Reflections of 2004: Are you Prepared?

              Twelve years ago, as American kids were marveling at their new gifts they had received the day before, the earth jolted.

               Twelve years ago, as family members hugged goodbye, and planes were being boarded for the journey home. The ocean roared.

               Twelve years ago, as the rest of the world settled for a relaxing Boxing Day, the Indian Ocean Basin experienced an apocalypse.

               A section of the seabed over 800 miles long jerked to the west and upward in a titanic 9.2 magnitude earthquake that shook the countries of Bangladesh, India, Malaysia, Myanmar, Thailand, Singapore and the Maldives. Massive shockwaves rocked the ground for up to 10 minutes. People were thrown to the ground, buildings collapsed, sand boiled up like water from cracks. And that wasn’t the end.

               As soon as 15 minutes following the earthquake, tsunami waves up to 80 feet high careened into the coastlines, leaving a wake of death and destruction which took the lives of over 250,000 people around the Indian Ocean coast. It is one of the deadliest natural disasters in written history. And it wasn’t just a freak event.

The 2004 tsunami crashes to shore. Photo by Wikipedia. 

               In 2010, a magnitude 8.8 earthquake and resulting tsunami devastated the coast of south-central Chile. And in 2011, the northeast coast of Japan was ravaged by a 9.1 magnitude earthquake and massive tsunami which leveled entire towns. And in 2014 and 2015, Chile experienced an 8.0 earthquake which caused widespread damage each time.

               The twenty-first century is beginning to intimately introduce us to Megathrust Earthquakes. Huge events on Subduction Zones that can wreak havoc across half the planet. And while many countries around the world have experienced this cataclysm, the Cascadia Subduction Zone off our coast remains quiet.

               You’ve heard the spiel before, we’ve all read the New Yorker’s Post. So, I won’t go into the nitty gritty details of what nightmare fuel is waiting for us in our possibly near future (some seismologists put us at a 1/3 chance within the next 30 years). All I ask of you today, on the anniversary of the deadliest event of this kind is: Are you prepared? If not, here’s a couple links of how you could prepare for an earthquake in our area. Stay safe.

Ready to go.

Red Cross

FEMA Earthquake Checklist

           

Kitsap Waterfall Survey: The Hidden Splendor of Lost Creek Falls

When I first began searching for waterfalls on the Kitsap Peninsula, one of the first things to catch my attention was the large canyon of Lost Creek. The creek digs a deep gouge over two miles in length west to east through thick glacial deposits, hugging the northern reaches of the Blue Hills. Upon further investigation and observation of the topographic maps, I began to realize that the head of the canyon likely housed one of Kitsap’s largest waterfalls, a hidden giant (in Kitsap terms) 50 feet high or greater. Reading the county parcel map, I also quickly realized that the location was inaccessible as the entirety of the hypothesized falls lied within private property - foiled again!

As my waterfall survey continued, and I checked more and more streams off the list, Lost Creek remained at the back of my mind. Finally, I caved. I sat down and wrote a detailed letter to the property owners along Lost Creek explaining my intentions and asking permission to access the creek. Rather rapidly I received confirmation from all of them; unfortunately, I moved to Central Washington University around the same time, and everything was put on hold. 

Fast forward to this Friday. I sent out an email to one of the property owners asking if it was still ok if I could investigate the falls on their property. I was surprised when I got a very kind reply back that I was more than welcome, in fact, I could come that same day. Throwing my waterfalling gear on and hurling myself into my truck, I made my way over to the Stephen family's property, perched on the precipitous canyon hiding Lost Creek. 

I was very fortunate and lucky that the Stephens family opened up their home and property for me to explore and run around on. That being said, the photos and report of these falls described here are for your reading only. The Stephens have asked that they would like these falls to remain off-limits to the general public, so please respect their wishes and enjoy the photos and detailed description I give here. Do not attempt to reach these falls.

I arrived at the Stephens' property not sure what to expect. I was greeted by Katie and Joe, who grew up on the property, and they happily led me down several trails to the bottom of the canyon, showing the best access points. They returned to the house to let me scamper along the creek. Here's what I observed.

The first 10 foot drop of the upper cascades. Photo By Micah K. 

