“…the headwaters of Shit Creek are a cruel and treacherous expanse.” Roger Zelazny
Well that is a bit harsh isn’t it? So better to insert a little John Muir………..
“There is a love of wild nature in everybody. An ancient mother-love, ever showing itself whether recognized or no. And, however covered by cares and duties.”
“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” Henry David Thoreau
I received some texted images from my son, Tony, yesterday as his very sweet friend Darly and he were hiking the Silver (Creek) Falls trail. It was a very wet, blustery day but not as cold as it has been (high 40’s), so they ventured off to explore one of the beautiful spots in Oregon.
What is special about this locale, to me, is I started fly fishing on the upper reaches of Silver Creek 52 years ago. And, a few days ago, I posted about the Tied Down Caddis. That was my first possessed fly pattern and I used it here on Silver Creek to catch feisty Cutthroat Trout. Every Summer my family camped on Silver Creek. What goes around comes around in good karma and memories for sure.
“Silver Falls State Park is located near Silverton, Oregon. It is the largest state park in Oregon with an area of more than 9,000 acres, and it includes more than 24 miles of trails. Its 8.7-mile Canyon Trail runs along the banks of Silver Creek and by ten waterfalls, from which the park received its name. Four of the ten falls have an amphitheater-like surrounding that allows the trail to pass behind the flow of the falls.” (Wiki)
Darly and Tony ventured up to the falls where you can hike behind the falls and stand watching the water cascade off the cliff.
Darly & Tony: A blur of an image as the water particles from the fall”s spray fill the air. Standing behind the falls for the snap was invigorating on this chilly day in Oregon (Middle Falls/North Fk. Silver Creek)
Yesterday, I was wandering about, with no purposeful intent. Not enough time to go up on the Sandy R. for Steelhead, too early for Silvers, I opted to take a short stroll down a path next to the South Shore Slough (Columbia R. watershed). Camera in hand, I took my time shuffling along looking.
A few rabbits scurried deeper into the brush. Birds chirped away. I was hoping to see a carp in the waters of the slough, but this was late Summer and the water was choked with a mat of weeds and algae save where canoes ply the water.
From this vantage point, and or when walking down to the water’s edge, I can often see carp cruising, holding, sipping. That is early Spring or in the Winter after the cold has done its work on the mat of muck. The East wind will tear through here soon enough and scour out the water’s surface. Visibility will return, and fishing would be possible.
That slightly changed angle of the sun, hints at seasonal change. Something is different. So subtle. The day is warm, but it looks Fallish. I am alone. Not another person through here. Signs of drinking, smoking, camping. All in all, not much garbage. Ducks work the mucky mat on the surface for bugs. I hear cars in the distance, but I feel alone.
Shooting into the late afternoon sun, the reed’s shadows are dark against the silvery mat of algae.
The vegetation is green on various shades of green and brown. Little contrasts with this save a few wildflowers scattered far and wide.
A rare splash of contrast, this wild little Sweet Pea. Grasping for sunlight, a few blooms made their way up and out of a patch of thistles.
I sat near the opening of this large pipe. Little water was flowing through it. The wind was steady and with a gust of wind, the water’s surface would rustle and send a shimmer across the top of the pipe’s ceiling…ever so subtle but I saw it. To sit and wait for the shimmer across the pipe’s ceiling was a good sign that I was in a quiet place and centered.
I walked back toward my rig. My pace was still slow, my awareness fresher and a few shots captured that I was pleased with. I am not fully prepared when out…this was a spontaneous stop, borne out of escaping. So, there is no tripod at hand or any assortment of lens to capture all that was around me. Yet, it was a good time wandering up a trail, near water with no rod in hand.
Standing on a bridge, I saw this Blue Heron still as could be. I called out with some concocted call thinking maybe the neck and legs would extend. The bird sat motionless, a sentinel or a predator. I predator I think.
