Cranberries are one of only three fruits native to North America, growing wild on long-running vines in sandy bogs and marshes. The first peoples took advantage of the cranberry’s many beneficial attributes. By mixing mashed cranberries with deer meat, they preserved a food called pemmican. And the rich red juice of the cranberry was used as a natural dye for rugs, blankets and clothing. The Samish call this interesting berry: German and Dutch settlers to America started calling it the "crane berry” because of the flower’s resemblance to the head and bill of a crane. That was the name that stuck in English. With the holidays – and cranberries – on our minds, we headed to the Georgia Avenue access to Little Cranberry Lake. Once upon a time, this lake’s bogs and bays supported wild cranberries, so pioneers named the lake “Cranberry”. Over on Whidbey, another lake also grew cranberries on its shores, and was given the same name. To keep them distinct, our Fidalgo lake became “Little Cranberry”. But the growing town of Anacortes needed a water supply, so Little Cranberry was dammed at its northern end over a hundred years ago, raising the lake level and drowning the cranberry plants. On this day, our local weather had turned cold. My thermometer read 21 degrees at high noon. Snow had fallen the night before, giving us a dusting of maybe half an inch. We had a short window of weather to go hiking, with heavy snow predicted to begin mid-afternoon. Little Cranberry lay frozen under a white blanket, with holes of steel-gray blue where the wind stirred up wavelets. We walked along the east shoreline, kinglets tinkling like golden bells above us. Roots and rocks were slick, but the trail was safely walkable. A solitary eagle flew over the lake. Cedar, salal and madrone leaves were draped with snow, leaving the ground beneath clear for robins and wrens to root around. The edges of the lake here were mostly free of ice, except where branches bobbed in the water, creating clinging ice ornaments. At the shallow, protected south end of the lake, a sheet of ice connected the many logs and grass clumps. The trail that followed the south shore is now closed for lakeshore protection. We detoured along the Big Beaver Pond trail, saying hello to half a dozen fellow hikers embracing the bracing temperatures, and enjoying the chance to be out. Back at the lake on trail 101, we hugged the western shoreline as the clouds deepened and darkened. The woods became still, and silent. The edge of the storm was here. The lightly falling flakes felt like fairy dust dancing among us. We joined the dance, across the rocks and through the woods, admiring the quiet solitude of the forests, the transformed frozen lake, and the peace that comes from being absorbed in the natural world around us. During the evening and all through the night, Fidalgo Island was blanketed with nearly a foot of snow. We watched from our cozy couch, sipping cups of creamy hot cocoa. The heavens snowed; Christmas lights glowed. And cranberries were ready for dessert. jack Happy holidays to you all, and to all a joyous winter solstice as the sun begins its journey back. For fun, you may enjoy watching some of these old-time Ocean Spray cranberry juice commercials: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yxtVugOHCI tire swing https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pYLXYIKX2yc no added sugar https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Z8booCtoSA fruit stand https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2elQHz1kgIM turkey! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjMR0Uwlr1c lap top Directions: From Anacortes, we took Oakes Avenue to Georgia Avenue, then up the steep road to the north end of the lake. Or take D Avenue up the hill, through the roundabout, to A Avenue and almost to 41st to the kiosk and trailhead there. There are several other options; consult a local map.
By Bus: take Skagit 410 west from Anacortes heading to the State Ferry. Stop near Georgia Avenue for a half-mile walk up the hill. By bike: I don't recommend a bike in snowy weather like this, but at other times, follow the directions as shown. The roads are somewhat busy and very hilly, and mostly narrow. Mobility: the trails around the lake are mostly narrow, rough, and filled with rocks and roots. However, the trail from the north parking lot across the dam to the wooden overlook is mostly three feet wide and relatively smooth gravel.
