the trip without a camera

We just returned from a five-day camping and fishing tour of central Washington, with nary a picture to show for it. Although I often bemoan the interference of technology in enjoying the moment rather than documenting it via Facebook, text message, or cell phone, I frequently fall sway to the impulse. (I do my grumbling quietly, of course, lest I be thought a fuddy-duddy.)

But on this trip, neither of us grabbed the camera. In this spirit of more mindful observation, then, here is a list of highlights from the trip that are resistant to capture through photography.

• On the hike to Merritt Lake, off of SR 2, the wet smell of fall wafting up from the cool forest floor and meeting the piney, sun-warmed upper air currents.

• While fishing the Cle Elum and Yakima rivers, the glossy, sensuous green-black swirls of river water as evening fell.

• The thrill of turning around on a trail (Iron Bear Creek, off of US 97 north of Cle Elum) and seeing, completely unexpectedly, Mt. Rainier in the distance.

• As we left the dense forests of western Washington, seeing the sky clear and blue above me and visible to an expansive horizon far in the distance.

• The realization that many of Washington’s famed fruit crops grow not in the verdant orchards I’d imagined as a child, but in irrigated semi-desert landscapes. As we followed US 97 north toward SR 20, forested mountains gave way to rugged rock formations laid bare of vegetation by the increasing aridity. Yet dotting an expanse of land dominated by variations on white, ochre, and beige were localized splashes of intensely green lawns, orchards, and vineyards, along with the brilliant blue of the Columbia, which makes such agriculture possible.

• The heart-pounding moment when, as we were searching for a campground and I was lost grouchy thought because we would again be setting up camp in the dark, a rustling in the grass by the side of the road proved to be a young black bear that darted in front of the truck, then stopped to inspect us before disappearing into the forest. Many a trailhead sign with instructions about how to handle potential bear encounters had prompted lots of worrying, but I didn’t anticipate the adrenaline and the sense of danger averted that came with actually seeing a bear. We saw either the same bear or a similar one the next morning on our way to hike, and both times I was a little awed and very glad that humans and dogs were all in the truck.

• Falling in love with the area around Winthrop, which combines mountains and forests with a sense of open perspective that I associate with places like Montana. The mountains of western Washington are also big, rugged country—and driving west on SR 20 is nothing short of awe-inspiring—but the reduced rainfall east of the Cascades thins out the trees and lets the sky compete with geography and vegetation.

• Feeling, for the first time this summer, that Washington is becoming home.