A Dawn Makapuu Lighthouse Hike

May 18, 2015 Comments Off read Hawaii, Pacific, The Great Outdoors, Travel, USA, West

One of my thirty-three goals to accomplish this year was to take an early morning hike that ended with a sunrise view, and I felt that doing so while in Hawaii would be one of my best opportunities for a number of reasons, namely the relative ease of getting high enough to get a decent view of the horizon, and the time difference working to my advantage since I’m not what anyone would call a morning person*. After a bit of research, I determined that the hike to Makapuu Lighthouse would be the ideal morning route–only about two miles round-trip with a relatively low chance of serious injury due to hiking in the dark with a flashlight. Since I was staying on the North Shore and Makapuu Lighthouse Point is on the opposite side of the island, I set my alarm clock for 3:30 so I’d arrive at the end of the trail with plenty of time before magic hour began. Sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night so as not to wake the others was an unusual experience. Stars glittered thickly across the sky, and I saw the Milky Way for the first time.

The drive across the island was quiet, but not deserted. What was deserted was the park: it doesn’t officially open until 7am, half an hour after the sunrise. The reviews I’d read told me to expect this, to park down the road a bit, and to clamber through the gate to access the trailhead, so that’s what I did. It’s eerie hiking in the dark. Your light bobs across the trail, and you become keenly aware of everything you can’t see–all of the eyes that could be watching you approach, taking advantage of the fact that you’re on unfamiliar terrain, and circling behind you to crack you on the head and take your stuff. Yes, I have been watching too much Walking Dead recently, why do you ask?

The hike itself was easy, and ended with a rocky area that led to a few observation platforms. I arrived well before sunrise, so I had a drink of water and sat down to wait. All of a sudden, Jason said “That’s a big bird!” I saw its dark brown back half swooping around the platform and looked to see where it might have gone to get a better look. Evidently, it wanted a better look at us as well, because the next thing I knew, this enormous owl was hovering above us and darting down as if to attack. I threw my hands over my head in a defensive posture that can only be described as “horrified flailing” and immediately regretted the owl-taunting I’d engaged in recently. It swooped around us again and I seriously prepared myself to fight an owl with my purse. It pump-faked at us again and then flew away. I remained paranoid for the rest of the hike. Was there a nest nearby? Was I inadvertently getting closer to it? It was one of those rare moments in life where you hope to not find something. You want the cancer scan to be clear, the house to have gone undisturbed in your absence, and the attack owl to be anywhere other than where you are. Eventually, I saw another spot of light moving up the trail, which confirmed my earlier suspicions about how easy it is for others to see and track a light while the carrier of the light has no idea that they’re being observed. I watched them until they made their way to the other platform. By that time, golden light had begun creeping over the horizon. As it grew closer to dawn, more and more people arrived, much too talkative for this early in the day. What never really arrived was the sunrise. It got progressively brighter, but a cloud wall obscured the actual sunrise, and shortly after that, fog rolled in and it began to rain. By the time we made it back down to our car, the parking lot was packed full of cars and tour buses, and I was glad I’d gone before the rest of the world was awake. It was an amazing trip–just watch out for the owl. *I can’t even count the number of times that I’ve said to myself before going to sleep that I was going to start getting up early and exercising in the mornings, but I can tell you that when every single one of those mornings has come, I responded to my previous day’s resolve with “ugh, no” and burrowed deeper into the covers.

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Lilac Days in Woodland, WA

May 4, 2015 2 Comments read Attractions, Pacific, The Great Outdoors, Travel, USA, Washington, West

Lilacs are one of my absolute favorite flowers, so when I heard there was a celebration of lilacs in Woodland, I knew I’d have to attend. Lilac Days runs every year from mid-April to Mother’s Day weekend–you’re able to visit the grounds outside of those dates but that’s generally when they are in peak bloom. The grounds originally belonged to Hulda Klager, who had a passion for lilacs. She’d been inspired by Luther Burbank’s work crossbreeding fruits and vegetables and decided to try it herself. After successfully crossing two varieties of apple to get a one that would bake better, her mind turned to lilacs. She’d originally sent away for a number of good quality lilacs to begin her work, but her husband’s cows trampled all but three plants–so those are the ones she worked with.

