Valles Caldera -- Valley of the Senses

At dawn, Chance and I headed down one of the few pet friendly trails at Valles Caldera National Preserve in northern New Mexico. I’m unable to experience the world of smell that surrounds a dog, but this trail was soon a favorite of Chances with his nose to the ground pulling me down the side of the ancient volcano caldera. He’d stop with snout in the air to investigate more, and we would both hear elk bugling in the distance. The fall air was cool at over 9,000 feet as we descended from the road on the caldera edge down to the largest of the park’s valleys in the caldera—Valles Grande.

When we got through the aspen and fir and began to see the yellow grasses of the valley floor, the bugling got louder, and we saw dozens of elk cows and calves crossing in front. Finally, a big bull was at the end of the line.

Elk at Valles Caldera National Preserve

As we waited for the herd to go by, we enjoyed the dawn bird chorus. Autumn colors in the bushes, vines and trees contrast against the charred trunks of past fires. I had hoped to visit Valles Caldera in April 2022, but what would be one of the largest and fastest fires in New Mexico history had closed the park. Then, I could only see the huge smoke cloud: Houses on Fire.

The massive volcano last erupted only about 69,000 years ago, then collapsed leaving a nearly 14 mile wide caldera. As the sun rose, more of the valley got illuminated.

As we got ready to head back up the trail, Chance posed. Then we heard some coyotes to the left of us. Soon their howling was joined by an even larger group to the right. It seemed the valley just echoed with coyote call. Time to head up trail.

The walk back was quiet. The elk and coyote stopped their calls, and even the birds had finished their morning chorus. A few tree squirrels yelled at us while some ground squirrels ran by.

Even the breeze did not stir the aspen leaves. As we were finishing the hike, there were sudden loud cracks. Just ahead, a lone bull elk had spotted us, and he ran twisting his head, mostly avoiding the branches with his antlers but a few cracked loudly behind him.

New Neighbors

Packing, moving, and unpacking from a home of 35 years left little time or energy for photography or posting images. As I get ready for a road trip, I figured I’d better work on these rusty skills. Who better to practice on then the new neighbors.

House finch

One of things I’m most enjoying are the visitors to the feeders I’ve put near the kitchen window. Now work in the kitchen is accompanied by flutters nearby, and I can keep my camera handy if someone is willing to pose.

Nuthatch

We’ve also been exploring some of the nearby forest preserves and parks. Most of which we’ve been to before, but now we can visit more often. This morning’s fog called out for a hike around Danada Forest Preserve.

Geese on Rice Lake

Great Egret

The egret was kind enough to take flight and present more photo opportunities as it flew over the early fall colors from the sumac, maples and goldenrods.

Some of these new neighbors will be staying through the fall and winter, but others will be heading south.

Monarch and bees

Along with the new neighbors are old companions who are also willing to explore and help me remember how to use my camera.

Rannoch Moor

My eyes have been watering and throat scratching from the smoky, Canadian air that’s been hanging around here this week. In photography, the conditions are called “atmospheric.” How about some scenes from dawn in Scotland, where the word atmospheric fits better?

Rannoch Moor dawn, Scottish Highlands

Rannoch Moor is a boggy moorland in the western highlands near Glencoe. For history majors, it is the home of Clan McDuck, the ancestors of Scrooge McDuck. We arrived at dawn as fog covered the ground and early light began to glow.

Fire and ice on Loch Ba

The fog got a bit thicker as alpine glow hit the distant peak. Hoarfrost covered the plants while more ice skimmed the lochen. A morning not to forget.

Fogbow on the moor

The morning’s treats were not over. As the sun got higher and the fog began to clear, a fogbow framed the distant mountains.

A room with a view

If you’re fortunate on a visit to Seattle to have clear skies, even though it is nearly 100 miles away, Mt. Rainer appears to loom over the city. We followed that beacon to stay at the National Park Inn for an even better view of the volcano.

National Park Inn, Longmire, Washington

We stayed here 29 years earlier, and like the others sitting out on that front porch, got a view of the mountain that remains etched in your mind.

Mount Rainier National Park

A bit further up the road, you can pull over for a view of some of that melting snow and glacier tumbling down what is called Christine Falls. And if you’re lucky, catch a rainbow.

