A deceased Pinyon Pine stands beneath the outstretched arm of the Milky Way from a vantage some way south of the Grand Canyon, Arizona.

We stayed in a somewhat run-down AirBnB that was nonetheless conveniently within 20 miles of the Grand Canyon’s south rim. Whether by regulation or happenstance, the skies were majestically dark. The yearling pup and I wandered out amongst the dry and fragrant sage to verify our humble place in the grand scheme of things.

Tags:   Arizona Landscape Winter dark skies long exposure low level lighting night night sky nightscape no-flash nocturnal stars

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Falls Creek splits into three dominant plumes as it cascades over the highest promontory of rock that initially bars its way, forming a gleaming trident of sorts, before it flirts with gravity and tumbles over the moss-robed basalt lip in the foreground, Gifford Pinchot National Forest, Washington.

Republican President Teddy Roosevelt and the U.S. Congress created the modern Forest Service in 1905, and part of Roosevelt’s motivation was to manage forests conservatively so that they could be harvested to benefit humanity in a more sustainable, generational manner. Roosevelt was also a keen outdoorsman, and he was able to appreciate the spiritual benefits of wild places.

The President appointed Gifford Pinchot as the first Chief of the U.S. Forest Service, and Pinchot’s name is now attached to this wild, cedar-drunk landscape. Here, the rains of springtime burnish emeralds that emerge from the vibrant, besotted moss. I am grateful for the political currents of a century ago, when being a conservative meant conserving something for the future. I fear greatly that today’s political opportunists have gaping holes in their spirits and cannot see the beauty of the world, and they cannot recognize what is good.

Tags:   Columbia Gorge Columbia River Gorge Falls Creek Falls Creek Falls Gifford Pinchot National Forest Pacific Northwest The Gorge Thuja plicata Washington Washington State Western Red Cedar cedar creek forest moss spring spring melt trees water waterfall

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2024-09-14, Day 5
A distant Grizzly Bear roams over undulating tundra near Expectation Pass with snow-covered summits of the Kluane Range looming in the background, Kluane National Park, Yukon.

After commanding our full attention but evidently not noticing us, the bear initially disappeared from view around the ridge line on the left. Sometime after we took lunch at the top of the Pass, my friend and I were crossing the saddle to make our way into the next drainage when he turned to look behind us and noticed a bear, possibly the same one we had seen earlier, some 400 meters away and running full-tilt in our direction. As it ran, the bear’s loose skin and fur bunched and rippled with its speed, and the distance between us closed rapidly. Gripping the bear spray once more, my friend and I yelled and waved our arms to get its attention and hopefully entreat it to change course. The bear pulled up shortly, peered intently in our direction, and then it angled off and away from us, eventually disappearing into the willows and tumbled stones sloping steeply down from the pass.

With adrenaline still sounding its miniature klaxons in the bloodstream, we turned toward Atlas Pass. The landscape revealed a high route, replete with what looked like steep, slippery gullies to negotiate, and a lower route that would require descending some steep talus and broken slopes to cross a willow-choked ravine, followed by a significant climb back up to the tundra through a mile or so of waist high willows. Bearing mental scars from our scrambling descent down Hoge Pass several days earlier, we opted to avoid the high route and accept the trade-off offered by ravines and willows.

Grabbing slender willows to slow my descent through a short, broken stretch of rocks, I noticed my friend had angled off to my left and somewhat below me. As I turned to my right to begin climbing down and across a band of talus, I heard stones clattering below which was odd given my friend was now walking in a completely different direction. Presently, a large Grizzly ambled purposefully into view, crossing my intended route and heading toward my friend and the ravine we were trying to reach. I shouted for him to reverse course, and the bear paid no heed to either of us as it disappeared into the ravine at the exact point where we had wanted to cross. This turn of events posed a dilemma, as the next viable point at which the ravine could be crossed appeared to be several hundred vertical feet below us.

After some deliberation, we decided to wait for several minutes and then attempt to cross the ravine just downslope from where the bear had disappeared. Once over the lip of the ravine, the bear had been moving upslope and we would be going in the opposite direction so it seemed a reasonable gamble. Cautiously approaching the edge of the ravine, I began to descend into the willows when I noticed a curious brown face trained in my direction and not more than 30 meters away. The bear sat hunched in a clump of willows and was staring intently. It never moved and we made what we hoped were friendly sounding noises as time seemed to slow perceptibly.

The only remaining option that felt marginally responsible involved losing considerable elevation in hopes of finding a bear-free place to cross the ravine. Executing what was now Plan C, we descended for some time and found another accessible route into the ravine only to discover two more Grizzlies - what appeared to be a sow and a yearling traveling together. They were on the opposite side of the ravine from us, climbing up and away through the willows. The points of their snouts and their powerful wedge-shaped bodies effortlessly parted the tangled yellow foliage in a manner that left me somewhat envious. The younger, smaller bear was out in front leading the way, and it paused at irregular intervals to check back with its mother before bounding quickly away. These bears possess an uncanny strength and speed in difficult terrain.

