 Dinner was finished. I had two hours before sundown. Kukutali called! I parked in the half-full lot, put my parking permit on the dash, and hiked down the hill toward Kiket Island. My tide app said it would be an eleven-foot-high tide at 7:40. It was just after 7 now. I was about to find out what tidal height turns Kiket into an actual island. When I arrived at the west end of the tombolo, the waters of Skagit Bay and Similk Bay were separated by a six-foot swath of dry sand. I was able to cross with dry feet. Climbing up the island, I chose to cross the island westward on the North Trail through the old growth woods. High above, a steady breeze tossed the treetops; down here all was calm, still and sweet in the evening light. Starflowers graced the ground alongside the trail. Bunnies danced for cover as I approached, then emerged from cover when I passed. I heard three quick notes from a bird, like Morse Code for the letter O -- “dit-dit-dit” -- repeated every few seconds. This is the alternative call for the bird who is usually asking for three beers. The trees thinned as I neared the west end, and then the trail dropped down to the old homestead site. I wandered the grassy field, took in the always-captivating view to the west, then headed to the beach, drawn to it like a beach bum. Here I found glorious sunshine, with pinkish popcorn clouds floating in the deep blue sky. Gentle waves lapped at driftwood on the beach. A very high tide indeed. I walked toward Flagstaff Island (off-limits to protect its native fragile vegetation), then turned at its base toward the southern shoreline. An oyster catcher stood on an offshore rock, king of its island. I turned around here as there was no beach left to wander. The logs between the south beach and north beach lie in a depression, protected from most storm surges. They looked a little dirty, with mud or something between some of them. I walked and hopped along logs that crossed this lowland. Halfway over, one log I stepped on sank under my weight into a foot of water, my foot going underwater with it! I then realized the logs and debris were all camouflaging a pond created by the high tide! I stepped onto a solid log and clambered to higher ground, with one very wet shoe. Walking along the gravel trail my footsteps sounded like ‘crunch, squish, crunch, squish.’ The sun was now dropping down to the ridge across the bay, so it was time to turn back. As I walked up the South Trail, three young men came the other direction. We greeted each other, then one of them said “FYI, the tide’s rising back there.” I would soon find out how high. I already had one wet shoe anyway. I dropped down to the east end of the island to see if Kiket was now really an island. Sometime in the past hour the water had breached the tombolo. Wet sand stretched across the isthmus. But now, with a falling tide, there was again a dry gravel pathway one foot wide to walk on. That’s all I needed to at least keep one foot dry. But rather than cross, the sunset drew my attention. A large fir framed the sun, now at the ridge line. Golden waters reflected across the bay. Mt. Erie rose above, and driftwood anchored the scene below. I took a few pictures while the sun lingered, and I watched, entranced, as it finally disappeared. My wife, and an apple turnover, waited for me back home, so I finally hoofed it back up the hill in the dusky light, my feet still going ‘crunch, squish, crunch, squish’ along the final stretch of trail. Directions: From Sharpe's Corner east of Anacortes on Highway 20, go east two miles to Reservation Road. Turn right, and go 1.5 miles south to Snee-Oosh Road. Yes, that's its name! Take that 1.3 miles to the parking area.
By Bike: Reservation and Snee-Oosh roads are narrow and hilly but with minimal traffic. Mobility: The main trail is wide and graveled, but beach between the road and the island is sandy, uneven, and covered with scattered logs. And make sure it's not covered with water!