Lost Creek babbles onto the Stephens'  property in a quiet, unassuming fashion with musical chattering echoing through the leaves. Shortly after passing the property line, its character rapidly changes. The creek skitters over a tiny shelf of brown bedrock and picks up speed, flowing past a gravel bar and then crashing 10 feet over a brown mass of bedrock into a small plunge pool. Across this plunge pool from the face of the falls is a large outcrop of grey blocky bedrock. The creek skips around this and begins a series of small drops into a deep gorge. I didn’t have the time to explore this gorge in detail, but there is at least one 10 foot drop at its head and a 5 foot drop at the bottom, making this initial cascade at least 25 feet high.

The final drop on the upper cascades. Photo by Micah K.

After this gorge, the creek takes a brief rest, flowing alongside a massive gravel bar of shattered bedrock and occasional glacial erratics transported from the north tens of thousands of years ago. After squeezing through a logjam, the creek begins its chaotic downward tumble again. As soon as the creek escapes the tangled mass of logs, it spreads out across a broad, grooved shelf of grey-blue bedrock that spans the entire floor of the canyon. The creek hisses across this shelf and loses 10 feet of elevation in around 60 feet of run. This shelf ends abruptly in a small 4-5 foot plunge into a beautiful and hauntingly deep pool. Upon exiting this pool, the creek works its way through another loose logjam and immediately hurtles 15 feet over a spectacularly photogenic block into a gorgeous blue-green pool. Without pause, the creek crashes over another  15 foot cascading slide, pooling at the base of a cliff of grey rock. After a short turn around the cliff, the creek trips over a 4 foot rib of rock and flows quietly for 30-40 feet.  

the most significant tier of "Lost Creek Falls" 

After navigating past another small logjam, the creek hurtles 10 feet over a rugged ledge, turns, and dives over what appears to be another 10 to 15 foot drop jammed between two ribs of rock. I was only able to view this final drop from the top, and from my vantage point perched on the precipitous walls of the canyon, the creek calmed down following this and flowed around the corner out of sight. However, I know that the whitewater doesn't stop there, as neighbors downstream have reported several waterfalls on their property. It is inevitable that I will have to strap on my waders once more and return to Lost Creek to finish the survey I started, and I hope that day comes soon. Until then, I am currently analyzing and identifying the rock types that make up the bedrock at these falls and hope to do the same at other falls around Kitsap. 

The second main tier of "Lost Creek Falls." Note the first main tier peeking out in the background. Photo by Micah K. 

Thank you to the Stephens family for opening up their home and canyon to me for exploring! This blog post wouldn't have been possible without their hospitality. 

Kitsap Waterfall Survey: Upper Dickerson Creek.

Thus far, I have written about four of Dickerson Creek's waterfalls: "Elegance," "Divergence," "Dickerson Creek", and "Beaver Dam Lake Falls." Finally, I'm crossing off the final two waterfalls. Both are located on upper Dickerson Creek before it enters Beaver Dam Lake.

Dickerson Creek spawns in a marshy lake in southwestern Ueland Tree Farm. There are several lakes like this on the farm, resting in valleys gouged out by the glaciers that covered the Kitsap Peninsula 17,000 years ago. After it exits the lake, the first half-mile of Dickerson Creek is calm, flowing through the dense second-growth forest. This quiescence is cut short as the creek encounters the first rock layer on its tumultuous journey to Chico Creek.

"Cedar Gorge Falls" The first waterfall on Dickerson Creek. Photo by Micah K.

What the first waterfall on Dickerson Creek lacks in height, it makes up for in character. Here the creek intersects a basalt ledge and dives ten feet into a shaded, dark pool carved into the head of a steep-sided gorge. Several young cedar trees overhang this pool, adding to the shaded environment. For the presence of these trees and the overall location of this fall, I have named it "Cedar Gorge Falls."

"Upper Dickerson Falls" upper tier. Photo by Micah K. 

Flowing for another 60-70 feet and around a slight corner, the creek exits the gorge and drops over another, more striking fall. This is "Upper Dickerson Falls" This waterfall is composed of two tiers totaling about 30 feet in height. The first tier begins as a shallow cascade hissing over orange-red colored basalt which rapidly steepens into a final slide into a shallow basin. In low to medium water levels, only a small portion of the basalt face has water flowing over it, but I imagine in the height of winter or after a heavy rain, the entire shelf is one roaring mass of violent whitewater.

Between the two tiers is a section of level creekbed with a bottom of rounded stones. These stones range in composition from the basalt of the falls to pink-tan granites transported onto the Kitsap Peninsula from the northern cascades by the ice-age glaciers.

