THORNTON CREEK

Another day of waterfall hounding, this time, an approach to the bottom of the falls on Thornton Creek, which I haven't managed to reach from the bridge above. My instructions are to follow an old road grade from the base of the Thornton Lakes road. An excellent plan, if the road grade were a little more free of obstacles. As it is, I am climbing over logs, between trees and around branches. The footing is hummocky, and it's a long walk to the creek. I eventually emerge from the thickening woods, within sight of the highway. Note: go straight up the creek from the highway next time.

I start up toward the falls. It's interesting how the old climbing skills come in handy. I have to be very conservative. No jumping (arthritic knees wouldn't like that), no large steps up. Keep on level footing as much as possible to avoid twisting the knees, don't step on any slippery rocks or moving logs. But my ability to find secure handholds is still there. Climbing techniques like bridging and using the ridges on rocks for footholds come back quickly. I feel terrifically pleased with myself when I climb over a boulder and there are the falls.

The very top of the falls is recognizable from my expedition the day before. I was wise to turn around at the lip and not try to climb down, as I can see from below that the upper rock is undercut. I can also see that it will not be feasible for me to bring my paints down to this view, as the cliff runs along both sides of the creek, steep and forbidding.

When I reach the road (going straight down the creek) I find a spot to paint with a gravel bar, and color-matched stand of light tree-trunks dancing against the darker woods.

NEWHALEM CREEK

It's a lovely sunny day, with patches of sunlight dappling rocks and gravel bars as I walk up Newhalem Creek. I choose a spot farther up than last time, with intricate spills, and set up to paint.

A dipper comes to visit. In my mind, I like to call them water ouzels, their other common name, but no one (including me) seems to know how to pronounce that, so aloud, I say "dipper." I take many photos, trying to catch that curious plie' that they do all the time. I'm told that it's a way of improving depth perception, a tricky business when your food is caddis fly larvae underwater. They also have nictating membranes that can cover their eyes. I've seen them walk and even fly (swim with their wings) underwater. This one seems content to dip his head, hopping from one rock to another with a hop, plie', plie', hop.

I'm deep into my painting, trying to catch the water patterns, when it starts to rain. Where did that come from? Interesting what can sneak up on you when you're concentrating on a narrow focus. I pack up quickly, camera first, and head for the shelter of the woods. By the time I reach the Visitors' Center, the sun is out again.

HAPPY CREEK FALLS

I've been told about a nice little waterfall at the end of a one-mile hike. It's been thirty minutes, and the trail is getting thinner, my pack heavier. I wonder if I've gone wrong somewhere. Maybe I should ditch the pack and scout ahead without it. My knees (arthritis) are only good for a few miles. I promise myself that I'll quit in five minutes. Five minutes later, I'm still going up. But the trail is wrapping around into a valley. Maybe that's where the waterfall will be. The valley is dry. No sign of ever having water. The trail turns up between some rocks.

A squirrel scolds me as I walk past. My trail has turned to a thin beaten path across moss and salal. At the top of the rock, I come back to the creek. Why didn't the trail just follow the creek to begin with? A short while later, I come to the falls. It is well worth the walk. I settle in to paint and enjoy my hard-earned view.

LADDER CREEK

Showers are forecast for today. The sun is shining, so I take my paints to Ladder Creek, where I can paint not far from my car in case I need to pack up quickly. I set up to paint the lower part of the creek, which is nearly as spectacular as the main falls. I focus on one side of the drop where the creek falls between large slanted boulders. The rocks are full of subtle variatons in color, and I struggle to capture them, along with the shadows and the particular colors of the water.

It's a difficult painting day. Every time I turn around, I see the bank of clouds moving closer, and I know I have little time before they'll be dropping rain on me. I barely finish when a massive dark cloud covers the sky. A few drops of rain bead up on my oil-coated canvas. The rain holds off, until I get back to the Visitors' Center.

SKAGIT RIVER

I am sitting on a tree root, painting a view of the Skagit River. I have hiked in without my tripod, so the palette box is sitting on gravel. My legs are pressed into the gravel. All-in-all, not a very comfortable position, but I can manage. Next time, I'll carry either the tripod or a sitting pad.

It's the cloudiest day we've had so far, other than an afternoon of rain. I look for color variations in the sky. The water, too, has many colors in it: more orange in the shallows, turquoise in the deep channel, even hints of yellow and blue. I notice that the tree branches all reach out to the river at the same level, as if someone came along with a weed whacker and trimmed them in a straight line. Flood level.

The river rocks are all nearly white, but with variations. Spotted rock (leopard rock), striped rock (zebra rock), and rock with a golden rusty tone (lion rock.) All of it light, and tumbled to a pocked, rounded surface.

But the cliffs across the river are gray and dark. Why? Driving along the exposed rock later in the afternoon, I can guess. Dark cliffs line the road, but where bits of rock have broken away, the revealed rock is white. Something in the exposed rock has oxidized over the years, turning the rock black.

DIABLO LAKE OVERLOOK, COLONIAL PEAK, PYRAMID PEAK

Painting for a second day at Diablo Lake Overlook is relaxing. I feel as if I know a little about the view, even though the light is different today and I am painting different peaks. I use many of the same color mixes, and I'm not having to invent strategies for every subject I paint. I take advantage of all the greens I've mixed for the first painting by carrying my palette, still set up, to a second viewpoint.

Today's visitors include more of the odd black beetles. One of them totters up a pine branch, wobbling as if his antennae were too heavy for him to balance. As the sun breaks out, warming up the earth and grasses, grasshoppers snap and jitter around me. They are surprisingly colorful, flashing bright yellow wings in their brief flights.

The clouds come and go, and suddenly, at one o'clock, the wind whips down the valley. Holding onto my easel, I get all the color notes down, then pack up for the day.

DIABLO LAKE OVERLOOK, DAVIS PEAK

Diablo Lake Overlook just might be the busiest place in the park. I set up my paints in the morning, and talk to all kinds of people while I paint. Japanese tourists take my picture. People from Tennessee watch me paint the turquoise water.

People aren't my only visitors. A yellow-jacket grumbles around my hat, and on my palette I get a visit from a rectangular black beetle with four-inch jointed antennae. As I put the finishing brushstrokes on the painting, a woman tells me it's lovely. "All it needs is a bird." I flick in a Stellar's jay, sitting on a tree limb. Can you find it?

Then back to the visitors' center, where I paint underneath the circling bat, until a visitor manages to get him outside. What would the park be without animals?