Aging wood

I'm still sorting out my forgotten photos. These are from back in March and April. Textures and shapes of old wood.

The remains of the base of a branch on an old log, gradually turning itself into soil. I first saw this log 10 years ago; it's got a few useful years in it yet. Oyster Bay.

This log has split itself lengthwise, growing moss in the long cracks.

Is that an eye?

I've taken photos of this twisted stump before. This was in March. Baikie Island.

Woodpecker dinner. Above the Campbell River.

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Sigo con las fotos olvidadas. Estos troncos viejos los vi en marzo y abril.

1. La base de una rama en un tronco en el bosquecito de Oyster Bay. Vi este tronco por primera vez hace casi 10 años; sigue su vida útil, sosteniendo líquenes, produciendo tierra nueva.
2. Este tronco se ha agrietado horizontalmente (era verticalmente cuando el árbol permanecía en pie); ahora las grietas protegen hileras de musgo.
3. ¿Eso es un ojo?
4. He sacado fotos de este árbol muerto varias veces, mientras va desmoronándose. Esto fue en marzo. En la isla Baikie.
5. Comida de un pájaro carpintero, en el bosque al lado del rio Campbell.

View from the forest understory

So, in an on-again, off-again gentle rain, I was sitting on a mossy hummock on the forest floor, poking through the duff, looking for beasties and mushrooms, following spiders and peering into lichen "gardens". Looked up, stretching, resting my eyes and my back, saw the forest around me.

Salal, moss, and evergreen trunks. And a huckleberry growing on a stump.

Up-ended roots of a fallen evergreen.

Dead hemlock, growing lichens, still carrying seed cones.

Moss on a small fallen tree.

Dead leaf on top of a stump.

And the wood of an old, dried-out stump.

Log end, bracket fungi, and wet salal leaves.

Yes, there were beasties. And mushrooms and lichen ... Next.

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Llovía. Una lluvia tenue, intermitente. Estaba sentada en el musgo en el suelo del bosque, examinando la hojarasca, buscando animalitos y hongos, sacando fotos de arañas y "jardines" de líquenes. Descansando, estirando para aliviar los ojos y la espalda, alcé la vista y vi el bosque alrededor.

1. El sotobosque. Salal (Gualtheria shallon), los troncos de árboles,  y un tocón  viejo con su arbusto de "huckleberry" (Vaccinium parvifolium).
2. Las raices de un árbol recién caído.
3. Un árbol muerto,  Tsuga heterophylla, ahora sirviendo de sostén de líquenes, pero todavía deteniendo sus  conos de semilla.
4. Musgos en un tronco caído.
5. Una hoja muerta encima de un tocón podrido.
6. Detalle de madera seca.
7. El extremo de un tronco cortado, con sus hongos políporos, y hojas mojadas de salal.

Sí, encontré los animalitos, los hongos y muchos líquenes. Los dejo para mañana.

Habitat

These are some more photos from the ferry landing at Crofton. Because I liked the textures and reflections underneath the dock. Creosoted pilings, rusty chains, old wood. And the barnacles, of course.

The ocean, and the critters that live therein don't let anything go to waste. Whatever we humans put in the water gets promptly turned into habitat. 

Although creosote-treated pilings have been suspected of poisoning that habitat, in reality, these pilings are usually densely populated with a vibrant community of marine invertebrates. Barnacles and mussels are the first inhabitants, quickly followed up by anemones, starfish, shrimp, kelp crabs, assorted sponges, nudibranchs, tubeworms, and a huge variety of worms and other tiny animals. I have seen a scallop looking back at me, and once, — long ago — a large octopus climbing over the barnacles. The critters obviously know what's good for them.

Old wood, creosote, rusty metal, barnacles, mussels, and the reflected colours of a boat.

More creosoted wood, more barnacles, green wavelets.

Detail, wood grain, rust. And more barnacles.

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Aquí hay más fotos que saqué en el embarcadero en Crofton. Porque me gustaron las texturas y los reflejos bajo el muelle. Los pilotes protegidos con creosota, cadenas oxidadas, madera vieja. Y los bálanos, claro.

El mar y las criaturas que en el viven no desperdician nada. Cualquier cosa que nosotros metemos al agua la convierten en habitat.

Aunque los pilotes protegidos con creosota han sido acusados de envenenar ese habitat, en verdad forman la base de una comunidad vibrante y densamente poblada de animales invertebrados. Los primeros en establecerse son los bálanos y los mejillones, y rapidamente les siguen las anémonas, las estrellas de mar, los camarones, los cangrejos kelp, una variedad de esponjas, los nudibranquios, gusanos tubícolas, y muchos otros animalitos.  He visto, mirándome con su hilera de ojitos, una vieira. Y — hace años — un pulpo grande. Los animales bien saben lo que les sirve.

1. Cadena de metal, hierro oxidado, pilotes y otras maderas, bálanos y mejillones. Y reflejos de un barco rojo al otro lado del muelle.
2. Más madera con creosota, más bálanos y mejillones. Y olitas verdes.
3. Detalle de la madera, con hierro oxidado, y, claro, más bálanos.

Wood, stone, sand, moss.

An hour among the logs on the beach and dunes south of Oyster Bay, looking at shapes and textures. All the wood was damp; it doesn't get a chance to dry out these days. So browns are browner, blacks are blacker. And the moss is neon.