Sweating and struggling, with our socks and packs gathering enough willow leaves and detritus sufficient to start a respectable composting operation, we ultimately lost and regained somewhere between 800-1000 ft of elevation avoiding what is evidently a healthy population of Grizzlies. Once more above tree line and with thoughts turning toward dinner, the map indicated a promising place to camp might be half a mile further up the watershed. Turning to survey the terrain up which we had climbed, we were treated to the sight of yet another Grizzly making its way upslope directly toward us. I had always wanted to experience the thrill of meeting Grizzly in the remote wild, and their presence felt something like the jolt of current as it passes through an electric fence that one has mistakenly brushed up against too closely. And yet this was beginning to feel ridiculous. Waving and shouting once more, we arrested the bear’s attention and it stood to its full height to survey the hominids it unexpectedly found in its domain. At length, it too turned to find a different route, and we were left to ponder how we might safely eat dinner and secure our food for the night in the perfectly treeless environs.

Tags:   Canada Canadian Yukon Donjek Route Dän Shur Expectation Pass Fall First Nation Grizzly Bear Kluane National Park Kluane Range Landscape National Park Parks Canada Ursus arctos Yukon alpine autumn backpacking bear fall color high country high elevation mountains peak snow wilderness Haines Junction

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The warmth of the morning sun forges its way through dense banks of moisture-rich cloud from Puerto Jimenez, Osa Peninsula, Costa Rica.

The boys and wife and I came to the pier before sunrise to wait for a boat that would take us to Corcovado National Park, where we hoped to be guided to see some of the spectacular animals and birds that inhabit this part of the world. Inside the Gulfo Dulce, as the name suggests, the water is calm, steadied by the blunt intrusion of the peninsula as it intercepts the energy and currents of the Pacific on the other side. Here on the sweet side of the peninsula, embarking was straightforward, perhaps even somewhat manicured. I wondered what disembarking would be like when we arrived at Park Headquarters on the Pacific side.

Shortly after sunrise, the boat motored out of the port and made its way around the tip of the peninsula. We then turned north and sought a landing some twenty miles away near headquarters where a small beach was somewhat protected from the significant swells and surf. On our approach to the beach, it became clear that we would be motoring directly through the rolling waves, and the captain would attempt to thread the breakers in such a manner as to avoid taking on too much water. Having practiced the maneuver no doubt hundreds of times, passing through the surf was both thrilling and a relatively dry affair. Jumping out of the boat and wading through the remnants of the surf to get to shore was somewhat less dry.

The Park is truly a magnificently, penetratingly, achingly, and verdantly photosynthetic place, its nooks, crannies, waters, and tree crowns studded with jewel-like birds, surveyed by wading herons and spoonbills, patrolled by tapir, and taunted by obstreperous squirrel monkeys and coati. It is so humid and warm that the resident sloths sport green coats (they’re the slowest leprechauns you’ll ever meet) as a result of the algae that colonizes their fur. Where there is algae in a tropical rainforest, there are also insects that feed on that algae, and the algae hosted by sloths is no different. Adding yet another twist, the sloth derives a significant percentage of its dietary protein by capturing and consuming many of the insects that it finds on its body. In essence, these sloths are farming themselves, which really takes organic and local to quite an incredible level.

Tags:   Central America Costa Rica Gulfo Dulce Osa Osa Peninsula boat boats clouds dawn magic hour morning morning light ocean sea sunrise tropical water

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Clouds tinged with the pink of a winter evening scribe patterns in the sky as we gaze eastward from the vantage of Lipan Point on the South Rim, Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona.

The Grand Canyon is bookended by the bathtub of Lake Mead and the edifice of Glen Canyon dam, and in between are approximately 300 free-flowing river miles. It almost wasn’t so. In the mid-twentieth century the Bureau of Reclamation developed plans for at least two more dams that would have created slack-water throughout the Grand Canyon. The vision was to harness the River’s energy to produce electricity and create water skiing and house boating opportunities. The concomitant losses would include drowning an untold number of cultural sites, some of them sacred to the people who have lived here for millennia, while silencing the River’s spectacularly roaring rapids for generations to come.

As Congress debated plans to fund these dams, the Sierra Club launched a letter-writing campaign to save the free-flowing Colorado and the spirit of the Canyon. Creating slackwater in the spectacular gorge of the Canyon was masterfully equated to flooding the Sistine Chapel. Eventually this campaign was picked up by Weekly Reader which was a classroom magazine delivered predominantly to elementary schools throughout the country. Children began writing letters by the thousands and when bag after bag of these pleas began arriving in the congressional mail room, it was then the dams’ boosters knew they had failed to carry the public along with their plans. Looking forward, it is a good lesson that, when roused and focused, the American public can hold elected official’s toes to the fire via seemingly small individual actions.

Tags:   Arizona Colorado Plateau Grand Canyon Grand Canyon National Park Landscape Lipan Point National Park U.S. National Park Winter clouds crepuscular crepuscular light desert evening evening light magic hour sunset winter sunset

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