The Wilds of Washington

I greatly enjoy going out of doors, it keeps me healthy in so many ways. The fresh air livens me, a good brisk breeze awakens a certain part of me that I forget is there while sitting at my desk processing data all week. The weekend comes and I get the thrill of exploring a new place or feel the comfort of revisiting a spot I have been so many times, a second home.

I am also lucky to live in the great northwest where we have so many ecosystems and beautiful places within a 2 hour drive. The west side of Washington is the peninsula, which holds the Olympic mountains, Elwha river, the Hoh rainforest, and a craggy coast line. The winds that come off the ocean, which blow in white froth coated waves that crash vehemently against the beach, are quite exhilarating. In contrast there is a certain muffled silence while trekking through the moss covered rainforest, the giant old growth trees towering overhead like ancient sentinels.

Washington's southern region is bordered by the Columbia River Gorge. The Gorge began formation millions of years ago as over 200 basalt lava flows covered the area. Then about 12-15,000 years ago there were a series of catastrophic floods that created the Columbia River Gorge/Basin. This series of events created a very dramatic landscape with steep walled cliffs lined in places with basalt pillars and water falls. There are hundreds of dams along the course of the Columbia River, which produce 50% of the electricity for Washington State. The Yakima tribe's telling of the creation of the geological formations is quite compelling.

The east is scrubby desert plains designed by ancient volcanoes and a massive flood.

The north is mountains upon mountains as the north cascades stretch into Canada, remote, rugged, and precipitous.

Enjoying the great out doors

My eyes revel in the landscapes of soft trees contrasted with hard rocky edges, the rare deep blue sky with wispy edges of clouds high in the atmosphere, or the still waters of a lake or the Puget Sound expanding before me. When you stop to listen and look with mindfulness there is an abundance of life. A frog chirrups from soggy dip in the forest floor, fiery red and yellow mushrooms peak their heads out from under the leaf litter, a flock of bushtits flutter and fluff in a rhododendron nearby, and a grey squirrel chitters and scolds from the safety of the doug fir above.

Silence

Today was the first time I hiked by myself and felt truly alone. I saw no one else on the trail, I didn't even see any fauna. It was so quiet.

On the way up the trail I talked to myself a lot. I made the excuse that I was worried about bears and that I needed to make noise. I was also constantly scanning my surroundings and mentally running through what I would do it I ran into a large critter or had to stay the night. I do this when I feel unsafe walking in the city, it is left over from decade old self defense training. I will run through scenarios and my reaction in hopes my old muscle memory will kick into gear and I will react without thinking if something happens. So, between the clumping of my boots, the thumping of my poles, heavy breathing and somewhat constant chitter chatter, I was quite loud.

A change happened after I reached the top.

As I leaned against the rock and beheld the stunning view, a complete relaxation over came me. My eyes softened, clenched muscles released, the mind quieted, and I could finally hear the silence. There were no birds twittering, no sounds of snow falling from tree branches, no streams rushing, no cars zooming. I was so filled with the silence that when a wisp of fog rose from the fog lake, I could hear the damp whisper of it rising.

The trip back down the mountain seemed deafening in comparison, but my mind was quiet and focused on the trek back to the car. Clomping feet, jangling microspikes, a shifting backpack combined to make a cacophony. It was so loud I stopped for a bit to rest my ears and hear the silence once again. I stood as still as possible to let the noiseless curtain of quiet envelop me as it had on the butte. It was refreshing, and after a moment or two I continued on my way.

As I neared the trail head I could hear the sound of gun fire. Some one was using the forest as a shooting range. I reflected that this noise made by men would have been welcome on the hike up the mountain. Now it felt like an intrusion. I had finally settled into the comfort of being alone in silence. It was jarring, but with this enveloping experience of silence fixed in my being, I know I can bring the quietude wherever I go.