Comet Chasing

I'd heard little bits and pieces about the Comet NEOWISE on the news, but didn't pay much attention until my Facebook feed starting showing fabulous photos of the comet taken by local photographers.  Then my neighbor Cheri asked me if I was interested in joining her for an evening photography session.  Although I'd never before tried capturing the night sky, it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up.

Comet NEOWISE

Cheri had recently joined a local photography club.  A group of women from her club planned an outing to capture the comet.  Weather conditions (clear skies) were predicted for last Wednesday night, so we all met in nearby Hood River and caravaned out to a remote road near the town of Dufur next to an old, abandoned schoolhouse.

Center Ridge Schoolhouse

I discovered the Center Ridge Schoolhouse, a local photography landmark, was a great subject, especially bathed in soft evening light.

Wheat fields and Mt Hood

The schoolhouse was surrounded by golden wheat fields.  Two Cascade peaks - Mt Hood and Adams, lined the horizon.  What a great place for landscape photography!

Sunburst behind the schoolhouse

Seven ladies gathered on the gravel road opposite the schoolhouse, set up tripods, and waited for the sun to drop.

Sunburst from a schoolhouse window

Being the rank amateur of the group, I paid close attention to what the other women were photographing.  When the sun sank behind the school, I noticed everyone shooting pics of the building.  Then I noticed the sun's setting rays shining through a window.  Aha - sunburst images!

Sun's last rays

It was a beautiful sunset.  The sky glowed orange and pink.

Wonderful light on the prairie

Last light illuminated the prairies and wheat fields.

Mt Adams and a tangerine sky

The sky behind Mt Adams was a lovely shade of orange (tangerine skies! Isn't that a song?)

Wonderful sunset colors

With darkness fast approaching, my companions and I eagerly scanned the sky for signs of NEOWISE.

The comment appeared shortly after 10 pm

And then around 10:00 someone spotted it below the Big Dipper in the Northwest sky.  At first the comet was merely a pinprick of light, but as the sky grew darker, it became brighter.

The stars began to shine brighter

I am forever indebted to the photography club ladies who gave me many good tips on how to properly capture a night sky.  One lady showed me how to use "mirror lockup," another told me to get a good focus on the schoolhouse before it got dark (great advice!), and others gave suggestions on shutter speeds, ISO, and apertures.  Thanks to their help, I'm happy to report my first attempt at night photography was successful.  I came away with many images I liked.

Star-filled sky

Time seemed to pass so quickly.  I was in total awe of not only the comet, but also the star-filled night sky.  Far away from city light pollution, it was filled with millions of twinkling stars.  I even saw the Milky Way.  I thought about trying to capture that too, but didn't want to lose my focus on the schoolhouse or change lenses.

"Light painting" the schoolhouse

For the grand finale one of the women shined a flashlight on the schoolhouse while the rest of us opened our shutters.  Known as "light painting" the brief burst of light illuminated the building against the dark sky.  I really liked the result.

Since Comet NEOWISE only comes around once in 6,800 years I was glad to have taken the opportunity to not only observe but photograph its journey across the night sky.  An absolutely amazing experience!  Totally worth the late bedtime. 

Bayocean Spit

I've hiked most of the trails along the northern Oregon coast, some several times.  But now hoping to avoid the popular crowded coastal areas in this time of Covid, I perused the internet for lesser known destinations.  Bayocean Spit, a sandy finger of land jutting into Tillamook Bay, garnered my attention.  An 8-mile loop that circled this skinny peninsula boasted sandy beaches, lovely bay views, and great birdwatching.  Not only that, but it was also the site of one of Oregon's strangest ghost towns.  How had this place managed to fly under my radar until now?  Intrigued, I added it to my "must hike" list.

Walking the road towards the trailhead

The last Friday of May I decided to check it out.  However, it was strawberry season and after spending the morning picking berries at a very crowded, un-social distanced u-pick farm (I swear when strawberries are ripe, some people lose their minds!) I needed a break from crowds.  Heading west towards the coastal town of Tillamook I looked forward to a quiet afternoon of beach walking, photography, and bird watching.

