Spirits and Plant Zombies in the Rain Forests below Mt. Dickerman

Something haunts the lower half of the Mt. Dickerman trail.  The forest has a gloominess that goes beyond the shroud of canopy. The steep hike up the switchbacks has been described to me as creepy by more than one person. Solitary discordant notes pipe from the shadows.  Strange cries and thumps come from all around. The forest feels haunted.

Of course, there's a rational explanation to everything.  As Mulder would say, the truth is out there.  But the truth is a product of curiosity and observation.  Personally, I am sometimes surprised by how little local hikers know about the forests they trek through. Many seem to lack the spark to find out.  The plants are broadly described as flowers or evergreens.  The animals are birds, goats, or marmots. 

Trailrunners are worse as they blaze by obliviously, or perhaps, narcissistically.   For them, the trail is an obstacle course they need to maneuver through quickly . The summit, lake, or waterfall, as sublime or tranquil as they might be to a modern day Thoreau or Muir are simply new finish lines to the woodland X-tremers.  They might as well be on a Japanese television show, running through styro-foam barriers as natural as their experience seems to be.

Earlier in the week, I ventured up Mt. Dickerman.  Like my trailrunning friends, part of my motivation was fitness.  After the arduous climb up, my Fitbit sent me congratulations on distance, time, and stairs.  By the way, the mountain is equivalent to a 400 story skyscraper.   My legs certainly felt the work after a couple of weeks off for travel.

Starting in the morning on a weekday, I briefly had the summit to myself--a rare treat nowadays.  However, in a matter of minutes, a couple in their fifties ran up and began their cool down routine.  We exchanged greetings, and as quickly as they arrived, they departed.  I was in awe of their cardio level, but I didn't really understand why they would work that hard only to leave without really enjoying the place on such a beautiful day. To each their own, I suppose.  As long as folks are courteous, the trail is wide enough for us all.

Many hikers suffer from a similar albeit slo-mo version of the same malady.  They are so focused on their goal that their awareness of their surroundings is minimal.   They trudge up the trail, eyes focused on their feet.  To paraphrase the poet Mark Strand, where ever they are (along the trail), they are what is missing.  

Trailrunners tag the top with their dog, Ty, on top.

Others might see and sense, but have no understanding of what they perceive.   I think to really gain the most out of a hike, one needs to be part of the natural world and understand what's around you.  The Buddhists call it mindfulness, being conscious of what is around you on purpose.  For me, a big part of this is naming and knowing the rocks, distant peaks, clouds, plants, trees, insects, and animals. Naturally, as a history teacher, I am also fascinated by places's past.

Fifty years ago, adventurers called it mountain craft, learned mostly by experience and the wisdom of elders.  Today, we're incline to think the elderly are ignorant.  Instead, we have to a copious assortment of guidebooks and websites.  A curious phenomenon to me is how incurious the Information Age seems to be.  The answers are everywhere, but no one seems to care.   Instead of an Instagram-selfie  on the summit. in  eagle pose, take some pics of interesting plants, rocks, and animals you see on your way through the woods, and do a little research.  Go beyond check and forget where knowing is the same as not knowing.   Look for other specimens on your next hike.  You don't have to become the party naturalist, but mindfulness will make your experience in the outdoors even richer. 

Red Indian Paint

Solving a mystery is sweeter when it takes more time.  Working through a dichotomous key to find the name of a plant can be a little tedious and frustrating, but once you've verified you're ID, it opens your eyes.  Unless you have an exceptional memory, quickly looking something up on your phone typically doesn't stick.  (For a great read on memory and learning, see  "Brain Rules" by John Medina.)

Varied Thrush

Pileated Woodpecker

The lower forest of  Dickerman has a darkness that can be wonderfully spooky.  A haunting minor note intermittently plays on panflute.  Fingers reach up through needles and twigs.  The phantom notes are the song of the lovely but furtive Varied Thrush.  Here's a link to it's call from Cornell Lab of Ornithology:                          https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Varied_Thrush/sounds

Striped Coral Root

The thumps you hear are either your own pulse tatooing the steepness of the climb,  or the tapping of a variety of woodpeckers: sapsuckers, hairy, downy, and pileated woodpeckers all searching for ants and termites in the woods.  The call of the flickers or pileated fit perfectly in the sound track of a haunted forest.

On the flora side of the natural world, I especially appreciate the leafless, GREENLESS "coral stripes," delicate orchids, lacking in chloroplasts, living like zombies off the decaying needles from the hemlocks above them and fungus below.

Even the Indian Paint, in the meadows just above the forest is a freeloader, living off the nutrients of other plants.

The Douglas squirrel, on the other hand, works hard in the late summer.  One chirped a conniption trying to keep me away from a hidden cone cache close by.

Mt. Dickerman summit

Hikers who speed their way along or plug in earbuds miss most of what is going on along the trail. Hundreds of other fascinating birds, plants, and animals exist in the forest--camouflaged, but still present.  We simply need to slow down and become mindful of them.