The second tier would be as gorgeous as the first, if it weren't for the two massive logs that have fallen across it, effectively blocking half from view. Despite this eyesore, the color of the bedrock is a mesmerizing dark blue-purple. At the base of the falls is another large piece of bedrock checkerboarded red and blue with white mineral veins crisscrossing the surface. Not only is this one of the most visually pleasing falls in the county, but it's also one of the best geologic outcrops Kitsap has to offer too.

"Upper Dickerson Creek Falls" bottom tier, Photo by Micah K.

Kitsap Waterfall Survey: Changing scenery at "Heins Creek Falls"

The upper tier of "Heins Creek Falls" with scale.
Photo by Micah K. 

On Sunday 10/30/2016 I visited one of my favorite falls in the area, "Heins Creek Falls" and was delighted to find that the recent rains have reinvigorated the creek and the falls were roaring with jubilee.

Everything about the first tier appeared to be in order, so I moved down to the second tier, which I haven't seen up close since the last time I first discovered the falls over a year and a half ago. What I found surprised me greatly.

If you read my original write up about this falls, you will find that I describe the second drop of this falls as slipping through a large logjam which is damming up the creek before it plunges 20 feet into a crevice. Well....things have changed a little bit.

When I arrived at the second tier, it had changed it's appearance drastically. The logjam has apparently settled even more since my last visit, and is beginning to block water flow from above. As a result, nearly half the volume of the creek is now plunging over the cliff over 30 feet from where it originally was. A swath of hillside that used to be covered in ferns, leaves, and soil is now bare basalt with roaring whitewater tumbling over it. The resulting display is absolutely spectacular.

The second tier of "Heins Creek Falls." Photo by Micah K. 

In the Shadow of the Mountain: Moonlit Nights and Marmot Fights

My second week meadow roving at Paradise, Mount Rainier has come to an end and wow. So many great things were experienced!

Wednesday evening was the full moon, and I was invited by several other park employees to go on a moonlight hike. Like I was going to say no to that! At around 11pm we hiked up to Bench and Snow Lakes southeast of Paradise where we spent the next several hours gawking at the fully illuminated volcano in front of us, and the backlit Tatoosh Range behind us.

Mount Rainier illuminated by moonlight. Photo by Micah K. 

Tatoosh backlit by the blazing moon. Photo by Micah K. 

Throughout the week I have been hanging around my usual spot at the Edith Creek bridge on top of Myrtle Falls, nesting in the hillside directly above the bridge are a pair of Hoary Marmots I have named Mr. and Mrs. Myrtle. This week I had a very fun time observing them courting and boxing with each other, I guess every couple has their squabbles.

"Mr. Myrtle" on the Skyline Trail. Photo by Micah K. 

"Mr. and Mrs. Myrtle" having a boxing match. Photo by Micah K. 

In the Shadow of the Mountain: Explosions of Color.

It's the middle of July, and that means that at 6,000 feet, exciting things are happening at Mount Rainier. The Marmots are running around in the meadows, the ground squirrels and chipmunks are beginning to gather food and nesting materials, and probably most exciting of all, the wildflowers are preparing for peak bloom here in just a couple short weeks.

A skittish Hoary Marmot along the Wonderland Trail at Sunrise. Photo by Micah K. 

The past two weeks at Rainier I have seen such a dazzling array of wildflowers that it staggers the imagination. Even as a geology student, wandering through the trail and observing the various flora is just awesome. Couple this with the fun aspects of wildlife activity, and it makes for quite a treat. The other day at Sunrise I saw a chipmunk climb over ten feet into a tree and then hang upside down to sip at the dew gathering on the end of a Subalpine Fir branch.

An acrobatic Chipmunk. Photo by Micah K. 

And let's not forget the wildflowers.

Heather and Scarlet Paintbrush. Photo by Micah K. 

Oh my gosh the wildflowers.....

Beargrass in bloom, individual plants only bloom every seven years! Photo by Micah K.

Things are coming to life here at Mount Rainier, and I can't wait to see what else is right around the corner.

In the Shadow of a Volcano: Meadow Roving 2016.

Once again, it's been a while. Been up to my eyeballs in schoolwork, family get-togethers, and back to back adventures across the Western United States. But the rest of the summer is looking to be awesome. Why? Because I get to spend it here: 

Edith Creek and Mount Rainier, Paradise. Photo from Wikipedia. 

That's right! I am now an official Meadow Rove Volunteer in Mount Rainier National Park for the entire summer of 2016 and potentially into the future beyond as well!

What the heck does that mean? Well it means that I get to camp in the park for free, and every day I get up, Put on my NPS volunteer uniform, and proceed to hike around the subalpine meadows of Paradise and Sunrise all day; answering questions, teaching people about the park, and maybe most importantly, protecting the sensitive meadows from getting trampled by curious visitors who may not know what damage they are causing.

