds
until after dawn. Then you could hear their calls. Charlie Wright
got a glimpse of one of them flying.
Later that summer I stayed at a fancy resort hotel at the Alyeska ski
resort south of Anchorage, Alaska. Outside the hotel, well after dawn
you could hear the Marbled Murrelets flying out of the valley heading
to the water.
Yours, Carol Schulz
DesMoines, WA
mailto:linusq at att.net
----- Original Message -----
From: <fsharpe at sfu.ca>
To: <tweeters at u.washington.edu>
Sent: Thursday, March 11, 2004 1:51 AM
Subject: brain piles


|
| I awoke yesterday morning at Lake Crescent before first light.
Stepping
| outside my cabin to sniff the air, I could feel the gently falling
rain.
| The calls of murrelets drifted down from the fog which lured me into
the
| forest. Before I knew it, I was wandering along the trail in
unlaced hiking
| boots and pajamas. At Barnes Creek I stopped to listen to the song
of the
| dipper while I leaned on the world?s largest grand fir.
| About this time, the sun was cresting Mt. Storm King,
revealing a
| glistening canopy of epiphytes. This inspired me to hike up to the
first
| overlook. Two hours later I was far above lake among the Saskatoon
berry
| and brain piles (spires of pillow lava). A sign on the trail warned
of lands
| end; steep cliffs & rough terrain. Hazardous conditions it stated;
those
| wishing genetic representation in future generations should turn
back now. A
| patch of snow near the summit was beckoning, so I sauntered onward.
| The landscape was becoming wild and unforgiving. Knarred yew
and
| mazanita grew among the hard scrabble. A series of ropes assisted in
| navigating the razor thin ridges and talus slopes. Basaltic
gargoyles
| appeared like apparitions from the mists. Across the valley, I
could hear
| boulders on the nape of Lizard Head loose their purchase in the
morning
| thaw. They careered down the slope and broke upon the forest
hundreds of
| feet below. At last I gained the summit and there was my patch of
snow and
| a commanding view of Olympic interior
| The first bird I noticed was an AE-6 Navy jet screaming past
at eye
| level. He was in an awful hurry to get out to the coast. I wondered
in
| these days of new militarism if his sights were set on Sealion
Rocks. As
| the silence returned, the song of varied thrush drifted up from
below. The
| rising sun burnt away the last of the mists.
| I noticed that I was not alone. There were small flocks of
red
| crossbills bounding above the canopy. The males (suffing from
spawning
| stupor) flew about in great circles and sang on the wing. The
Douglas fir
| trees were decorated with developing cone primordial, no doubt
bringing the
| females into condition. It has been a good week for birds. I have
heard
| four pygmy owls in as many days. Locations include Salt Creek, East
Beach
| on Lake Crescent, and two locations on the Tonandos Peninsula
(Squamish
| Harbor and Thorndyke Head). Three of these locations were in stands
with
| old-growth characteristics. In addition, Saw-whet owls were heard
calling at
| Rosemary Inn at Lake Crescent and at Thorndyke Head. I wonder how
these
| little owls deal with the barred owls that now call from many
quarters.
| Eight ring-necked ducks were also at East Beach. Long into the
night, a
| red-necked grebe was calling on Lake Crescent.
| I noticed that I had not reached the summit of Mt Stormking;
this
| knoll was just one of its many ramparts. A way-trail continued
upwards and
| disappeared among the crags. However, that was a journey best left
for
| another day. That is what I love about the wild Olympics; there is
always
| another path inviting exploration.
|
| Fred Sharpe
| Lake Crescent
| fsharpe at sfu.ca
|
|