Christine Falls, Mt. Rainier National Park

In May, the road is only plowed up to the Paradise Visitor Center. If you have crampons and ropes, you can climb to the summit from there. However, we were content to rent snowshoes and simply enjoy the quiet and the views.

Between me and the noise of strife 
    Are walls of mountains set with pine;  
The dusty, care-strewn paths of life  
    Lead not to this retreat of mine.  

Alexander Posey, My Hermitage

I listen to a podcast called Poetry Unbound. Host Padraig O’Tuama usually recites and explores a contemporary poem. But this week, he shared The Dew and the Bird from Creek Nation poet Alexander Posey (1873-1908).

Before going to sleep at the National Park Inn, I set up the tripod near the front porch and enjoyed the stars. While looking skyward, I heard some noise, and looking down about 20 feet in front of me a pair of deer were chewing on the newly emerged grass and newly emerged frogs sang in the creek nearby.

I hear the river flowing by  
   Along its sandy bars;  
Behold, far in the midnight sky,  
    An infinite of stars!  
 
‘Tis sweet, when all is still,  
   When darkness gathers round, 

Alexander Posey, My Hermitage

Mt. Rainier night sky

While enjoying breakfast the next morning on the Inn’s porch, a Steller’s Jay checked whether we enjoyed the view and would leave some food behind.

There is more sweetness in a single strain

    That falleth from a wild bird’s throat,

At random in the lonely forest’s depths,

    Than there’s in all the songs that bards e’er wrote.

Alexander Posey, The Dew and The Bird

Steller’s Jay

Deception

In 1790, Spanish explorers sailed through what they named the Strait of Juan de Fuca into what would be called Puget Sound, and saw what they believed was a long peninsula extending into the Sound. Two years later, a British Royal Navy expedition led by George Vancouver was sailing around the world, and spent extended time in the Sound. Vancouver, too, believed a long peninsula extended from the mainland.

Fidalgo Island seen across Deception Pass

The expedition’s second in command, Joseph Whidbey, explored the area in a smaller boat and found a treacherous, narrow passage through the peninsula. Having deceived them, Vancouver named it Deception Pass. Whidbey then got the island named after him. Vancouver would soon find out the much bigger land mass to the west was also an island, and would name that after himself.

Deception Pass from Whidbey Island

The land on either side of the pass—now connected by a bridge—is protected and called Deception Pass State Park. Wonderful paths, many established by the Civilian Conservation Corp in the 1930s, cross through the heavily forested land rising out of the Sound.

Goose Rock Perimeter Trail, Deception Pass State Park

When the trail left the thick forest, wildflowers filled the area along the path.

And succulents bloomed in the rocky areas.

Soon the trail returned to the forest with morning light leading the way.

Deception State Park, Washington

Burnt out hike?

I have various strategies when heading to a location to hike. One is using a terrific app named All Trails. The biggest advantage of All Trails is that you can download a map of the trail while you are on wifi, then while you are on a hike GPS can show where you are on trail—or more importantly, off the trail! It also links to my Garmin watch to keep a quick eye on the map.

Current River, Ozark National Scenic Riverways

Another great advantage of All Trails is that after a hike, you can add your comments and review about the trail. And before the hike, you can read others’ comments. Based on a note someone made a week before I took this hike, I was not going to take this trail. The review said a controlled burn had just occurred and most of the five plus mile hike was through burnt forest. Here comes my next—and most important—resource: a park ranger. When first arriving at Ozark National Scenic Riverways, I chatted with the ranger at the visitor center. He’d lived in the area his entire life and had a wealth of tips for my visit. I told him my interests, and among the trails he suggested was the Cave Spring Loop Trail. I said I’d read there had been a recent burn there. He described the burn, said why it was needed, and said it was still a rewarding hike with a great destination at Cave Spring. As I showed in last week’s post, he was absolutely right about the great reward at the end when you come to the Cave Spring on the Current River.

As advised, about half the hike was through an area recently burned as part of a massive effort to help restore the forest. Most of the hike was through private land, not national parkland, and a joint effort is being undertaken to improve the forest. The commonly taught myth is that most of this country was untouched wilderness before colonists tamed it. However, evidence shows that much of the land had been carefully tended by native peoples, including burning underbrush and clearing forest for meadows.

Significant work was occurring here clearing many of the trees as well as burning the underbrush. The new spring leaves were spouting on the other side of the valley. Slowing down to look at the charred wood revealed beautiful patterns in the cut stumps.

