Falling water
It is raining again. Still. In these pre-dawn hours, with the sound of the drops falling on the tin roof above the deck, the rain begins to reclaim her place in the local weather cycle. The days of summer have faded, those sticky hot afternoons when the fan was humming in the bedroom and the beer could hardly get cold enough. The softer heat of autumn is gone as well, those slow corn-ripening sunny evenings. The rains are back.
They are back, and they fall on the town and wilderness alike. Right now, somewhere, the rivers are rising. There are salmon runs that will soon return to the Satsop, the Wynoochie and the Skokomish. The ancient trees in the park are using this time to extend 
their roots just a little further, to broaden their bases to support another year of growth. Smaller trees, pushing up toward the dense forest canopy, seem to grow so quickly their progress is visible. The old giants are slower, but they are growing all the same.
their roots just a little further, to broaden their bases to support another year of growth. Smaller trees, pushing up toward the dense forest canopy, seem to grow so quickly their progress is visible. The old giants are slower, but they are growing all the same.There are places in the Hoh watershed that receive over 200 inches of rain each year. In the lowlands, there are acres where it can often be difficult to find any solid ground. With that much rain, the environment takes on a decidedly aquatic feel. In the higher elevations, the moisture falls as snow, growing deeper each week, painting the sides and summits of the jagged peaks.
In the temperate rainforests of the Olympic peninsula, along the endless sandy beaches above the crashing breakers, on the still water of a thousand mountain ponds, the rain is falling.
About Ken Campbell
New Release
A story of sea kayaking and science on the rugged coast of Alaska. Coming – Spring 2014.
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