Hippity Hoppity - Where's the Wapati?

The third week of November in Utah is supposed to be cold. The ski resorts are supposed to be open on Thanksgiving. The mercury should dip well below freezing every morning. Not this year. When we landed in Salt Lake, the surrounding mountains rose majestically in the distance, but the tops were brown, not snowy white. After spending Friday working virtually in Salt Lake we headed toward those mountains - up to 7,000 feet, about 100 miles from the city. On the way to the cabin we saw a figure crouched in the dark, on the side of the road. We backed up and opened the door for a lonely, friendly Border Collie. The Vilvens seem to gain dogs by fate, and this one was fated to become a part of the family.

Deer munched happily in the fields around the cabin, basking in the sunshine and apparently aware that deer season was over. Big bucks bounded after the does - big bucks that had been mysteriously absent during the deer hunt. We headed to the lowlands, where the large herds of elk had resided the year before, confident that we’d get an elk on opening day. We followed our normal routine – one gun going in on the bottom side of the ridge, the other driving around to the top in case the herd broke for the fence line. It was a good plan – except the elk weren’t there.

Blaming the hot, dry fall, we left the winter range after walking a few potholes which were devoid of fresh sign. After lunch we hopped on the four-wheelers and ascended the mountain over McDonnell basin. Once again, deer peered out from amongst the aspen, which towered like fence-posts against the watery, blue sky. Cruising comfortably along the dirt roads, we realized this hunt might not be over as quickly as we suspected. Not even a flake of snow was present, even at the top, where does and fawns indicated that the animals had not moved down for the winter.

On the way back, we finally caught a glimpse of a small herd of elk through the naked, white trunks. They trotted through the trees, two-hundred yards into the grove. We followed them on the four-wheeler, but were unable to get a descent shot, so went home empty-handed.

Sunday and Monday proved equally futile. Monday Salt Lake had a record high of 72 degrees – which translated to a balmy 65 degrees up in the mountain. The deer filled the fields like rabbits, but the elk remained elusive. We scoured the sagebrush in the trucks, tramped through cedar-filled ridges, and buzzed around on the four-wheeler. We saw does, fawns, bucks, cotton-tails, golden eagles, moose, and grouse. But only signs of elk. It is pretty bad when the highlight of your day is stumbling upon fresh elk pee.

Finally, on Tuesday, we got a break. The temperature dropped to 8 degrees in the morning. No moisture meant no snow, but we hoped the drop in barometric pressure would convince the elk that winter was finally here. Before checking out a new place, we hit up our normal haunt in the lowlands and hit the jackpot. The local herd of elk was there, hiding in the cedars. Scouring the flats as the sun rose, we finally saw them. Jon drove them straight towards Kim, who got some shots off. Startled, the elk headed for the ridgetop. We raced along the rutted, dirt road – the Jeep rattling and clanking as we went – and kicked it into reverse to catch the nine cows just as they crested the hill, panting from the sprint.

With our two tags filled, Kim was able to set off for Kansas in time to spend Thankgiving there. Kelly’s mom came out from California, knowing only that a “surprise” was waiting for her in the form of a cowdog. The last few days were crisp, with highs close to freezing – much more normal. Kelly ran around to catch some last pictures, although the cold had forced many of the animals to bed-down until late in the morning. After a pleasant hike through the aspens she spotted a young, bull moose. Apparently moose do not like having their pictures taken. He chased us down the road, through the yellow gate, across the half-frozen creek – straight back to the car. Hopefully a few of the pictures will turn out after all that effort.

The ski resorts were frantically making snow as we passed on the way back to Salt Lake. We left the cold but clear, dry air of the Salt Lake valley for the welcome humidity in overcast Seattle.

Los Papas

After a few days of lazing about the cabin it was time for a little action. The Tractor Tavern had just what we needed – the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies. We got there plenty early, but had to return to the car when we ended up being 3 dollars short of the admission price. The guys at the door were incredulous when we showed up with a handful of change to cover the rest of the cover, but still sold us the last two tickets.

The floor was so crowded that dancing was pretty much impossible, although some of the more intoxicated onlookers tried their best. Watching the keyboardist was worth the price of admission – and seeing the band live really added to the music.