The All Trails app was still terrifically useful. The GPS positioning is extraordinary, and shows where I am on the trail, how far to the next turn on the trail to look for and the upcoming elevation gain or loss to anticipate.

The other trail guide I’ve learned to trust is Chance—the dog, not fate. I assume my knowledge as well as my viewpoint over five feet above his makes my trail finding skills much better. I have discounted his sense of smell and other trail following skills at my peril. He often will take a turn and follow a path I never saw, and I need to stop and determine if he chose the right one. He usually does. I remember on a hike in the Obed NSR where he headed off confidently down a narrow path. I called him back to get on the wider path which I was certain was the right one. About a quarter mile on, I turned around hoping to find the cut off again which had been the correct way to go. Chance found it again with no problem.

Which route?

One of the great benefits of All Trails is that if I haven’t been paying close attention, it will show me the way to get back to the right trail, or where to cut across the forest to get back to the trail, or as has been the case more than once to simply look for an alternative way to get back to where I started.

In the meantime, look down. It might appear a stump is still glowing with fire.

Google Maps just announced that they have begun developing similar features for many of the national parks, including hiking trail information and routes. Since many of the parks have limited or no cell service, you can download trails ahead of time. I’m going to try this new feature out next week during a visit to Mt. Rainier National Park. All Trails seems to have more features and covers a vastly larger number of trails, but I look forward to seeing what Google can offer.

In the meantime, it’s also important to look down. You might be surprised at a sign a forest worker left behind.

Spring Time

Where on earth is the largest concentration of first-magnitude springs? (Springs that have a daily flow of over 65 million gallons of water!)

Round Spring, Ozark National Scenic Riverways

Water flows through the limestone of southeast Missouri creating chambers and caves and emerging as springs. Round Springs is a collapsed cave with 55 feet of water coming up. The water then empties out below, and flows into the nearby Current River.

Round Spring

Round Spring was a Missouri State Park beginning in 1924. Decades later, plans developed to dam the Current and its tributary the Jack Fork River. Local residents and conservationists fought these efforts which led in 1964 to Congress establishing the first protected river park—Ozark National Scenic Riverways. Missouri donated three state parks—Round Spring, Alley, and Big Spring. Aptly named, Big Spring is one of the largest in the world with an average daily flow of 286 million gallons, enough to fill a baseball stadium in a day.

Big Spring, Ozark National Scenic Riverways, Missouri

After the water flows through the dolomite dissolving minerals, it emerges in a spectacular blue-green color. Big Spring erupts here and several feet nearby.

Big Spring

Native peoples lived by these springs for thousands of years. When Scots-Irish and other settlers came in the 19th century, they often built mills next to the springs taking advantage of the consistent waterflow. A new mill was built in 1893 in the community of Alley.

Alley Mill

All the springs above are short walks from parking areas. A rewarding hike takes you to a spring emerging out of a cave and flowing directly into the Current River. Chance and I saw no one on the hike, but we heard voices as we got to river. It was great fortune as a photographer to have a red canoe paddle up to the cave just as we arrived. Can you spot Chance?

Cave Spring

We’ll end with a view from inside the cave.

Cave Spring, Ozark National Scenic Riverway

Rocks and water

What better subjects to point your camera at on an island but water (flowing and frozen) and rock (hard and soft.) No narrative this week, just some abstract form and color that you can fill in with what might be in your mind.

Cove in Isle of Harris, Scotland

Flow on the River Orchy

Ice on Loch Ba

Ice in Glen Etive

Ripples on Luskentyre Beach

"Let them indicate festivals, days and years. . ."

Stars, moon and sun have aligned so that Passover, Holy Week and Ramada are all commemorated this week. The religions share a creation story that was oral tradition before being written down likely in the 5th or 6th century BCE. I seem to discover more beauty and wisdom in that text each time I read or proclaim it. I’ve just realized God divides sky, sea, air and land in days 1-3 and then in days 4-6 populates sky, sea, air and land.

For several years (2019, 2020 and 2021) I’ve found images that help me imagine the world the writer of Genesis created. It’s certainly tricky to translate ancient Hebrew into current English, so I’m using a different version this year to offer different insights. Hope you find it good.

North Atlantic

In the beginning God created heaven and earth.

Now the earth was a formless void, there was darkness over the deep, with a divine wind sweeping over the waters.

