July Light
Emerald alpine slopes are accented by darker clumps of willow & Krummholz, a German word for “bent & twisted tree” found in subalpine tree line landscapes. Drier ocher patches create a mosaic in a verde palette rolling down to the water’s edge. A blast of wind approaches from the opposite shore turning the ripply water to a darker slate blue. I can see it coming full bore toward me seconds before I hear or feel it. Then stillness again & the lake returns to its former self of mini lapping waves. With the higher arc of a July sun, the lake reflects as a deeper grey blue with chocolate sand edging. To the right a remnant snowbank hangs a few feet above the water on the cooler north face. I am perched on the western edge on top of granite bedrock streaked with quartz lines of white running over a drop off. Dwarf willow are interspersed with orange red paintbrush & fuchsia elephant head flowers. Not many flowers here this year above tree line I observe & so I cherish this small splash of color.
2020 has been an erratic spring with hot, dry steady winds following a drier winter. Other than some consistent moisture in December, the rest of the season was lackluster for snowpack. Then strong spring winds barreled in & would not let up until recently. Just in the last week more consistent moisture returned to everyone’s relief. To the visitor one would not realize the level of dryness down lower in elevation where chest high, bright blue delphiniums line up in rows. But it is shadier down there where more towering trees grow to hold the moisture in. With the spread of the spruce beetle die off, this patch of forest has been hit hard! Not many green trees left.
I revisit a spot at tree line that I painted once 20 years ago (Highland Cascade) to compare those same trees with their current state now. Completely dead! Their peculiar angle caught me eye back then, but really the focus of the painting was the cascading water which has not changed, thankfully. And I do note now that the younger spruce seem unaffected by the beetle and are still green & growing, fortunately so the forest will not be wiped out entirely. Maybe for the rest of my lifetime these forests that are being sabotaged will be markedly different, sparser, but possibly attract more wildlife of less? Time will tell.
More clouds roll overhead, but only at 30% chance of rain today so Jolly & I stay up high. I can linger in this glorious day! Meanwhile Northeast winds have picked up & with it the amplitude of waves creating a crashing sound of water below. The color of the lake has changed to a brighter blue & contrasts the brown mud nicely.
One year ago, Charlie & I ventured over to the seldom visited eastern shore of this lake to explore a spit of sand. It’s always a good idea to change one’s perspective of a place just by turning a full 180 degrees around; see the light on the lake from a different unfamiliar angle. After lingering for a while we climbed the hills up to the high point at ridge line to hopefully spot the South Fork fire. We certainly did! A huge towering plume of smoke topped by an enormous cumulus cloud with orange red tinting on the underside. It was massive & looked to be generating it’s own weather.
Back to today, increasing clouds are stacking up & I can see rain in the distance falling to the Northeast, but may not be laking it to the ground. The lake’s mood has changed when the shadows from the clouds blanket it, backed by a stiff wind. 2020, the year of the wind!
Jolly & I have picked up & moved on, climbing in Southwest trajectory to ridge line where we’re surrounded by sun-yellow dwarf sunflowers, maybe 6-8” tall at best. One of my favorites, their heads all turned to face the sun. Above & to the distance, the lofty Grenadier peaks erupting straight up in a dizzying tower of granite. Below, the placid Verde Lakes tucked into a low spot surrounded by higher hills. It’s fed by thin waterfalls spilling over grey volcanic cliff bands tot he West, depending on the light, can be transformed to the purple mountains majesty. A coveted spot by hikers & backpackers for the water, views & abundance of wildflowers. This year seems sparse in comparison to the results from the huge snowpack of last year. Charlie & I hiked up here the last week of August & the color show was on, but unprecedented for it’s lateness. I must have shot the equivalent of 3-4 rolls of film. It was spectacular!
Jolly & I have now moved on to a huge, but shallow pond. Some visitors may consider this a lake, but I tend to categorize lakes as having depth. Private & off the main trail, I prefer this secret spot. Wildflowers around the lake are more in the yellow tints. Lemon yellow paintbrush (not really) with smaller, deeper yellow DIYs. (Damn yellow composites) Lower in the duff emerge tiny deep purple heather & topped off with creamy snowballs of Bistort. They have this sense of being suspended in the air since their tiny stems camouflage into the ground.The pond color here is an acid green with ocher sand underneath. Quite different than the huge, blue Highland lakes. 20 years ago Charlie & i walked on the ridge above & found what appeared to be fossilized elk teeth, but I think that it was just really old. Not necessarily composed of stone. I am surrounded by a ring of dwarf willow from which I hear a high pitches peet, peet, peet, not revealing itself. On the edge of the shore where it is wet grow more elephant heads with their distinct flower petal arrangement, looking similar to the elephant’s trunk. Hot pink Parry Primrose dot the wetland areas with the boldest color out here.
And then I stumble on the gem of the day, a white alabaster perfectly crenellated sculpture of white snow dusted with pink algae on top. At each fold & carved out ridge is an outline in black, smudged lines giving it a very graphite look. The middle sculpture is a long island flanked by 2 creeks with another fin on either side of it to form an outdoor land based piece that surpasses anything human made even by the likes of Goldsworthy. The center massive & left of me, in length probably 50’ long, almost touching where it terminates with it’s neighbor, ends in a thick fin that looks so delicate it could cave in instantly. But when I touch these edges I realize how supportive they actually are. Clearly this had to be left over from an avalanche, maybe even 2 winters before-the Big One.
Finding a hidden organic treasure such as this alters my perspective to the landscape into one of unforeseen possibilities. If this piece can somehow survive without any human mark for 2 years in a popular place, it gives me hope. Maybe it’s more of a commentary about humans in general. We tend to be followers, not explorers or really just that no one cares. Clearly, it’s the artist in me that elevates a snowbank into something else entirely. I think I have done this since I was a kid.
On our hike back to the trailhead we descend past the lakes from this morning over creeks & unstable talus to the forest below. Lush stands of Mertensia or Rocky Mtn bluebells in variegated hues of blues to pinks are everywhere. Their leaves are edible with distinct pungency. Wild geranium, orange sneezeweed, rosy crown, pink asters & pink paintbrush fill in the blanks. Deep purple to sapphire blue delphiniums dominate a foot & a half above the flowering plants in lush pockets her & there. That shade of blue so uncommon in these mountains that they grab your attention almost instantly. Crops of huge, folded stalks of deep green corn lilies with no showy flowers at all are a counterpoint to everything else.