Map of the spit

The hike traversed a narrow sliver of land jutting between Tillamook Bay and the Pacific Ocean.  An abandoned road hugged the bay side of this spit, while hikers followed the sandy coastal shoreline on the ocean side.  Trails between the two criss-crossed the interior, so one could make the hike as long or short as they desired.

Interesting patterns at water's edge

Happy for the sunny skies, I was looking forward to capturing some great beach and bird images.  But as I drove through the town of Tillamook, strong winds began buffeting my car.  Hmmm... not a good sign - if it was already windy in town, this didn't bode well for the beaches.

The trailhead parking area was accessed by driving one mile across a narrow dike onto the spit itself.  However, upon arrival I discovered the road to the spit closed, gated at the highway.  Parking in a nearby gravel shoulder, I stepped outside only to be blasted by a huge gust.  Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Marshy fringe of Tillamook Bay

Although gated, the road to the spit appeared to be open to hikers.  Should I go for it anyway?  Walking the road to the trailhead would add an extra mile each way to my daily total.  Since it was already afternoon, covering the entire loop was unlikely, especially now that it would be 10 miles instead of 8.  After a bit of hemming and hawing I decided to give the loop a try - I'd driven all this way and it was silly to let a little wind and two extra miles stop me.

Interesting clouds

Shouldering my backpack and camera bag, I took off down the long gravel road connecting the spit to the main highway.  High winds blasted my face, threatening to blow off my cap (until I got smart and buried it in my backpack).  Views were wonderful.  Tillamook Bay's grassy, muddy shore on one side, and Cape Meares Lake on the other.  Pebbly clouds floated in a blue sky.  Bright yellow Scotch Broom lined the grassy road edges.  Although invasive, it provided a nice punch of color.

Old homesite marker

During research for this trail, I'd stumbled across a wealth of history.  This narrow strip of land was once home to a planned resort community.  Nicknamed the "Atlantic City of the West" the city of Bayocean was platted in 1906 by a realtor named T.B. Potter.  Potter had high hopes, touting his development as the "playground of millionaires."  He built a hotel, roads, and sold homesites.  By 1914 with over 600 lots sold, the town's population swelled to 2,000 people and it boasted a dance hall, hotel, movie theater, bowling alley, tennis courts, a private railroad, and 4 miles of paved roads. The crowing accomplishment was construction of a 160-foot long heated saltwater swimming pool right on the beach.

Bayocean townsite marker

However, built on unstable sand dunes, in 1928 erosion started claiming the seaward side of the beach.  Construction of a jetty on the north side of Tillmook Bay further hastened the town's destruction.  In 1932, waves from a large storm destroyed the swimming pool building.  Winter storms throughout the 30s and 40s further demolished the town, as one by one, houses crumbled and fell into the sea.  By 1952, the road connecting the spit to the mainland was washed away, creating an island.  What little remained of the town was demolished during a dike building project in 1956.  The last building, a garage, finally tumbled into the ocean in 1971.

Colorful salal bushes

Ironically, construction of a second jetty on the south side of Tillamook Bay's entrance caused sand to re-accumulate on the spit, rebuilding the once-lost land area.  Today the old townsite has become a county park, with hiking trails and informal walk-in campsites.

Ocean side of the spit

After a long walk along the road, I came to the parking area and trailhead.  Although eager to see the beach, I decided to continue along the road a little longer.  A half mile later, I came upon an interpretive display, explaining the history of the "town that fell into the sea."  A side trail led into the brushy interior, taking hikers to the Bayocean townsite.  There wasn't much to see.  A large sign commemorated the townsite's former location, and a few scattered posts marked past occupant's houses.  Staring across this barren land, it was hard to imagine a town of 600 plus homes once existed here.

Footprints

Following the trail through salal bushes led me up a dune to the beach itself.  Topping the dune I was hit full on by the wind.  And if I thought the gusts were strong along the bay, it was absolutely howling on the ocean side.  I staggered onto the beach, ducking my head against blowing sand.  I attempted a couple of photos, but wishing to preserve my camera, I quickly stuffed it safely back into it's bag.