Luskentyre, Isle of Harris

God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light.

God saw that light was good, and God divided light from darkness.

God called light 'day', and darkness he called 'night'. Evening came and morning came: the first day.

God said, 'Let there be a vault through the middle of the waters to divide the waters in two.' And so it was.

God made the vault, and it divided the waters under the vault from the waters above the vault. God called the vault 'heaven'. Evening came and morning came: the second day.

God said, 'Let the waters under heaven come together into a single mass, and let dry land appear.' And so it was.

God called the dry land 'earth' and the mass of waters 'seas', and God saw that it was good.

Taransay Island, Outer Hebrides

God said, 'Let the earth produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants, and fruit trees on earth, bearing fruit with their seed inside, each corresponding to its own species.' And so it was.

The earth produced vegetation: the various kinds of seed-bearing plants and the fruit trees with seed inside, each corresponding to its own species. God saw that it was good.

Evening came and morning came: the third day.

Marram grass, Luskentyre Dunes, Isle of Harris

God said, 'Let there be lights in the vault of heaven to divide day from night, and let them indicate festivals, days and years.

Let them be lights in the vault of heaven to shine on the earth.' And so it was.

God made the two great lights: the greater light to govern the day, the smaller light to govern the night, and the stars.

God set them in the vault of heaven to shine on the earth,

to govern the day and the night and to divide light from darkness. God saw that it was good.

Evening came and morning came: the fourth day.

Jökulsárlón, Iceland

God said, 'Let the waters be alive with a swarm of living creatures, and let birds wing their way above the earth across the vault of heaven.' And so it was.

Icelandic seal

God created great sea-monsters and all the creatures that glide and teem in the waters in their own species, and winged birds in their own species. God saw that it was good.

 God blessed them, saying, 'Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the waters of the seas; and let the birds multiply on land.'

Evening came and morning came: the fifth day.

Fulmars, Isle of Harris

God said, 'Let the earth produce every kind of living creature in its own species: cattle, creeping things and wild animals of all kinds.' And so it was.

God made wild animals in their own species, and cattle in theirs, and every creature that crawls along the earth in its own species. God saw that it was good.

Highland Cow, Loch Awe, Scotland

God said, 'Let us make man in our own image, in the likeness of ourselves, and let them be masters of the fish of the sea, the birds of heaven, the cattle, all the wild animals and all the creatures that creep along the ground.'

God created man in the image of himself, in the image of God he created him, male and female he created them.

God blessed them, saying to them, 'Be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth and subdue it. Be masters of the fish of the sea, the birds of heaven and all the living creatures that move on earth.'

Luskentyre Beach, Isle of Harris

God also said, 'Look, to you I give all the seed-bearing plants everywhere on the surface of the earth, and all the trees with seed-bearing fruit; this will be your food.

And to all the wild animals, all the birds of heaven and all the living creatures that creep along the ground, I give all the foliage of the plants as their food.' And so it was.

Scottish Blackface Ram

God saw all he had made, and indeed it was very good. Evening came and morning came: the sixth day.

Thus heaven and earth were completed with all their array.

On the seventh day God had completed the work he had been doing. He rested on the seventh day after all the work he had been doing.

God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on that day he rested after all his work of creating.

Such was the story of heaven and earth as they were created.

Salt Marsh, Isle of Harris

Waving to Glen in Etive

River Etive starts with several small tributaries flowing off the tall mountains in the western Highlands. It eventually becomes a white water kayaking river before flowing into a sea loch, but near the beginning there are many small cascades.

Waterfalls on River Etive

Several movies have been filmed in Glen Etive. Lots of men in kilts ran through the Glen in Braveheart, and Ron, Harry and Hermione camp near the loch. Maybe you could see Hermione tie her scarf around one of the few trees in the Glen.

Glen Etive beech

Just up the road Daniel Craig pulled over to chat with Judy Dench as they headed to Skyfall just up the Glen. While this mountain may have looked down on them, there was no frozen water to reflect back.

Glen Etive reflection

A little wave in the shadowed blue light on one of the waterfalls caught some of the golden light reflected off the mountain and waved back.

I couldn’t choose just one image of this little fall. Hi, Glen Etive.

Wings over Scotland

The focus of the photography in Scotland was seascapes and landscapes, but of course for me, the birds are irresistible. The coasts of Lewis and Harris, naturally, are filled with birds. Let’s start with the northernmost part of the island with the wonderful name — the Butt of Lewis. The wind might’ve been fierce, but the Fulmars handle it with ease. They were pairing up on the cliffs.