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We enjoy a view of Mt. Erie from our home in Anacortes, except for those foggy or smoky days when it hides. After a weekend of downpours and drizzle, followed by a nighttime snowy gale, we awoke to see Erie rising above it all, wearing a winter coat of white. It beckoned, enticing in its holiday attire. Let’s hike up to the summit, we said! The downside was the temperature, hovering at barely above freezing, with winds bitingly crisp, whitecaps whipping down Rosario Strait. Dress appropriately, we told each other. Layering up with long-johns and leggings, hoodies and fleece, parkas and puffies, wind pants, stocking caps, mittens and everything else in the closet, we then downed some hot tea and headed to the mountain. Getting on the trail, the cold air invigorated us. There’s a scintillating feeling of adventure to be on a mountain in winter weather, the elements more primal, the senses heightened and alert. The forest had been transformed with its white blanket. Snow crystals danced around us, sparkling in the sunlight filtering through trees. Be careful, we reminded each other. Be sure of our footing. The rocks and roots will be frozen and slippery, the snow slick. We listened for the potential sound of branches breaking overhead, always a concern in the woods. Other than the wind still bending some of the treetops on the ridge, the forest was quiet. Muffled. Silent in the snow. No birds sang of summer here. No squirrels chattered away. The only sound was the crunch of our footsteps and a little labored breathing as we climbed the steep trail towards the top. An occasional golden maple leaf fell atop the snow. That’s when we heard it. A crack, a crescendo of sound, and a ‘whoomph’ on the forest floor as a tree trunk broke and fell, hitting hard. We rounded a bend in the trail and there it was, fallen straight across the trail, the top half of a dead tree, its bottom half still standing nearby where it has stood for decades. We stepped over the log where it fell, reminded of the danger that is here at any time of the year, but especially in winter weather. The trail climbed quickly from this point, over bare slick rocks requiring a helping hand in places, up tree-root steps, always climbing, ascending to the highest point on Fidalgo Island. We reminded each other to go slow, be careful, be sure of our steps, and at the same time delighting in the wild wonder all around us. Soon we came to the salal-covered bench just below the summit. A trail sign encourages us here, stating “Summit” with an arrow to the left. We climbed the last stretch of rock and emerged at the top. The view fell away before us, islands, lakes and bays, and a big blue sky above. The Cascades sparkled in their finery of winter white. The sun warmed us and bathed a golden trail across the Strait. The northerly winds couldn’t reach us here. We basked in the beauty all around. The sun continued to drop lower; the temperature did too. We walked the ice-slickened roadway back down, stopping at the western overlook to see our home in Skyline. I slipped and fell on a steep stretch of black ice; we walked carefully on the soft snowy shoulder the rest of the way down. Summer hikes are pleasant and relaxing. But in fall and winter, safety concerns are amplified, and adventures can become misadventures with a simple misstep, or an unexpected act of nature, or any other unfortunate surprise. Be alert as you walk, of course, and don’t go if the conditions are not safe. Still, by taking appropriate precautions, the rewards of winter walks are distinctly memorable and worthwhile. It’s a joy to behold the transformed world of winter. But try not to fall! jack Directions: From Anacortes take H Avenue to Heart Lake Road. From Whidbey Island follow Highway 20 north of the Deception Pass Bridge, drive about four miles and turn left on Campbell Lake Road, then turn right onto Heart Lake Road. Look for a parking area on the east side of the road just south of Heart Lake.
By bus: there is no direct service to this part of Fidalgo Island. By bike: Campbell Lake Road, H Avenue and Heart Lake Road are low volume, hilly but doable, to Heart Lake. Highway 20 has high volume traffic and some challenging shoulders on some of the Fidalgo Island route. Mobility: The trails on Mt. Erie are steep in places, filled with rocks, roots, downfall, and other challenges, to say nothing of snow sometimes. Alternatively there is a road to the top, steep in places but with low volume traffic. But beware of ice this time of year! I am a good example of how easy it is to slip and fall. Do you remember being in grade school in late September -- I know, that was a LONG time ago for most of us, but then again you might remember it as if it were the day before yesterday -- and having the bell ring shortly after 3, and that feeling of walking home with a couple hours of afternoon freedom to enjoy as the sun slants through the trees, the air warm and fragrant with just a hint of autumn. My friends and I would play under deep blue skies, riding bikes, or throwing a ball, or playing tag, or climbing trees with a canopy of leaves above us turning golden yellow, with some of the leaves having already fallen to the ground. Sometimes we would just lie in the tall dry grass, looking up at that sky, smelling the richness of the earth, dreaming of the days and years ahead. Conversation was light and full of laughter; our only work was making up games to play or finding places to explore while we had the time. This week, summer was lingering, holding its own against the fall season trying to take its place. Blue skies beckoned, warmth welcomed, and after a busy day completing chores, we now had time to find a trail and explore while we could. It was three in the afternoon. We had a couple hours before a five o’clock appointment. Let’s hike to Sharpe Park, we agreed. Now we had somewhere to go and no hurry to get there. The air was still, quiet, in no hurry to go anywhere either. The trail, as you know, starts out among trees large and small, young and old. It skirts the shore of Fox Pond, a menagerie of wildlife at times, but today just a field of green cattails and wetland plants, mostly mud where there used to be water. We took the direct route to Sares Head, on the trail with that name. You know the route; wandering through woodlands, dropping a little then climbing quickly as the waters of two straits silhouette a picket fence of firs. Then you get to the top, step through the gateway of the last trees, and … and the land just drops away, along with your breath, as you gaze at a dome of blue, blue sky above, blue water below, blue-green islands beyond, and nothing but silence, and peace, and astonishment. Sunshine sparkled on the flat calm waters, golden diamonds dancing along. A couple cabin cruisers motored quietly across, scattering the diamonds briefly as they passed. A young couple picnicked on the very edge of an overlook. Two ravens rose on the updraft, in no hurry, seemingly just enjoying the view too. Whidbey, the Olympics, the San Juans, all lay miles away and yet seemingly right at our fingertips. It never gets old. And like children of old, we scrambled over rocks, climbed trees, and just lay in the tall dry grass remembering the days and years behind us, and dreaming of the days and years ahead. But we had an appointment to keep. The tyranny of time brought our visit to an end. We headed back down, past trees living here for centuries, their offspring becoming the younger forest all around them. Back we walked, enjoying the ferns, spider webs, condos of woodpecker trees, the silent forest. This summer day was still warm though the sun was now lower, the light more subdued. It was time to go. The meaning of life is that it ends. Of course, we know that the day, the season, time itself, ends for each of us, as the flowers fade, the leaves turn brown, the sun lowers in the sky. But while we are alive, we live, and we revel in the joy and beauty of life while we can. That’s so easy to do at Sharpe Park. jack Directions: From Whidbey go north on the Deception Pass Bridge, turn left on Rosario Road, and follow it to the parking area for Sharpe Park, on your left in just over a mile and a half. From Anacortes go south from 12th Street on D Avenue, and follow its winding way 5.5 miles to the park on your right.