Beach grasses blowing in the wind

My original plan had been to walk along the beach the entire length of the spit, round the northern end, and return along the bay side.  But five minutes of walking in gale-force winds was enough for me.  Spotting another trail leading back into the forested interior, I gratefully escaped.

Forested area in the middle

A forested knoll rose up in the middle of Bayocean spit.  Tall trees and lush vegetation lined its slopes, a welcome surprise from the barren beach.  Trails tunneled through thick vegetation, leading to campsites.  I'd heard of people backpacking in here and camping, and this seemed like a great place for an overnight adventure.

Buttercup

This trail once again led me out to the bayside road.  Sheltered by the forest, the wind was much gentler here and I resumed my walk northward.  Many varieties of wildflowers lined the forested roadsides - buttercup, foxgloves, wild rose, and the ubiquitous Scotch broom. 

Foxglove and Scotch broom

A bend in the road led me to another clearing with fantastic views across Tillamook Bay. 

Wild rose

Good place for a few photo ops - and a selfie attempt!

Selfie attempt

An old bench by another connector trail made a good break spot.

Break spot

I contemplated continuing north to the northern tip of the spit.  However, it was getting late, I was tiring, and knowing I had a 3.5 mile return trip to my car made me realize it was time to turn around.

Tillamook Bay looking north

On my way back, I noticed two blue herons fishing in the bay.  Although I contemplated switching out to my 200 mm zoom lens, the birds were still too far away for any good photos.  Instead, I stood and watched them for a few minutes.

I spied two blue herons

The walk back was lovely.  Evening light began to illuminate the bay's waters to a nice shade of blue.
Scotch Broom glowed golden in the fading sun.

Tillamook Bay looking southeast

Adjacent hills across the bay rose up to frame the scenes.

Loved the different colors and patterns

As I trudged past the trailhead parking area, I noticed a couple of cars were now parked here.  As I began the final mile across the dike a passenger vehicle came rumbling down the road.  Looking far ahead, I realized the gate was now open!  Not sure why it had been closed in the first place (maybe it was for some type of maintenance).

Looking east across the bay

No matter, I had a lovely walk across the final mile, peering across Cape Meares Lake and glimpsing Cape Meares and the ocean far beyond.

Colorful, swampy edge to the bay

Happy to fit in a hike and discover another new, fascinating place on the Oregon Coast!  I'll definitely return on calmer day and explore the entire coastline.  Maybe I'll even camp overnight.

Cape Meares Lake

While doing research for this blog post, I came across a very interesting video produced by Oregon Public Broadcasting.  It gives a great overview of the history of Bayocean city.

Bird Bath

In the early days of the pandemic, when nearly everything was shut down, I made a lot of visits to the local parks.  I sought out birds to hone my newly-acquired wildlife photography skills.  One of my favorites was Fernhill Wetlands, a lovely nature preserve located next to the regional water treatment facility. 

Splish-splash, time for a bath!

One day in May I spotted a robin splashing in a mud puddle.  The little guy was so focused on getting himself clean he didn't notice me and my big lens.

Throwing the water around

So I set the camera on action mode and fired off several frames, capturing the robin's splashy antics.

Blub-blub

Later at home, after downloading the photos, I discovered several that I liked.

Those water droplets are flying!

 These sequences tell a story - and some of the freeze action is hugely entertaining!

Let's get the face

If you're in need of a smile (and who isn't these days?) take a visual stroll through these series of images.  I dare you not to grin.

And underneath the wings

Fluffy red breast

Flap the wings dry

"Here goes my belly flop!"

Every now and then, the robin would hoist himself high, and then flop back into the puddle.

Ker-splash!

I especially love this capture, with all the water droplets suspended in mid-air.

All poofy and clean!

In the end, Mr. Robin finally emerged from the puddle, his feathers fluffed and clean.  Now, time to go find the ladies!

Social Distancing at Mt. St. Helens

May 18th was Mt. St. Helens' 40th "eruptiversary" (aka the 40th anniversary of its famous 1980 eruption).  In honor of such an event, I decided it was only fitting to give the old girl a proper visit.

