Big Leaf

We hiked up Medusa Flat today. The cattle ranchers have blocked their irrigation ditch for the winter and Mill Creek is flowing as god intended. It was a beautiful sight but the high water complicated our crossing; talk about a hop, skip and a jump. It's the height of the season and the big leaf maples are turning from green to gold to rust to brown. There's very little red in the mix out here on the Siskiyou ridge and leaf peepers would probably find it boring, but the color always catches my breath.

I bowed my head to old grandfather fir as we passed and gave him my greeting. 200 years old, he was supremely unconcerned with my ant-like attentions. He's old enough to remember the Klamath braves hunting in his shade, but I'm sure he doesn't, just as he won't remember me 100 years from now.

The woods smelled of autumn, the rich scent of rotting leaves and humus. As we broke out from under the canopy and into the flat, there were the flanks of Mt Ashland towering over us, white for the first time this season. The snow's in the high country and winter draws near.