I will be volunteering in the park from now until August 30 every week from Monday through Thursday, bouncing back and forth between Paradise and Sunrise every week. I just finished my first week at Paradise, and I am looking forward to my first week at Sunrise as well!

If you are planning to visit the park, I am not sure where I will be at Sunrise yet, but at Paradise you can probably find me around Myrtle Falls, Edith Creek, and the Golden Gate Trail. Basically if you're within eyeshot of one of Edith Creek's waterfalls, you're going to be within eyeshot of me (Surprised? you really shouldn't be).

Here's to a wonderful summer of wandering around on Washington's tallest fire mountain!

Frenchman Coulee and Echo Basin, Overflowing the Bathtub

Time to play catch up It's a been a while.

Lets rewind the clocks back to 15,000 years ago. Our stage curtain opens with the northern hemisphere gripped in the frigid clutches of an ice age. Canada is completely smothered, the Puget Sound region is filled to the brim, and several tongues of ice extend down through north-central Washington, northern Idaho, and Montana. One of these lobes has blocked up one of western Montana's largest rivers, the Clark Fork. The pooling lake behind this icy blockade, named Glacial Lake Missoula by modern day geologists, has risen over 900 feet in some valleys. The location of downtown Missoula, Montana is now resting at the bottom of a body of water dwarfing any lake in the western US today.

Map showing the location of Glacial Lake Missoula and the path of the ice age floods. 

But then, something happened, a catastrophic event that rearranged the face of eastern Washington forever. The ice dam holding back Glacial Lake Missoula breached. A massive wall of water, filled with icebergs, boulders, trees, tore through the narrow river valleys of the Idaho panhandle and plowed into another huge glacial lake resting over what is now Spokane and extending northwest. But even this huge glacial lake was not enough to halt the flow of this sudden rush of water, the second lake also breached and the floodwaters made their way to the Columbia River the fastest way they could, through the Columbia River Basalts.

The Columbia River Basalts, were formed 18-15 Million Years ago when the Yellowstone Hot Spot began it's chain of cataclysmic explosive eruptions in southwestern Idaho. The basalt flows covered 40% of Washington State in a flat plateau up to 3 miles thick. But as sizable as this blanket of rock was, it hardly slowed the raging water down.

Artist's rendition of what the floods may have looked like as they flowed through the Grand Coulee. 

The incredible force of the gargantuan torrent ripped into the basalt rock with vengeance, scouring huge, square-shaped canyons, or "Coulees", into the bedrock as it flowed towards the Columbia. However, at a certain point during its journey, it paused. One branch of the flood encountered the basin of an ancient lake, a geologic bathtub perched high above the eastern shore of the Columbia. The water was temporarily halted as it filled the lake basin, but the volume was too much. Eventually the flood spilled over the western rim of the bathtub.  Huge waterfalls, unlike anything the world has ever seen today, crashed over cliffs hundreds of feet into the waiting maw of the Columbia's canyon. As the volume of water going over the falls increased, the waterfalls migrated backwards, eating their way through weak layers of columnar basalt flows, picking away individual columns like straws; Frenchman Coulee was being born. At the same time slightly further to the south, Echo Basin, a huge amphitheater carved into the same lava flow as Frenchman Coulee, was also forming. Eventually, the headwalls of these spectacular basins, now used as a playground for hikers and rock climbers, and prime rattlesnake habitat, were worn back to the point where they remain today.

Looking out over Echo Basin on the edge of the Columbia River canyon (Background). Note the prominent Basalt Columns on the right side of the image. Photo by Micah K. 

Kitsap Waterfall Survey: "Dickerson Falls"

This will probably be my last Kitsap Waterfall post for some time due to being at Central Washington University for the next several months, but I wanted to get it out before the summer.

I have made the decision to combine two waterfalls, "Cleft Falls" and "Cable Falls" on Dickerson Creek. I was able to visit these two falls on my last major waterfall survey after I found "Melange Falls" and "Cedar Gorge Falls" (which will have a write up about them in the summer or fall.)

My reasoning for combining these two falls is that they are extremely close together, mere feet. So in hindsight, I think they are really two drops of one large fall. My reason for not deciding to do this when I first discovered them is, quite simply, I was inexperienced and hadn't made up my "requirements" for the survey. So now, I'm going back and correcting that.