Keeping my social distance from MSH

So the following weekend, I grabbed hiking boots and backpack and made the 2-hour drive north to pay my respects.  It didn't cross my mind that maybe Memorial Day weekend wasn't a good time for such a visit.  But when I pulled into the Hummocks Trailhead parking area and there were already a dozen vehicles at 8 am, I knew I'd have some company.

Alder forest on the Hummocks Trail

Johnston Ridge Observatory, the closest visitor center to the mountain, usually opens their doors Mother's Day weekend.  But due to COVID it still remained closed in late May.  As a matter of fact, you couldn't even drive up there.  The road to the Observatory was barricaded at the Hummocks Trailhead.

One of many picturesque ponds

But I'd already hatched a plan.  From reading online hiking reports, and pouring over a few maps, I knew that the Boundary Trail would take me from the Hummocks parking area to the Observatory.  A portion of the trail I'd never hiked before (because driving up the steep hill to Johnston Ridge was much easier!)

Creek crossings

Because climbing up to Johnston Ridge straight from the Boundary Trail wasn't enough I decided to first begin with the Hummocks loop.  This trail wandered 2.5 miles through an area dotted with small hills and ponds.  Low-angle morning sun, just beginning to peek over the mountains, lit up the adjacent Alder woods beautifully.

The hummock mounds are being covered in trees

Formed by the landslide created by Mt. St. Helens eruption, this area was initially a badlands of barren rockpiles covered in gray ash.  A gravelly plain next to the Toutle River, it consisted of small hills, or mounds, of rock debris with tiny ponds wedged in between.  Although bleak and barren in the years immediately following the eruption, 40 years of  healing had filled it in nicely with tall trees and lush green plants.

Morning light through the trees

And luckily so far I had the trail all to myself (I assumed all the other hikers were hiking the loop in the opposite direction).  I passed by a cute little pond, surrounded by thick alder groves.  At the far end, I crossed the outlet creek via a couple of well placed wooden bridges.

Green now covers the devastation

The light was so fantastic for photography, it took me much longer than usual to cover the first mile. After twisting and turning through the alder woods, the trail finally popped out into an open area.  It was here I got my first full view of MSH herself.  She was glorious as always, surrounded by a halo of pebbly clouds.

First view of MSH

About then I encountered my first hiker, an older man.  I was wearing a buff, so I quickly pulled it over my nose and mouth.  The man did the same, and keeping an appropriate distance apart we briefly chatted about the local trails.

Toutle River

From this first viewpoint, the trail dived in and out of the woods, and up and down a few of the hummock hills.  Great views were had on each little summit.  At one point, I got a great look down into the Toutle River, it's channel surrounded by a wide, gravelly plain.

Tiny lupine

And of course the wildflowers were just getting started.  I saw a few nice patches of tiny lupine flowers, wild strawberry blooms, and a few hardy Indian Paintbrush pushing themselves up to the sky.

Many ponds dot the Hummocks loop

Although I thought I'd hiked the Hummocks Loop many, many years ago, I didn't remember a thing about it.  So today's trek was like discovering a new trail all over again!  And what a fine trail it was.  I made a mental note to definitely return for fall colors.

Boundary Trail junction

After a very slow, copious photo-taking two miles, I finally arrived at the junction with the Boundary Trail.  Situated in the middle of a large clearing, the mountain's white summit filled the horizon.  It was quite the impressive sight.

Fantastic views of MSH from the Boundary Trail

Okay, time to start up to Johnston Ridge!  Sitting 1700 feet higher than the Hummocks I was in for a climb over the next 4-ish miles.

Entire hillsides of decapitated trees from the eruption

After passing by a few straggler hummocks and another nice pond, the forest opened up to a barren ridge.  Although the MSH views were stellar, it was sad to see all the broken-off tree stumps scattered about, still-visible casualties of the eruption.

Crater close-up

As I began the first of several steep climbs, I gazed at the barren landscape and wondered why trees had failed to establish themselves here.  I'm sure the scientists studying this area have an answer.  (I could probably also Google it too).