And work she did. Lilacs are slow, sensitive plants. They’re easily shocked, so it takes three to five years after transplant for a lilac to bloom*. Hulda would grow the seedlings on her porch for two years, transplant them into nursery rows after the second year, and two to three years after that, they’d bloom for the first time. After that, she’d leave them for another three years to properly evaluate their flowering and form, after which the majority of the plants will be destroyed because they didn’t exhibit the desirable qualities she was looking for. That’s seven to eight years after carefully cross pollinating the unfertilized stamens with a goose feather to know whether she’d had a successful cross or not–and her success rate was around 1 in 400. I’d have lighted the rows on fire around year three and worked on something less frustrating, like a 10,000 piece all one color puzzle. Hulda, however, didn’t give up, and by 1910, she had developed fourteen new varieties of lilac. In ten years, she had enough new varieties to show that she began to have an open house during the spring bloom to show them off.

In 1948, Hulda suffered a devastating setback when a huge flood put her entire farm (and most of the city) underwater for six weeks. Nearly all of her work was destroyed, but at age 85, she still didn’t give up. People who had acquired some of her lilac varieties sent her starts from their plants to replace what she had lost, and within two years, she was able to open her gardens to the public again. Before her death in 1960, it was estimated that Hulda had developed some 250 new kinds of lilacs! After Hulda’s death, her family sold the farm and gardens, and they were destined to be plowed under for a housing development. The local garden society heard about this and stepped in to save both the home and the lilacs, which is now a national historic site. With Lilac Days, The Lilac Society has kept Hulda’s tradition alive and preserved her life’s work, and you can see and smell more than 90 varieties of lilac that would have never existed if not for this tenacious woman.

The lilac farms were so, so gorgeous. Giant clusters of white, purple, magenta, and yes, lilac, flowers drooped heavily from each tree. Every breeze carries wafts of their sweet scent. Not content with breezes, I buzzed from bush to bush like a bee, burying my face in the blooms and sighing with delight. Owing to the early spring, some varietals had already bloomed and declined by opening weekend, but many others were still in their full glory, along with a number of other flowering trees and plants, like magnolias and tulips. I was able to buy a bouquet to bring home which made the entire car (and now my bedroom) smell amazing and, even better, during Lilac Days, the society sells some of Hulda’s varietals to bring home, plant, and start your own mad lilac experiments…or just hang out and enjoy. By the time I went, they were sold out of (or weren’t selling any) of the intensely fragrant magenta Glory variety, but I was able to buy one of My Favorite, and I’m hopeful that it will thrive in my backyard. What a beautiful legacy Hulda Klager has left!

*I’ve felt this pain–I bought some lilacs five years ago and put them in pots on the sunny front porch of the rental house. Two years later, I bought a house and transplanted them into the ground. They leaf out but still haven’t done diddly squat in terms of flowering. Those jerks. EARN YOUR KEEP, PLANTS.

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Owl-Teasing in Bush’s Pasture Park

April 27, 2015 1 Comment read Oregon, Pacific, The Great Outdoors, Travel, USA, West

Bush’s Pasture Park in Salem, Oregon, has an owl problem. Namely, an owl that likes to swoop down on unsuspecting people and scare the bejesus out of them while stealing their hats. “Owlcapone” has struck at least four park visitors, and Rachel Maddow suggested that the only way to get visitors to take the owl warning seriously is to place yellow “raptor attack” signs throughout the park. The city of Salem agreed and there are now at least twenty signs posted to warn visitors that an owl could be lurking anywhere up in the trees above, waiting to strike. People probably do take it more seriously now. Just not me.

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