Gneiss Fulmars

Other pairs apparently felt more comfortable on the moss beds on top of the rocks.

Fulmar butts on the Butt of Lewis

Off the cliff and down on the beaches are the noisy Eurasian Oystercatchers. They are just as charismatic and colorful as their American cousins.

Eurasian Oystercathers

An earlier visit to Garry Beach on the east coast included a walk on the sandy beach at low tide. We returned at high tide, and I walked along the cliff side. Feral pigeons are common residents of cities all over the world. They are likely descendants of Rock Doves, and a few years ago ornithologists determined that small colonies of pure bred Rock Doves remained on the Outer Hebrides. Earlier this week, I shared images of the standing stones on Lewis and Harris. It is likely that the people who built those stones had also domesticated Rock Doves, and so might also be responsible for the pigeons that flock on top of monuments all over the world.

Rock Doves on Garry Beach, Isle of Lewis

Instead of walking down to the beach, I decided to circle around on the nearby road. There, I met a local fellow who walks along the beach two or three times every day, and we chatted about the area. I told him I thought I spotted a buzzard flying, and later realized we were talking two different versions of English. Americans refer to vultures as buzzards, while Brits refer to what we call hawks. He told me there were buzzards (hawks) often along the northern hills and golden eagles sometimes flew over the southern hills I was walking along. As I continued my walk with my long lens in hand, I kept searching the skies and hills for raptors. Soon, I was rewarded with a golden eagle surveying the territory. While I waited for it to fly, it just perched majestically over the scene.

Golden Eagle above Garry Beach

When it was time to leave the island, we took a ferry from Stornoway to Ullapool. The 50 mile wide North Atlantic strait between Lewis and Harris and mainland Scotland is called the Minch. As we were leaving the island, gulls gave us a farewell wave.

Glaucous-winged Gull above the Minch

Winter at Jökulsárlón

About ten minutes from where we stayed on Iceland’s south coast is one of the country’s wonders. A tongue of the massive Vatnajökull glacier flows into Jökulsárlón Glacier Bay where icebergs break off and flow on Iceland’s shortest river into the Atlantic. Then waves break the bergs even more, and incoming tides push the broken ice unto the black sand, giving the place its name—Diamond Beach. Unfortunately, for our visit, no ice flowed back to the beach. Nonetheless, the mountains, glacier, bay, and beach were still wondrously beautiful.

Jökulsárlón Bay, Iceland

As we sat at the edge of the water, a school of fish fluttered and jumped in front of us, and soon seals were feeding. Far across the Atlantic, past Greenland, on Cape Cod, Mary Oliver watched seals and wrote a poem of memory.

Winter at Herring Cove

Years ago,

on the bottle-green light

of the cold January sea,

Breaker on Bagh Steinigidh

two seals

suddenly appeared together

in a single uplifting wave—

Seal on Jökulsárlón

each in exactly the same relaxed position—

each, like a large, black comma,

upright and staring;

it was like a painting

done twice

and, twice, tenderly.

Sunset seal

The wave hung, then it broke apart;

its lip was lightning;

its floor was the blow of sand

over which the seals rose and twirled and were gone.

Of all the reasons for gladness,

what could be foremost of this one,

Dawn Jökulsárlón beach

that the mind can seize both the instant and the memory!

Now the seals are no more than the salt of the sea.

If they live, they’re more distant than Greenland.

Over Greenland

But here’s the kingdom we call remembrance

with its thousand iron doors

through which I pass so easily,

Loch Ba golden ice

switching on the old lights as I go—

while the dead wind rises and the old rapture rewinds,

the stiff waters once more begin to kick and flow.

Herring Cove, Mary Oliver from What Do We Know? 2002

Dawn on Diamond Beach, Jökulsárlón, Iceland

Time

The shutter is a fundamental tool of photography. The shutter opens to let the light in. How fast or slow will the shutter close to tell the story? On a busy, active oceanfront, the choices and decisions are many. How can you convey in a single frame the surges of waves at high tide, together with fierce winds, crashing against the high cliffs and weathered boulders?