So, since both of these falls are being combined, the names "Cleft" and "Cable" are going to be dropped and I'm going to rename this waterfall "Dickerson Falls" after it's source creek, and since that's what the Ueland Tree Farm calls it. It is also sometimes referred to as "Chico Falls" by locals.

The upper horsetailing tier of "Siletzia Falls" at moderate flow. Photo by Micah K. 

"Dickerson Falls" begins immediately after Dickerson Creek pours over a small abandoned concrete dam which backs up the creek to form Beaver Dam Lake. The first tier cascades five to ten feet before horsetailing over a large basalt shelf around 20 feet into a large plunge pool, which is frequently used as a swimming hole during the summer. After exiting the plunge pool, the second tier begins. The second tier cascades 20 to 25 feet over a big buttress of blocky basalt, it's rather ugly: crisscrossed with huge downed trees and several old logging cables. Below the falls the creek heads into a narrow gorge with some smaller cascades and rapids, before continuing down the canyon.

Geomorphology of the northern Thorp Region

The small hamlet of Thorp, Washington, lies about 14 minutes to the west of Ellensburg as the cwu geology van drives. It is located in the Yakima River Valley, the namesake of which meanders it's way north of Thorp slowly making it's way southeast. 

Today I ventured out on a field trip with my Geomorphology class to observe some of the Geomorphological features of the area. What is Geomorphology? Just break it up! Geo=Earth, Morph=Change, and Ology=To Study. So putting it all together, it's the study of landforms created through geologic processes. 

The first feature we observed was the most interesting to me personally. Almost 2.8 miles due north and a little west of Exit 101 on Interstate-90, is a large hillside comprising of ancient Yakima River Sediments. At this point, 1.5 to 5 thousand years ago, the hillside failed. Possibly driven by weak clays or saturated soils, a massive rotational-slump type landslide broke loose. The resulting earth flow at the foot of the slide shoved the Yakima River south by several hundred feet. 

Looking across the large landslide north of Thorp. Photo by Micah K. 

From an overlook at the western edge of the landslide, my Geomorphology class looked across this landslide. The displaced material had taken on a hummocky appearance, with the blocks tilted slightly towards the failure headwall. The size of this thing was boggling, even while small in comparison with the landslide that, for example, decapitated Mount Saint Helens in 1980 with catastrophic results. Even the several houses that were built on top of the landslide deposits seemed small in comparison. It was truly amazing.

Northwest of Thorp, Interstate 90, climbs up another large slope and across the wide, rolling expanse of basalt boulders and sagebrush known as the Thorp Prairie. It's strangely empty up on this expanse, only being occupied by several old and dilapidated windmills, and crisscrossed by irrigation canals. The reason for this emptiness being most in part for it's geology. Thorp Prarie sits on a massive terminal moraine formed many thousands of years ago when a large glacier flowed down the Yakima River Valley. The heart of this moraine is filled with rocky glacial garbage, scraped out from the mountains and dumped here as the glacier retreated, too rocky to farm on, and not very suitable for irrigation, this, it has remained relatively untouched. 

As the Yakima River carves it's way through this moraine to the north, over thousands of years it has created several large flood terraces visible on the flank of the moraine and elsewhere in the valley walls. These large flat expanses are sometimes built directly on top of Columbia River Basalt, which is exposed in the deepest parts of the canyon by the river. And as luck would have it, I'm going to see a important portion of the Columbia River Basalt tomorrow. So...to be continued......

Erosional Remnant of the Columbia River Basalt. Photo by Micah K. 

Coming full circle, The surprising relation between Kitsap Waterfalls and Yellowstone Geysers.

It's no secret that my two favorite things on this earth are Yellowstone's hydrothermal features and the Kitsap Peninsula's hidden waterfalls. One takes my attention during the summer, the other takes my attention during the wetter months of the year. Two separate geological features, nearly 900 miles apart, with seemingly no relation between them. Or so I thought...

I have just finished wrapping up my first week of classes here at Central Washington University, and am loving it. My classes are fascinating, my professors are great, and it's looking like the quarter is going to be one adventure after the other.

During on of my classes, "The Geology of the Pacific Northwest" this week we were discussing two of Washington's major geologic events. The Columbia River Basalts, that covered 40% of the state in up to 3 mile thick layers of lava rock. And the huge glacial floods that tore their way out of Montana and roared across the flat plateau of eastern Washington, all the way to the Pacific.

