Day 2. Friday Dec 13. Turtleback. Shades of Gray.

(Hiked from North trailhead of Turtleback preserve to South Trailhead, with out and back hikes to Turtlehead, Waldron Overlook, Valley Overlook, and also including Raven Ridge Trail, Ridge Trail, and Central Loop, Ship’s Peak (twice), Lost Oak Trail, and Morning Ridge  Trail. )

Hiked 16.8 miles, ascended 3192 ft. 

Dear Trail Friends,

I started hiking at 6:30am this morning despite my intention to start at 6:00am. First I discovered midway to the trailhead that in all my fervor today don my rain gear I have left my puffy jacket at home. So I had to go back. Then I discovered my mitten missing. After searching here there and everywhere I finally found it on the floor of the car by the driver’s seat. It did not bode well for my day. 

But in fact the day was full of great surprises. I was all bundled up for a high of 44 and rain all day (but noticed the temperature in my car was already 46 at 6:20am - doesn’t sound like the forecast was too accurate, does it, that being one of the coldest times of day). In fact my major problem in the beginning of the hike was that I was way too warm. I took off my merino beanie and my mittens (easy to pocket) first but eventually I took off my rain cape (which meant taking off my pack to pack it away - a bit of a maneuver when the ground is too wet to set it down). Yesterday when I finally started to pack my rain cape away it began to rain so I was a little superstitious today. But I finally did - and no rain. 

But the day stayed cloudy and misty (does anyone know what the difference is between mist, fog, and low clouds? Well, it was one or all of those) and got cooler in the afternoon and maybe a tiny drizzle (I actually did put the cape back on) but never any real rain. 

That first photos are looking  East and Wear from Turtlehead - I had a vivid memory as I walked of seeing the sunrise on the East and the moonset in the West from Turtlehead. I was keenly aware of the contrast between the clarity that made possible those views and today’s mist - no sunrise,no moonset. Though earlier in the hike at Waldron overlook I did get a glimpse of lights on Waldron Island (or in Vancouver beyond it?)

The mist kept coming and going. I looked back on one trail and took a photo in a spot with a view at one moment and without one twenty minutes later. 

I found it exciting every time a view opened up. Views I had considered ho hum and unspectacular became inspiring. The fog reminded me of memory loss. Now, when a memory does open up, and I can glimpse an expanse of my life over time, I’m excited by it. I don’t take it for granted. That’s an aspect of growing old that interests me. So many things that were once easy can now be slow and laborious. I was aware on the trail when I needed to pee (as I frequently did) how simple maneuvers like buttoning and unbuttoning, lowering trousers, grabbing and positioning my pStyle (don’t know what it is? See https://smile.amazon.com/pStyle/dp/B07CRSDWR3) are challenging for me and require a lot of attention.  I’ve noticed in general that many activities I used to be able to count on doing skillfully in the background (without conscious attention) don’t work as well. I drop glasses I pick up if my attention isn’t fully on the act of holding them. It used to be I could count on my brain just to do what needed to be done and alert me if something odd was going on that needed conscious attention. Now the actions don’t go smoothly - and the alerts don’t work consistently.  For example, I was pulled over for speeding and the officer informed me he had followed me quite a distance with lights flashing. In the past I could drive in semi -reverie and my brain would notice the flashing lights and alert me that something is happening that needs conscious attention. Now I must keep all attention in the road and consciously scan in front and on my sides and behind. That background attention just isn’t working the way it used to. What interests me most about this is how much I am coming to appreciate the intricacies of a human mind as my mental dexterity diminishes. Isn’t it amazing that a brain could do all that? And I wasn’t really aware of what a gift it was until it began diminishing. I think getting old can be an amazing lesson in the wonders of living in a human body and mind. 

But back to the hike. I became very interested in the color of madrona trees (which I love). The smooth skin seemed to be tan now, or gold, rather than the light green (I’ve lost the word for that intense shade of light green) I also love. I wondered if the light green was a seasonal color - like spring. Then I found some of them were light green. Which in turn led to a reverie in individual differences and how instead himsn it is to want to systematize and generalize about just about everything. I’ll come back when I remember the color’s name - maybe google can tell me. Well no luck but it came to me: chartreuse. Only google suggests that word is for the wrong color.  Oh well. Here’s my collage of madrona trunk skins of various colors. 

Other meditations on the trail included shades (and sizes) of gray and how the more I focused on gray the less I saw of gray and the more I saw all the colors around it (green and reddish brown). This made me think of gray in relation to both winter and getting old. I think some people want to look away from the gray. But I love to focus on it and when I do I start to notice all the other stuff that’s not gray. 

Now if you look really closely at the photo on the lower right you will see a gray mitten. This is actually the unifying theme of this post because the same mitten that I lost at the beginning of the hike in the car  I lost again toward the end of the hike at North Valley Lookout. I was trying to identify the part of the island I was looking at, so I took off my right mitten so I could pull out my iPhone and check the map, assuming that my left hand would hold it and return it when I needed it. Guess what? It didn’t happen. Shades of gray. The old gray matter she ain’t what she used to be. But I was lucky enough to retrace my steps and find it on the ground. I am trying to persuade you (and myself) that growing old can be an adventure just like hiking through the wonders of the natural world. 

Another meditation: so I notice all these baby trees growing out of old stumps and I wonder “could I do that at home?”  We just had two large and lovely old fits but down because they were leaning a bit too closely over the house, too likely to fall in a big wind and crash through the roof. Now we have these big stumps standing around like ghosts of the dead trees reminding us that we sacrificed them to our comfort and peace of mind. Wouldn’t it be nice to have new life spring out of those stumps? So as I walk I fantasize googling how can I get a baby tree to grow from my stump. Then I find this imaginary friend walking with me, telling me yes, he’s wondered the same thing. If it happens in nature, why not at home. Only do you notice, he asks me, how many stumps don’t have young trees growing out of them? The ratio is at least twenty to one. At first he said I thought the stumps with growth (some have moss, some other plants, some young trees) were convex and had pine needles and other debris composting in then to provide soil. Then I thought maybe it was the older stumps that were beginning to decompose. Later I wondered if it was all about location - you notice how often the stumps in the shade have nothing growing on them. I’m afraid it’s all very complicated he said and I doubt if I can answer your question. But what I loved is the way my imaginary friend has me looking at stumps and noticing the differences between them. 

Oops I left out the most important example - and the one of course that links up with yesterday’s reverie on cycles (seasons and grandchildren). The baby tree growing out of the old stump. 

At one moment I was walking up from the south trailhead through an especially verdant area and amazed to see all that green in the middle of winter. It gave me joy and it made me think of Chris teaching - her age a kind of winter, her teaching so alive and passionate and GREEN. 

At one point I took a photo of a falls and was disappointed because the photo failed so utterly to convey the sound and the motion which is what moving water is all about. So I imagined you asking me, so why don’t you take a video? So at the next falls I did. They are seasonal too. There isn’t much water around in summer or even early fall. But as it turns out I can only post videos from Vimeo or YouTube and I’m not about to post my 9 second waterfall there so you will have to imagine all that sound and movement. It’s a wonderful thing to see and hear. 

The thing about a hikeathon - and blogging about it - it exhausts me totally. But it sure does make me fall head over heels with being alive. Thank you for your companionship and for making it all possible.