Rodrigo y Gabriella

Spontaneity can be a lot more fun than planning out an event, as we found out on Halloween this year. Instead of trick-or-treating we rushed from Kelly’s class up to the Paramount in Seattle where Rodrigo y Gabriella were playing. A mix of acoustic flamenco and heavy metal, this Mexican-Irish pair have a unique sound whether they are playing their own songs or a Pink Floyd cover. As much fun as the music is watching them play – their hands moving so fast even the video cameras couldn’t keep up. One problem with spontaneity is the possibility that, in the last-minute rush to get tickets and a spot on the floor, you might forget where your car is…

Lock, Yacht & Salmon?

Hoping to catch a concert in the park one sunny afternoon, we drove up to Ballard to the Crittenden Locks. This turned out to be a pretty fascinating place, even though one of the dock workers told us there wasn’t a concert that day. When boats transition from the freshwater of the sound to the salt water they must pass through the locks to avoid mixing the two types of water. A beautiful day draws quite a number and variety of boats, from million-dollar yachts to single-person ocean kayaks. Workers guide the boats into the locks based on size where they wait for water to either fill or drain, depending on which direction they are going. People are not the only one traversing the waters. Salmon struggle along in the strong current, their efforts visible from the many underwater viewing windows.

Un Dia Perfecto

If there is such a thing as a perfect, fall day - the day we went to Colchuck had to come close. We arrived in Leavenworth around 9 am but, unlike our last trip there in July, it was not hot. The wan autumn sunshine filtered through the trees at the trailhead creating light, but not much else. Despite our gloves and jackets, we were still shivering in the crisp air as we set off. The trail wound through the forest, not too steep - but enough of a workout that we were soon pulling off the gloves and unzipping the jackets. The dim green of evergreens was broken intermittenly by yellow and brown maples. These glimpses of color were temporarily exciting as each could be the gold leaves of the larches we were searching for. We crossed a few wooden bridges and eventually arrived at Colchuck Lake, just as the sun began to shine in earnest.

Fog wafted off the wet stumps by an old dam at the closest end of the lake. Impressive Dragontail and jagged Colchuck rose majestically at the far end, casting an imposing shadow on Asgard Pass. The still silence of the mountains was broken only by our footsteps and the occasional pip of a pika. After carefully maneuevering across the half-submerged logs at the dam, we worked our way around the edge of the lake, enjoying the solitude and the placid water. Larches rose up from the shore like golden flames against the almost unnatural teal water. The sun rotated around until it was peeking over the edge of the pass, which looked less menacing the closer we got. A herd of larches marched their way into the basin from the Upper Enchantments, seemingly headed toward the lake to join their vibrant friends.

Illuminated by the sun, the brilliant needles were almost transparent against the pure, blue sky. A small beach, still covered in frost and ice looked back toward Leavenworth. Artistic black swirls appeared in the granite sand, the gentle curves contrasting with the sharp peaks of the mountains around us. I felt as if I could stay there forever and be happy. But the sun was already making its way back down behind the mountains, as if it didn't quite have the energy to pop up over Dragontail.
Since we had come to see the larches, we aimed for a large cluster about half-way up the now shadowy pass. Pika tracks dotted the snow-dusted rocks. From the grouping of the prints it seemed like the fuzzy mountain hamsters had hopped from rock to rock. We heard them chirping around us as the stashed leaves for the winter, but my shy cousins kept their distance. A few couples struggled up Asgard, headed for a campsite in the Enchantments. Without the heavy packs and with the tantalizing view, the snowy pass didn't seem so daunting. We turned back as we began to run out of space on our memory cards, arriving at the parking lot well after dark because of a little confusion about the path. Even the bustle of Oktoberfest and the iffy food we ordered couldn't break the peaceful feeling that came from experiencing what has to be one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