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 "academe- among the groves. 1 a place of instruction : school. b academic life or community, or world of academia." Merriam Webster Among the groves near the ancient city of Athens the philosopher, Plato, met with other scholars for instruction and discussion. Plato called the grove the academe which is where we get the word academy. Here in this grove, alongside this creek, scores of small scholars gather for instruction and discussion. Classes are held in the spring and fall led by savvy volunteer educators. They meet at the classroom with its large covered shelter. Some accompany their leader out along the trails. Others gather at the deck overlooking Maxwelton Creek. Each site has a learning station that engages the students in scientific study. They may measure the velocity of the water, observe birds along the trail, or study the life cycle of salmon at the classroom. They might collect microinvertabrates and study them under a microscope. Or make spore prints with mushrooms. Different age appropriate lessons are used according to the season. This academy can be a busy place this time of year. I came late in the day after mowing grass and weeding raspberries in the hot sun. The excited voices of teachers and students had withdrawn by then. I parked next to a huge skillfully crafted salmon at the entrance that sprang from the shrubbery. The trail led me to the classroom where I peered inside to see a large mural, bookshelves, tables and chairs like any classroom. Then around the picnic shelter I found posters of native plants, a worm bin, and a sign on trail etiquette. Around back a large maple’s wide spread branches stood like a nurturing mother with a circle of benches below. Sunlight set the canopy dazzling in brilliance. A tour of the trail showed how it had changed over time. This was not just a loop trail, these are the halls of academia. A set of benches at a turn in the trail was set up for a small group to gather and study just above the creek. Another set of benches offered yet another opportunity to sit and observe. There were tags on native plants along the way. My favorite, wild lily of the valley, disappears completely in the winter, but like magic, emerges and carpets both sides of the trail in the spring. It was in full flower as I made my way toward the boardwalk. Elevated above the wetland, I was surrounded by salmonberry bushes and skunk cabbage. Alders leaned in overhead sheltering songbirds. My footsteps sounded softly on the surface. Turning the corner, the boardwalk led to a covered deck with benches and a railing that overlooks the creek. The refreshing sound of gurgling water was inviting. I rolled up my pant legs, took off my shoes and stepped in. They used to call this Pepsi Cola creek because its dark brown from the peat tannins up the valley and it’s foamy. The foam collects in the corners and reminds me of a root beer float. Some may think it’s pollution but the color and the foam is completely natural, as any 5th grader who has been coming to the Outdoor Classroom for years, could attest. Standing in the creek completely revived me. The lush green vegetation soothed my soul. And the songs of wren and warbler made me grateful for the many small and wondrous things around me. I sat by the water awhile and took it all in. This is a precious place of natural peace and quiet, at least after school is out. Maribeth The Outdoor Classroom is busy with classes in spring except on Wednesdays and on weekends. It’s owned by the South Whidbey School District and the educational programs are run by the Whidbey Watershed Stewards, a private non-profit. Volunteer teachers and assistants are welcome. For details click here. Directions: From Highway 525 3.3 miles north of Clinton, or 6 miles south of Freeland, turn south at the light onto Maxwelton Road and go 3.5 miles. Just before French Road you’ll see the sign for the Outdoor Classroom on the left.
Bus and Bike: Island Transit’s Route 1 bus runs along Highway 525 and stops at Maxwelton Road. It’s an easy 3 mile bike ride to the Outdoor Classroom with wide shoulders and is almost level most of the way. Please wear something bright while riding a bike along the road. Mobility: This loop trail is short and an easy stroll with several places to sit along the way. Trails are a bit narrow for a wheelchair or mobility device.  You know that feeling, when bird songs fill the dawn of morning, when the air is actually warmish for the first time, when the bare brown earth disappears under bows and flows of freshly emerging green growth, when sunshine sweetens your smile, and sweat actually beads on your skin. Spring drew on … and a greenness grew over those brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggested the thought that Hope traversed them at night, and left each morning brighter traces of her steps. – Charlotte Brontë You remember those days in school when studies slackened because you were skipping class to be outside somewhere, anywhere, absorbing the fragrances and hormonal therapy of spring. Or was that just me? It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want—oh, you don’t quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so! -- Mark Twain Well, that’s how it was for Kath and me, after enduring last week’s weather full of cold and rain, rain, rain, and then this day arises, promising kind-of-blue skies and slightly warmer air. The sun peaked out enough to say “come play with me,” and we joined up with him on a hike at Dugualla. In springtime, love is carried on the breeze. Watch out for flying passion and kisses whizzing by your head. -- Emma Racine Defleur Yes, there was still mud the entire three miles of trail. But everywhere, green filled the sidelines, filled the treetops, filled the woodlands and nostrils and hopes and dreams. Life bloomed and blossomed as if a door had been opened and floods of flowers poured out. Songbirds filled the skies with unchained melodies – grosbeaks, warblers, sparrows, nuthatches, chickadees, finches and robins, one handing the song over to another as we walked along. They know what spring means! The first real day of spring is like the first time a boy holds your hand. A flood of skin-tingling warmth consumes you, and everything shines with a fresh, colorful glow, making you forget that anything as cold and harsh as winter ever existed. – Richelle Goodrich Trees lay tangled on the forest floor from the storms of winter. It became a game of how to get over, under, or around them. But they lay amid forests of newly budded fellow trees, springing green and glowing brightly. It was such a spring day as breathes into a man an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness, a longing that makes him stand motionless, looking at the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms to embrace he knows not what. -- John Galsworthy Fragrances filled our noses: skunk cabbage, elderberry, nettles, firs, the mud of low tide, the catkins of alders and blossoms of maples. Bees buzzed on huckleberry flowers, hummers hummed on salmonberry, even a mosquito whined and then dined on my hand. Can words describe the fragrance of the very breath of spring? -- Neltje Blanchan Hardly a sound of civilization interrupted our bucolic wanderings. Dropping down to the beach we found low tide, Mt. Erie rising above shimmering water, seaweed glistening, and sand between our toes. Climbing back up from the beach, panting a little and sweating a little too, gave us the satisfaction of knowing we were alive, close to the wild heart of new life, life emerging and exploding and embracing the power of spring. Smiles on the faces of hikers, bikers, and horse riders reflected the sparkle we enjoyed as the miles flew by. Happiness? The color of it must be spring green. – Frances Mayes Our shoes and Murphy’s belly were laden with the smell and substance of wet dirt as we rounded the last bend and headed back to our car. In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt. -- Margaret Atwood We did. And sunshine. jack Directions: On Highway 20 north of Oak Harbor, take Sleeper Road east to the end of the road. Parking for about 15 cars now.