Uig Bay, Isle of Lewis, Scotland

Scotland, like much of the north Atlantic, was a Viking settlement through most of the 8th through 15th centuries. Two weeks ago, I posted an image of the Reynisdrangar in Iceland which are next to the village of Vik. Vik is the Norse word for bay, and is translated in Gaelic as Uig. In the early 19th century, on a sandy shore near these Uig cliffs, someone found a buried Viking treasure which are today called the Lewis Chessmen. The ivory-carved chess pieces offer incredibly detailed insights into the Viking society. The sea seems to remember the Viking ships that sailed this shore, which in the span of the ages of these rocks, was an instant ago. You might even spot the fulmar flying through the waves.

Uig Bay, Isle of Lewis

The shore of the Outer Hebrides expose some of the oldest rocks on the planet. Lewisian Gneiss is 3 billion years old! The waves that crash against them last a few seconds.

Garry Beach, Isle of Lewis

We believe what our eyes perceive is “the truth.” But we see only a fraction of the light spectrum that other creatures can. What does a peregrine falcon perceive as it dives toward prey at 240 miles an hour, or a sloth as it climbs in the jungle forest? Lichens may live for thousands of years. How might they sense the high tide waves that spray them twice a day?

Isle of Harris

And if a lichen that lives multiples of times longer than we do can perceive waves in some way, how might the rock for which the life of a lichen on it might be for a small fraction of its existence?

When the high tide recedes, it leaves behind patterns in the sand that, at the longest, will exist only until the high tide returns.

Bosta Beach, Isle of Lewis

The sea covered this boulder. An hour or so before, the tide receded and left behind fractals or ferns or tree branches to embrace the rock for a few hours before disappearing. And my camera opened for a fraction of second to capture the light they reflected.

Tolsta Beach, Isle of Lewis

A tree grows in Scotland

My trip to Scotland is wrapping up. Most of the time was spent on the Isle of Lewis and Harris, a rugged, windswept land far north in the Atlantic. The landscape is dominated by moors, mountains, rugged coasts and bogs. Few trees grow there. Leaving the island, we spent a few days inland in the forested, mountainous area in and around Glencoe.

Mountain sun and shade

Trees were a welcome sight following the stay on the island. Like in the image above, some scenes were filled with sharp, clear light. However, one morning began with a lingering fog.

Beech silhoutte

A small island floated on the loch with cool pastels surrounding the trees.

Later, the sun got above the nearby hills and warm light now enveloped the trees. As a Scottish King says, “Stones have been known to move and trees to speak.” Macbeth, Act III, scene 4.

In the afternoon, the sky cleared and the sun slid down through the mountains surrounding a lochan. A line of trees beckoned the line of sunlight to follow them as it disappeared.

The only native pine in Scotland, and the national tree, is the Scots Pine. After the last ice age, the pine covered much of Scotland. But like the prairie in Illinois, humans eliminated most of the Scots Pine until only one percent of the vast forest remained. Legend says a pine would be buried on top of the grave of a Scottish hero. So who knows what may lie beneath this pine.

A Scots Pine

Stac a Phris Arch

In March 2020 after visiting my daughter who was studying at the University of Edinburgh, I headed out on a photo tour with a Scots photographer I’d known online for about 20 years. After a few days on the Isle of Skye we were to catch a ferry to the Outer Hebrides. But Covid restrictions were quickly getting very restrictive around the world, and we chose to end the trip, saying “See you next year at this time!”

Three years later, I’ve finally made it to the Isle of Lewis and Harris with Alister. We parked by a farm near Shawbost on the eastern coast of Lewis, and headed out on a boggy hike with plenty of sheep nearby. Soon the waves were exploding on the rocks.

Then we perched on the cliffs above Stac a Phris Arch to wait for sunset.

It’s only the Atlantic Ocean between Lewis and Newfoundland, Canada, and we watched the waves through the archway.

The sun got below the clouds and sent golden light.

More storm clouds came across the sun, and it was time to head back on a boggy walk at dusk.

Stac a Phris Arch, Isle of Lewis, Scotland

Reynisdrangar

That’s the name for the trolls off Reynisfjara beach on the southeast coast of Iceland. Visiting there now, so today’s post is one image from yesterday. Enjoy. I’m out to see a glacier.

Margaret Renkl: Magnificent Migration

I wasn’t sure what to post today. Then Margaret Renkl’s column in this morning’s paper took me back to many events, and I wanted to share those with you.