Do The Puyallup

Since it was the last weekend for the legendary Puyallup fair we headed down for some cow-petting, Krusty Pups and, most of all, people watching. Looking at the crowd piling through the gates, we knew we would be in for a good time. The line for hand-dipped corndogs and onion burgers was long, but we finally got the classic fair food. What's a fair without a rodeo, right? Well - we had missed the scheduled rodeo, but found something even better - Mutton Bustin'. This event was for kids aged 2-6. Basically, they take the unsuspecting youngsters, sit them atop a jaded, street-smart sheep and just let go. Most of the kids were bucked off within the first couple seconds, but a few clung on grimly (out of fear or determination) and made it to the end of the run. The ridden sheep gathered at the end, comparing tattoos and glaring menacingly at the children. One kid rode his sheep all the way to the ground - ending in a spectacular somersault where the boy was momentarily UNDER the beast. Second place went to a two-year-old girl who will forever be one of the few people on earth who is deathly afraid of sheep. As an outside observer one would probably be horrified to see small kids being terrorized just so their parents can get a few pictures of them being bucked off a dirty, four-legged cotton ball. However, as a spectator, it was pretty darn amusing.

After the kids had received their prize belt buckles, we wandered over to the animal displays. My favorite was the reindeer with his big, watery eyes and spindly antlers. The speckled draft horses were impressive. No dainty race-horse names like Seabiscut here. Names like Chief, Rex, and King were much more suitable for these immense but beautiful creatures. I was not a big fan of the emu, whose beady eyes and sharp beak were uncomfortably fixed on my tail. The scruffy, highland cows were cute and friendly. The young one licked Kelly's hand with it's 100-grit, sandpaper tongue while I posed for a picture.

We picked up an elephant ear and some fresh lemonade before finding a seat on the ground next to the hypnotist stage. Like the kids on the sheep, it is always amusing to watch people do silly things. While the kids were cute, however, the participants in the hypnotist show pretty much just got to make fools of themselves. I tried to get Kelly to volunteer, but she wasn't outgoing enough, so I missed my chance at fame. I'd like to try being hypnotized sometime, just to see what happens. But maybe I'll try it somewhere where I won't be on a stage in front of hundreds of people with cameras...

Windy Whidbey

Autumn storms indicated a blustery weekend, so while most people were waiting out the storm we ventured north. The weather wasn't quite as bad as we had hoped as we pulled into the line-up for the Mukilteo ferry. Since we had a 20-minute wait we wandered past the ice-cream shop and eyesore condos to check out the Mukilteo lighthouse. Situated atop a quaint little building, the red-capped watchtower looked out over the water toward Whidbey island - our destination for the day. The wind-whipped waves turned the normally tranquil bay into a small, turbulent ocean.

The upper decks of the ferry were warm and cozy, but we passed through the viewing area to the aft deck. Our wake churned up the rough water, creating a white streak against the grey skyline. After emptying a packet of saltines (swiped from the food counter) we were rewarded by the sudden appearance of hungry seagulls. They glided clumsily behind the ferry, slipping back and forth as their beady eyes watched for another morsel of cracker. We pulled into the harbor in Whidbey with a cloud of grey and white feathers gathered on what would soon be the front of the ferry.

Due to a late start, it was lunchtime by the time we got to Langley. A quiet little town with specialty shops and small restaurants, it still seemed to be waking up, even at 1pm. Above the quirky grocery/mercantile was a small bistro where we dined on tasty, Mediterranean-inspired sandwiches. The neatest shop was a bookstore tucked away in an old bank building - the vault doors still intact. The other store we went to was owned by some slick-furred cousins of mine.

The wind began to pick up as we arrived at Fort Casey, and old fortification complete with bunkers and disappearing guns. White-caps and rainclouds suited the retired fort much better than a bright, sunny day could. We explored the dark rooms and prison-like guard towers, then walked over to the lighthouse. A little more imposing than the Muckilteo lighthouse, this one also had a better view. Driftwood littered the beach that stretched from the lighthouse to distant eroded cliffs. The waves had really picked up and we saw some kid pretending to be the one directing the great splashes as the water collided with the rocks. A light rain cleared off the beach and we took shelter in the ultimate driftwood fort. Our original plan had been to see Deception Pass at sunset, but as we looked out the front entrance of the fort the sun had already begun to dip into the waves.

We made it to Deception Pass well after dark, but ventured out onto the bridge anyway. The wind and the force of the semis going by a few feet from us left me gripping tightly to the railing. Crossing over to the mainland we arrived at the only Thai place in Mount Vernon windswept and hungry.