Time to climb!

But lack of trees made for stunning vistas.  Topping the first ridge I could see far down the Toutle River drainage.  At one point I even spotted the western end of nearby Coldwater Lake.  And of course, the views of MSH just kept getting better and better.

Barren hillside

So far I'd only encountered a dozen other hikers.  When passing each other on the trail, one of us would politely step off, turn away, and pull up their face covering (usually it was me).  The lack of people and the fact that most everyone I'd met so far was keeping their distance and/or donning masks made me feel safe from any virus transmission.

Nearing Johnston Ridge

It seemed to take forever to reach Johnston Ridge.  The muggy weather and the fact that I wasn't yet in top hiking shape didn't help.  But little by little, I covered the distance and elevation until I finally spotted the road and Loowit Viewpoint.  It was weird to see both totally void of people and cars.  I did a quick pass-by of the viewpoint, checking out a few of the information plaques.  But my destination, and lunch spot, weren't far now.  Only another half mile!

Empty Johnston Ridge Observatory

The final ridge between Loowit Viewpoint and the Observatory was extremely picturesque.  Not only were the mountain views impressive, the hillsides were dotted with tiny white blooms of wild strawberries.  I thought it was the prettiest section of the entire hike.

Killer mountain views from the observatory

Finally the trail led me to the road in front of the Observatory's large and completely empty parking lot.  Following the pavement I climbed the last steep walkway to the building itself.  Usually an extremely busy place, it was strange to be the only person there.

I had the place to myself!

Perching myself on one of the low plaza walls I took a well-deserved break, eating my lunch while taking in the fabulous views of MSH.  The mountain looked so close it appeared only a short jaunt would bring you to it's crater (I know better, MSH is much farther away than it looks).  A young couple with large backpacks strolled by, and I learned they were heading towards Mt Margaret for a couple nights of camping.

Wild strawberry flowers

Except for the backpacking couple passing through, I had the Observatory plaza to myself the entire time.  After lunch and a few selfies to commemorate the occasion, I decided it was time to return to my car. 

The hillsides below Johnston Ridge were full of wild strawberry blossoms

Heading back down the first ridge, the light was nice, so I snapped a few more images of the flower-lined trail.  Judging by the abundant amount of blooms, it looked to be a good strawberry season.  I made a mental note to plan a visit later in the summer when the berries were ripe.

I need to come back at berry time!

Early starts are always a good thing.  On my way back down, I ran into at least five hiking parties between the Observatory and Loowit Viewpoint.  It seemed the rest of the world had woken up and decided to hike the same trail as me.  If I'd been even a half hour later I wouldn't have had Johnston Ridge Observatory to myself.

Wildlife sighting

Past Loowit Viewpoint the parade of people continued.  Still, most folks were being polite, covering their faces, and stepping aside, so I had no issues.

Lovely red currant bush in bloom

While descending, I passed a few lovely red current bushes in full bloom, which called for a quick photo stop.

Red currant flower close-up

The closer I got to the Boundary Trail/Hummocks junction, the more people I encountered.  And the closer I got the parking lot, the less considerate people became.

Toutle River's barren channel

By the time I returned to the Hummocks Trail it was packed with people.  This short scenic loop brought out the novice hikers in droves.  At the junction, I was dismayed to see several kids clearly off trail, kicking rocks down a hill.  (In this sensitive area that is still recovering, hikers are supposed to stay on the trail)  I was saddened to see several picked wildflowers lying in the middle of the path.  And nearly every group (and most were large) I encountered wouldn't move aside at all and no one was covering their face.  As I covered the final half mile to the parking lot, tired from having hiked nearly 10.5 miles, my patience wore thin as I continually had to step off the trail to let mobs of people pass by.  It was the longest half mile of my life!  (Note to self - never visit Mt St Helens on a holiday weekend)

Goodbye MSH!

Despite the rough ending, it had been great to visit Mt St Helens, hike a new trail, and honor her 40th eruption anniversary.  Wonder what the area will look like in another 40 years?