Glimpses of history at Garfield Ledges Trail

Scraggly trees at the edge of a huge boulder overlook a misty valley

A misty day at Garfield Ledges Trail

looking up at Garfield Ledges

Looking up at Garfield Ledges from the Taylor River (2020)

Garfield Ledges Trail is a relatively recent addition to the Middle Fork recreational area. For a last summer hurrah, we headed up for a hike over Labor Day weekend. The day was cool and misty — it seemed that fall had beaten us. Yet higher in the mountains, spring comes later too — we saw a faded trillium, bleeding heart just fading, and still-blooming fireweed.

The smooth trail winds up a steep hillside, at times ascending stairs. A second growth forest shades the trail, spindly trees growing close together over an understory of sword ferns. Everywhere you look, there are rocks — in the carved out edges of the trail, it appears the earth of the hillside is more rock than soil. Slabs of rock emerge from sheets of moss filigreed by red huckleberry.

Sometimes second-growth forests are dull, but this one was rich with history. Massive stumps dot the forest along the entire trail. Logged a hundred years ago, most have lost their bark and serve as a base for new trees and red huckleberry shrubs to grow. In some places, the felled trees appear to have been left beside their stump. Even on a gray day, the effervescent green of the red huckleberry glowed electric. Snags, too, stand amidst the living trees. The past and the present are intertwined; the long now of a forest is much longer than people’s. This is the magic of a mature ecosystem.

At the top of the short trail, a small rocky ledge reveals an expansive vista of the wide Middle Fork river valley, carved long ago by glaciers. An interpretive sign pictures the valley below when it was freshly logged in the 1930s.

Trailhead signboard at Garfield Ledges Trail including an area map showing trails and recreation sites

The Garfield Ledges Trail starts from a relatively new parking area at the start of the road to the Dutch Miller Gap

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A summer evening stroll on the Sammamish River

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bridge over the Sammamish River, reflecting in the still water

We crossed this footbridge over the Sammamish River, where a couple paddled lazily on the calm water, and strolled along the riverfront trail. The air was lightly hazy with lingering smoke, but not into unhealthy territory. This is August, now.

As families and commuters on bikes zipped past, we soaked in the fragrance of sun-warmed berries. Ripe blackberries: the smell of August in the Northwest. Fittingly, I’d enjoyed a blackberry basil milkshake with our dinner on a sun-baked patio.

A well-worn but unsigned dirt path cut through a gap in the foliage — following it, we discovered the Burke Gilman trail just a hundred yards away.

It’s been years since we last visited Bothell — well before the pandemic. The downtown has filled in with apartments and shops, with more under construction. Native shrubs erupt from a gap between road and sidewalk where a daylit creek runs through downtown. Art and artistic lighting decorate comfortably broad sidewalks. I was charmed by a sculpture of a baby bear set right outside the library as if peering in at the kids reading inside.

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Beautiful nature & infrastructure at Riverside State Park

a wooden suspension bridge crosses the white-rough river upstream of a massive rock formation on the far bank

We found ourselves with a couple hours to kill in Eastern Washington; a quick search turned up Riverside State Park as a popular nearby destination. The “Pitcher and Bowl” area of the park, on the Spokane River, features massive rough rock formations on the river’s edge.

We stopped at a(n I assume CCC-built) overlook where wildflowers and scraggly pines sprung out of the cliffside. I couldn’t figure out which rock was meant to be the pitcher but was blown away by the view anyway. After picnicking on cheese, crackers, and cherries, we headed across the narrow wood-decked suspension bridge — a more structurally sound recreation of the original CCC era design (though a few of the boards gave more than I preferred given the rushing water beneath 😅). I’m glad that the engineers tasked with building a new bridge took the effort to recreate the appearance of the original.

Whenever I see the craftsmanship of the Civilian Conservation Corps, I feel we’ve lost something in our infrastructure since the 1930s. There is value in being surrounded by a beautiful built world, not merely utilitarian as many projects seem to be today to save budget. I get the whole point of the CCC was to basically keep people busy and let them earn money (though I recently learned the program excluded Black workers 😑) so America built park amenities that we wouldn’t have invested in otherwise. Nevertheless, I wish our society could recognize the aesthetic value resulting from that labor and be willing to make similar investments today.

huge rock formations jut up out of the water and along the river's edge as it widens or curves

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Tidepooling at Golden Gardens

A great blue heron stands near the low tide line beside a mostly drained bed of eelgrass

We saw a number of great blue herons taking advantage of low tide

A couple weeks ago, we had pretty low tides in the Seattle area (-3 feet), so my husband and I headed across the lake to the Puget Sound to Golden Gardens in Ballard. Low tide was at 2, perfect time for a picnic lunch at the beach beforehand. I pulled up a Mexican restaurant that sounded decent en route, but when we pulled up it was dead while the Puerto Rican joint across the street was hopping — we decided the locals must know something we didn’t and snagged ourselves some Caribbean takeout.

We headed up the beach about an hour before low tide, avoiding crowds. Bedecked in long sleeves and hats to protect our skin from the hot sun, we waded through the shallow receding waters up the long exposed beach. Geoducks spurted water at us, shooting as high as my shoulder. Volunteers from the Seattle Aquarium flagged us over to see interesting specimens and answer questions while seagulls and crows feasted on unlucky crabs.

I appreciate that every place I’ve been tidepooling in Washington has been a little bit different, home to different creatures and niches. At Golden Garden, tucked in the crevices under rocks, in the eelgrass shallows, and mixed in with the seaweed, we saw:

  • Moon snail egg collar and shells
  • Multiple kinds of crabs
  • Purple starfish
  • Geoducks! We’d never seen them before!
  • A midshipman male fish guarding his eggs
  • Sea anemones in a variety of colors 🌈
  • Sea cucumbers — fluorescent orange! 😍
  • Chitons and barnacles and clams
  • Great blue herons and seagulls and crows
  • So many colors and types of kelp and seaweed
a moon snail collar of eggs blends into the sand that makes it up, a near perfect "donut", between bright green eelgrass stretched long with the water flowing out

The first moon snail egg collar we saw, we assumed was litter 😂 An excited teenager saw us pick it up and came over to set us straight 👍

Two double-tubed mollusc siphons emerge from a sandy bed in shallow water, surrounded by green and yellow kelp

Geoducks (we think)! Their siphons stick up out of the sand and squirt water occasionally

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Rockhounding in the mountains

moss covered big leaf maple reflects in a still creek beside a shady sandbar with small boulders

When we updated our yard, we bought a bunch of rock from the stone yard (granite, from the Cascade foothills I believe). We thought it would be fun to also add a couple rocks from our favorite river — the first place we camped together — taking advantage of the “land of many uses.” Checking online, the Forest Service guidance we found allows for limited collection of rocks without the use of tools for personal use. (We stopped by the ranger station to confirm, but they’re closed on Thursdays 🤷‍♀️)

We headed to our usual spot for a picnic first, then wandered down to the river bank to scope out the rocks. Large bars of rock and gravel build up in rivers here, so a panoply of options awaited. We ruled out anything mossy or on the water’s edge in case river creatures were living on it.

At first glance, all the rocks blend together, but hunting for one special enough to bring home makes their differences clear: the color and composition of each rock, any striping or unique features, its shape and size. All the rock’s characteristics must harmonize to be pleasing as a standalone specimen. Some were iron-tinted, most were gray or flecked black-and-white — granite? diorite? it’s been literally 20 years since I took geology 😂 We considered a few candidates at first, but as soon as we saw “the one,” we knew it: that rock was special.

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