By bus: There is no bus service on Sleeper Road. By bike: Sleeper Road is hilly but quiet. Mobility: There is a gate with a rough trail to get around it. The trails at Dugualla are hilly, a mixture of gravel and dirt, and mostly narrow once you get past the first half mile. Fallen trees are a jungle gym in a few places.  "When you know the fourfoil in all its seasons, root and leaf and flower, by sight and scent and seed, then you may learn its true name, knowing its being: which is more than its use. What after all is the use of you? Or of myself?” Ursula Le Guin, Earth Sea Trilogy It was a cloudy day, edging toward evening when I stopped for a walk at Pacific Rim Institute last Sunday. A man smiled as he headed for the fenced in beds. I went in the other direction. Older island residents know it as the Pheasant Farm with its rows of white sheds that used to house the fancy feathered game birds. The Department of Fish and Wildlife still release pheasants nearby each fall for sport. We see them taking shelter inside the fence at Island Transit. But PRI uses the sheds for storage now. Whenever I walk there on the gravel farm road between the sheds, it reminds me of my grandparents’ farm. There are piles of firewood, stacked lumber, wire fencing, towers of plant pots, and other stuff in the sheds and barns. Like a working farm there are workers, sometimes in trucks or driving tractors. But it was quiet on my walk. I made my way between the sheds and followed the farm road left around the barn, and then right alongside a lane of pines. Birds flitted about, singing from the fence line. Oregon grape bloomed and buttercups blossomed in a sea of green. When I came to a sign saying Prairie Remnant I left the bending farm road and stepped lightly along a narrow trail. There were the tall blue stalks of camas, surrounded by yellow wildflowers. Behind a deer fence the rare Golden Paintbrush spread with abandon. This was called Smith Prairie for a time. Over the years the prairie had been overgrown with blackberries and wild rose. It has taken years of hard work cutting back the bushes and using controlled burns to reveal the precious prairie beneath. It’s a bit like restoring an old house, tearing away the shag carpet to find hard wood floors beneath. Only 3% of Washington State is prairie, our most threatened ecosystem. The Pacific Rim Institute is restoring this 175-acre patch with many eager helpers. One five-acre piece had been relatively undisturbed since colonization and contained the precious biodiversity of several rare native plant species. Taking a turn around the fenced Golden Paintbrush I saw a tree had been girdled so as to create a snag, good for bird and bug habitat. A Goldfinch sang from a wood pile where I saw rabbit sized tunnels at the base. A wren chatted from a bird box nearby as I made my last turn in the loop back to the farm road. From there I spied a cluster of pink shooting stars through the wire fence. Heading back by the pines I turned toward the forest passing a grove of newly planted native Garry Oaks fenced to protect them from the deer. A kestrel sped off as I neared. An old barn marks the entrance to forest trails. I was looking for my favorite woodland flower, the Calypso Orchid. I’d seen it here the week before and pointed it out to a friend who lives nearby. She said they’d found someone picking these tiny treasures to make miniature bouquets. My mother was a naturalist and taught me early on, “Don’t pick the first flower. It may be the last.” I searched for the tiny pink blossoms but found none. Instead, I was cheered by the lush green of miners’ lettuce in bloom and fiddleheads unfurling like a slow motion dance. Leaving the woods, I took the path back up toward my car as three deer crossed ahead of me. I passed the greenhouses and raised beds where volunteers work to propagate the native plants from seed. It’s like my loop trail brought me full circle, from flower to seed to flower again. Visit Pacific Rim Institute for Prairie Days May 5 & 6 with talks, tours, and plants for sale, or for Native American Storytelling next week. For details click here. Directions: From the stop light at Highway 20 and Main Street in Coupeville, go south 2.8 miles and turn left onto Morris Road. Then take the next left onto Parker Road. Pacific Rim Institute is less than a half mile on the right at 180 Parker Road, Coupeville.
Bike and Bus: Fare-Free Island Transit Route 1 will stop at Morris Road Monday - Friday. From there it's a half mile walk or bike ride on Parker Road which has light traffic. Two bikes fit on a bus bike rack. Please wear bright clothes while biking on the road. Mobility: The old farm road around the site is mostly smooth and flat, though not paved. |
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