Snow Geese, Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, New Mexico

Renkl is an author and regular columnist at the New York Times writing about experiences in the natural world. Today’s piece was inspired by her visit to Wheeler National Wildlife Refuge in Alabama to visit Sandhill Cranes that winter there. I’ve now got another place on my list to visit! I have however been to a winter gathering spot for the Sandhills in New Mexico. Closer to home, the cranes rest at Jasper-Pulaski National Wildlife Refuge in Indiana while on migration.

Sandhill Cranes, Jasper-Pulaski National Wildlife Refuge, Indiana

Renkle writes: “Cranes look like prehistoric creatures, and indeed, the majestic sandhills—standing nearly four feet tall and mostly gray, with a startling crimson crown—are among earth’s oldest bird species.”

Sandhills, Jasper-Pulaski NWR

Renkle: “My husband kept laughing at their ungainly landings, but all I could see was the magnificent way they moved in concert— . . . rising and banking, their elegant necks outstretched, their wide wings turned at exactly the same angle, glinting in the sun.”

Some Sandhills winter in Florida and a subspecies stays all year. Some of these are very tame, and I’ve got some close-up images with wide angle lens there many times. A small group was grub hunting in my mother’s lawn many years ago, and I set out a chair to watch them. One wanted to check out my shoes.

Renkl wrote: “The starlings above the highway were a lovely warm-up act for the sandhill cranes. . . But think of those extravagant murmurations of starlings, the way they draw swirling pictures in the air: It’s impossible not to marvel at their beauty.”

Murmuration near LaSalle, Illinois

The image above was used in the first edition of National Geographic’s Backyard Birds of North America. Definitely a highlight to get a phone call from NatGeo to ask if they can use my images! This one didn’t make the second edition, but another of a cardinal did—and the rights check came in the mail. This November we walked by the White House when a small murmuration danced and moved over the south lawn for quite a while.

Renkl notes that at home she’ll be listening for the cranes call as they head north next month, and so will I. She concludes:

Birds don’t exist to teach us anything—they have their own purposes and their own complicated lives—but we are fools if we can’t learn something important for our purposes, too, for our own complicated lives, in their dazzling, life-sustaining cooperation. How sensible it is for a fragile species, having no fangs and no claws, to share resources. How wise to turn to one another for help.

A final image back at Bosque del Apache. Snow geese winter there along with the cranes. Sometime near sunrise huge groups decide to take flight together.

New Mexico dawn

wherever I am

We’ve not had much snow this winter. Wednesday morning, with the first snow of 2023, Chance and I headed out to one of our favorite trails. With no one else on the path, Chance was off leash running and fully exercising his Alaskan Eskimo dog genes. We both stopped when a large group of Canada Geese gaggled through the quiet of the snow.

Salt Creek, Fullersburg Woods Forest Preserve

I was listening to a podcast of a meditation on mystic Thomas Merton. An early biography of him is titled The Man in the Sycamore Tree, which itself is a reference to the story of Zacchaeus, a short man, who climbed a Sycamore tree to see Jesus who was walking through Jericho. On this path was a Sycamore tree towering over all the others, which I always forget is there until I come upon it. I’ve photographed it in many seasons, and say hello before heading further down the trail.

* * *

Sometimes I need

only to stand

wherever I am

to be blessed.

From It Was Early, Mary Oliver 2009

American Sycamore, Fullersburg Woods Forest Preserve, DuPage County, Illinois

River of Grass

Quite possibly most people outside of south Florida did not know Marjory Stoneman Douglas before the brutal shooting at the high school named in her honor. Her remarkable life began in 1890 and lasted almost to the 21st century.

Great Egret, Everglades National Park

Her father was the first editor of the small town paper, The Miami Herald. In a long line of authoritarian Florida governors, Napoleon Bonaparte Broward sought to drain the Everglades, while Frank Stoneman opposed him. When Stoneman got elected as a judge, Broward refused to give him the office. Marjory became a society columnist for the paper, but soon was joining and writing campaigns for women’s suffrage and fighting poverty. In 1947 she published The Everglades: River of Grass which immediately sold out and spurred effort to protect the largest subtropical wilderness in the country which prior to the book was simply considered a wasteland.