Roots on the beach. I wonder what the cut was for.

Roots on the dunes.

Flaky. Each layer forms one of the annual tree rings, cut horizontally.

Knot among beach stones.

Moss in the cracks, and a branch scar. The cracks would be vertical if the tree were standing.

Not the same log. The lump may have been a burl.

On the beach, the waves have tossed up a tangle of red alder branches with bull kelp.

And there were fun fungi, and lichens. Next.

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Pasé una hora dando vueltas entre las dunas al sur de Oyster Bay, mirando los troncos y palos dejados por las mareas y las tempestades, observando sus formas y texturas. La madera toda estaba húmeda; en estos dias no hay tiempo en que se puede secar. Así que los colores cafés son más intensos, los negros son más negros. Y el musgo brilla como si tuviera una luz por dentro.

1. Raices en la playa.
2. Raices entre las dunas.
3. Las capas anuales de la madera, desconectadas. En un corte horizontal en el árbol, formarán los anillos anuales.
4. Un nudo de madera entre las piedras en la playa.
5. Musgos en un tronco viejo, quemado. Las grietas correrían verticalmente en el árbol vivo.
6. Otro tronco parecido, con menos musgo. Con un nudo desgastado.
7. En la playa, las olas habían traído un enredo de ramas de aliso rojo con quelpo "toro" (Nereocystis luetkeana).

Y hubo hongos divertidos, y líquenes. Eso, mañana.

Slow carvings

Water, weather, and worms shape old wood. I wonder what combination did this?

Log on the dunes. With a bit of lichen.

This one has been sitting out in the rain for years. But the worms got it first.

(Except that they're not worms: they're teredo clams.)
 

I'm still working on those 1950s photos. It's slow going.)

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Entre el agua, el clima, y los bichos, se las arreglan para hacer esculturas de troncos viejos.

Just because

... I like old wood. And eagles.

Eagle and totem on the museum lawn.

... and long, long memories.

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Águila y totem, en frente del museo. Repositorio de memorias de antaño.

Crumbling

There is a tendency to look at the "pretty" things: the fresh green leaves, the dewy flowers, the blue skies and billowing clouds. Sometimes, though, I stop to look at things falling apart.

Like these dead branches and stumps.

Pine tree, crumbling but still standing.

Stump, spilling its innards,

Dead stick and cones in the duff.

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Acostumbramos mirar las cosas bellas: las hojas nuevas, verdes; las flores con sus colores frescas, el cielo azul y las nubes blancas, como almohadas. Pero de vez en cuando se me ocurre fijarme en cosas que se están desbaratando.

Como estos troncos y palos muertos.

Tree bones

Wind, salt, rain, blowing sand. Give them time, and they peel the thick bark off trees, snap off the branches, sandpaper the roots. Add a bit of moss and lichen and strew the resulting fantastic shapes all along the shore line and across the dunes. Ma Nature's modern art gallery.

Log, needles, lichen. And a sort of bird shape.

Standing statuettes, the innards of branch attachments. This wood seems to be tougher, more resistant to rot than the rest of the tree.

Log end and Big-headed sedge, turned yellow with the cold weather.

New tree, old tree, young tree.

Grandaddy stump, Saratoga Beach

Bark and lichen

Because I like the textures.

Deeply grooved bark on an old maple tree

Campbell River museum, again.

Optical confusions

The Campbell River estuary spreads out into a maze of back-channels and quiet pools, protected both from the sweep of the river and the storms and tides of the salt chuck downstream. For many decades, it was used as a storage site for log booms.

Screen grab of 1965 aerial photo, with enhanced contrast, from City of CR. The long, white rectangles are log booms.

The booms are gone now. The last photo where they appear is from 1980. The lagoons lie sleepily under the sun where the logs once rattled their chains.

Old boat, at anchor. Someone is fishing off the forward deck.

Walking the Myrt Thompson trail, I deviated from the official route to visit the abandoned log dumping site. These days, it is an empty space, still paved in spots, but gradually being reclaimed by broom and trees. At the edge of the water, massive steps, stairs for a giant, rusted and warped from long years in the rain and the river, lead down into the water, probably where logging trucks long ago tipped their loads. (On the aerial photo above, it's near the angle in the orange dotted line, at the bottom of the long line of log booms.)

Just inland of these steps, large logs are chained in a row, a barrier between the paved area and the drop into the river. They've been there for many decades now; the wood is silvery-grey and silky to the touch, and deeply carved into fist-deep depressions.

Section of log.

When I look at this photo, my eyes insist on turning the holes into hills, with steps up, like so many eroded Mexican pyramids. The steps go down; the lighter, flat spaces in between are the outer surface of the log.

Another log, with more holes. The shadows and the bits of gravel at the bottom of some holes keep this in perspective.

On the broken pavement beside the logs, a grasshopper led me a merry dance, waiting until I would be a couple of metres away, then leaping up and flitting away, never too far, so that I could see him land. But when I approached, staring at the spot so as not to lose it, he was just not there. One cautious step more, and yes, he'd been there all the time; now he was on his way to his next hiding place in plain sight.

Hills become holes: the grasshopper became sticks, became a grasshopper, became stones. My poor eyes!

The textures of old wood

No words needed:

Beach Grove Park and adjacent woods, Tsawwassen.