By Bus: there is no bus service along this road. By Bike: Rosario Road is hilly and windy with narrow shoulders but not heavy traffic. Mobility: The trail is wide, graveled and mostly level for the first quarter mile, then becomes hilly, narrow, and rougher. The last quarter mile is a little bit steep. When I am among the trees, they give off such hints of gladness. I would almost say that they save me, and daily. I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness, and discernment, and never hurry through the world but walk slowly, and bow often. Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, “Stay awhile.” The light flows from their branches. And they call again, “It's simple,” they say, “You too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine." -- Mary Oliver The past couple weeks have been a whirlwind of planning and preparing, arranging and scheduling, hosting and serving, and finishing details with family and friends and flowers and food and feasts and fun and frivolity and finally the whirlwind of marriage. We were drained. What better time than this to head to the woods and just be quiet, humbled and recharged. Poets talk about being alone in the woods; ascetics escape to mountain peaks; religions talk of the wilderness experience. This Monday we went to Heart Lake on Fidalgo, looking for peace and quiet, simplicity and silence. Summer loses its vigor this time of year; it is tired, it is dry, it too is drained. We thought we could hike lonely trails, listen to gentle breezes, the distant melodies of chickadees perhaps, ripples on the water, the sound of leaves turning, and the softness of autumn tiptoeing in through the backwoods. It started out well, the sun a spotty presence amid billowy clouds, wavelets tickling the lily pads along the shoreline. Salal berries hung wrinkled, quite overripe; a few leaves fluttered down to the trail. My heart grew restful in the peace of the place. The woods were doing their precious refreshing. Then a distant navy jet engine came to life, drowning out all other noises, even the pleasant thoughts in my head. It grew and shouted and roared and screamed and bellowed for an eternity, or at least a minute or two. We walked around the lakeshore into the spacious maple and alder forest, which is when a nearby gravel pit started loading dump trucks with rocks, banging and clanging around. When all was quiet again, a motorcycle raced by on Heart Lake Road, crescendo-ing, then fading slowly, eventually, into the distance. It was somewhere along here that I had to laugh, that the everyday noises of our society, serving us with safe skies, building materials and transportation needs, come with us even into the otherwise quiet woods of our protected lands. And as I laughed, the noises receded, a crossbill sang in distant old-growth, a frog hiccuped in the marsh not far away, and the mystery of the silence of the place filled our hearts. We whispered if we talked at all as we entered the forest cathedral at the south end. The noises outside gave way to the noises inside my head. The worries, the plans, the dreams, the everyday needs … I listened to them briefly, realized they were not necessary right now, and let them flow on. Meanwhile, we sat on moss-covered logs and saw the passage of hundreds of years in the trunk of a tree. There were still occasional outside noises. We heard them, accepted them, and they faded away. We saw a wood duck watching over its mate swimming in the marsh area. A leaf fell from a maple as summer welcomes the fall. Dragonflies hovered over the lily pads; a raven called out, its voice echoing in the now-silent spaces. With acceptance of our place, we transcend with unshakeable strength and peace. A heart-shaped rock in the trail caught my eye as we walked back. I offered a thank you for the reminder to let my heart – even amid clanging noises – always be at peace, like Heart Lake. jack Directions: From H Avenue in Anacortes, take the Heart Lake Road south to the parking area at Heart Lake. From Whidbey Island, follow Highway 20 north from the Deception Pass Bridge, drive about four miles and turn left on Campbell Lake Road. Turn right on Heart Lake Road.
By Bus: there is no bus service close to this area. By Bike: follow the directions as above for vehicles. Highway 20 is busy with narrow shoulders. Mobility: the trail is mostly narrow, and has many roots, rocks, and other uneven tread. |
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Maribeth Crandell has been a hiking guide in the Pacific NW for over 20 years. She's lived on Whidbey and Fidalgo Island for decades. As a frequent bus rider she easily makes connections between trails and transit. Archives by date
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