“There are no other Everglades in the World,” Marjory Stoneman Douglas

The fight to protect the vast ecosystem continues in fits and starts. One of the greatest harms was the construction of the Tamiami Trail from 1913 to 1926 which bisected the Glades from east to west and halted the natural southern flow of water. Just in the last few years, and still unfinished, is a remarkable engineering task to raise the road a few feet on massive bridges that allows the water to flow underneath.

About halfway across the Tamiami Trail you will find a small sign to a pull off for the Clyde Butcher Gallery. It’s in what he calls the Loose Screw Swamp because a friend told him he must’ve had a screw loose to buy land for his home there. Butcher mostly uses a large format camera and black and white film to capture images of the Everglades. In 1990, an image of his was used for the cover of Marjory Stoneman Douglas’s 100th birthday party invitation.

Big Cypress National Preserve

“My first baptism in swamp water was in the Big Cypress Swamp, where I experienced a primeval presence I had never felt before. It was as though I was entering a time warp where the beginning and end of time combined in the waters of the swamp. It dawned on me, at that moment, that we humans are part of a greater whole.”

Introduction to “The Everglades” by Clyde Butcher

When Butcher was first starting as a photographer, Florida Institute of Technology purchased 61 of his larger prints. The school is in the town where I was raised, and a few years ago they exhibited the full collection. To stand in front of the massive prints is to share in his primeval presence.

Loop Road, Big Cypress Preserve

Big Cypress National Preserve protects much of the land to the north and west of Everglades National Park. Before visiting Butcher’s gallery I drove the Loop Road through the preserve which goes through open grasslands with dwarf cypress and wetlands with giant bald cypress. When his book The Everglades was published a couple years ago, he had an image called Loop Road 2 of dwarf cypress in the grassland he’d taken in 1998. I had to buy a signed black and white print from the photographer often called today’s Ansel Adams.

Barred Owl, Everglades National Park

That evening I ventured back into Everglades National Park with the promise of clear skies giving an opportunity for star images. After getting my tripod set, a blur flew overhead and then landed nearby. The Barred Owl posed briefly before continuing the hunt. I had no idea a shooting star joined the scene until I got back to look at the image. Many thanks to Marjorie Stoneman Douglas and Clyde Butcher for their work to preserve such a place.

Gordon Henry, Jr. -- Sleeping in the Rain

Poems can take you into other worlds. At other times, they can take you deep into your own world. Gordon Henry, Jr., a professor at Michigan State University, is an Anishinaabe of the White Earth Nation in Northwest Minnesota. A little further east, my mother grew up. She told me of other Ojibwe who would come to their door, and my grandmother would give them food.

His first published poem Sleeping in the Rain, includes a woman “somewhere past ninety now; . . . She lives in a room. A taken care of world.” And I thought of my mom, when she was past ninety, in her taken care of room. Then in Part V of that poem, I was taken to her mother, another woman who lived past ninety. She cooked on a woodstove. In the next room, as I remember it, was gas stove to heat the home, though I suspect, it too was a woodburning stove when my mom and her brothers and sisters grew up there.

Great Gray Owl, Sax-Zim Bog, Minnesota

. . .

The old woman dreams she is up north, on the reservation. It is autumn. Pine smoke hanging over the tops of houses, leaves sleepwalking in gray wind, skeletal trees scratching ghost gray sky.

Bear Head Lake State Park, Minnesota

She is in the old black shack. At home. Stirring stew in the kitchen. The woodstove snaps in the next room.

A tiny room between the kitchen and the front stairs held the wood box where the chopped wood was stored. A window in the kitchen looked toward the garden, out buildings, and in the distance, the mine my grandfather worked in. I suspect from that window you could hear and watch my grandfather and uncles chopping the wood that heated the house and fed the stove that fed them.

Soudan, Minnesota

Out the window, he lifts the axe. He is young. She watches as it splits a log on the tree stump. He turns away and starts toward the house.

My uncle had a painting made of my grandmother from a photo he had taken. It hangs on the wall above the stairs. Last week, I held my granddaughter and showed her the picture of my grandmother.

Me, Grandma, Mom, Grandpa - below the kitchen window

He is old. He takes out his pipe and presses down tobacco. She goes to the door to meet him. She opens the door. She tries to touch him. He passes through her, like a cold shiver, and walks into a photograph on the wall.

From, Sleeping in the Rain, Gordon Henry, Jr.

You can hear him read the entire poem here: MSU Libraries’ Michigan Writers Series

Yellow Medicine River, Minnesota