The origins of the Columbia River Basalts were 18 million years ago when the Yellowstone Hot Spot made it's first continental appearance, tearing massive calderas into what is now northwestern Nevada, southeastern Oregon, and Southwestern Idaho. For years I had thought that these first explosive eruptions were the birth of the Yellowstone Hot Spot. When I asked my professor this, he informed me that recently it had actually been suggested that the Yellowstone Hot Spot is much older, and has been erupting for longer than is commonly thought.

As it turns out, there are several studies which show the Yellowstone Hot Spot originating off the ancient west coast of the Pacific Northwest. For those of you who have been to my waterfall lecture, something should begin to feel eerily familiar about this....

As I explained in my lecture, 55-57 million years ago, some unknown force split the ancient Farallon Plate into several pieces and erupted a huge amount of basalt lava onto the seafloor. These basalts, today known as the "Crescent Formation," were slammed into the side of the North American Plate and stuck there, uplifting to become modern day Vancouver Island, part of the Oregon coast ranges, the eastern Olympic's, and the core of the Kitsap Peninsula. It is now believed that the "unknown force" was none other than the Yellowstone Hot Spot. That's right, the bedrock comprising Green and Gold Mountains, and the rest of the Blue Hills, the same bedrock that our beloved waterfalls crash over, probably originated from the geological feature which fuels Old Faithful, Beehive, and the other 1500 geysers in Yellowstone National Park.

Micah the Wildcat, a new chapter for Geologic Adventures

Hello readers,

For the past several months, Geologic Adventures has been dominated by my work with the Kitsap Waterfall Survey. For the time being, that project must come to a temporary halt. This week I started a new quarter at Central Washington University, signalling the beginning of a new chapter for my life. I've left behind the crashing cascades and green ferns of the Puget Sound region and am now writing this post in the hot, semi-arid climate at the eastern foot of the cascade range. 30 minutes away, the mighty Columbia River meanders past the massive basaltic flows of the Columbia Flood Basalt province which covers 40% of Washington State, erupted some 17 million years ago.

For those of you who have been following this blog for updates on the Kitsap Waterfall Survey. Do not fear! The survey is not over. I have plans to continue my waterfall investigations whenever I go back to Kitsap County to visit between school quarters. So the survey will be continuing, just at a much slower pace than before.

Back to the present, I am currently taking three geology courses at Central Washington: Geomorphology, Stratigraphy, and Geology of the Pacific Northwest. All three of these classes have field trips associated with them. So this blog will have plenty of content to be filled with as the next ten weeks progress.

I'm excited for this next step in life, and am looking forward to sharing my geologic adventures with all of you!

Micah

The Wildcat of Central Washington University

Kitsap Waterfall Survey: "Claire Falls"

There are multiple places in Washington State where a very respectable and sometimes spectacular waterfall is nearly eclipsed by an even bigger one nearby. It just so happens that there is one of these situations in Kitsap County. It turns out, "Tin Mine Falls" has a much smaller sibling.

During the wet times of the year (fall/winter/spring), small ponds and rain runoff give rise to a quaint little brook along the mountainside between Tin Mine Creek and a smaller tributary to the west. This tiny stream, nearly imperceptible on topographic maps and imagery, babbles through the forest, running generally northeast, straight towards Tin Mine Creek's canyon. Just downstream of "Tin Mine Falls," the brook intersects the near-vertical basalt canyon wall of and promptly dives over it. The resulting 40+ foot ribbon-like waterfall is startlingly beautiful, and would be commanding the attention of everything around it if it wasn't dwarfed by its colossal neighbor.

The lower section of "Claire Falls" as it's namesake looks on. Photo by Micah K. 

It is likely that this fall runs dry by July or August, but when it is flowing, it is a beautiful sight indeed, and so I have it included in my survey. After I first saw it in January 2015, I was trying to think of a name for it for months. One day a good friend of mine visited, and I took her to see "Tin Mine Falls." While she enjoyed "Tin Mine Falls" immensely, she also took an extreme liking to this little ephemeral fall. Because of this, I decided to name the fall after her.  

Kitsap Waterfall Survey: "Wright Creek Cascades"

When I first investigated Wright Creek on the western outskirts of Bremerton and surveyed "Wright Creek Falls," I immediately realized that the creek probably had more to offer as it bounced its way down to Sinclair Inlet. I have since visited "Wright Creek Falls" multiple times, and each time got me more and more frustrated at the difficult access downstream of the falls, which appeared to have steep slopes and thick brush. I finally decided that the best way to survey downstream was going to be walking down the stream itself.

I was really hoping that the search would be relatively straight forward, just walk down the creek until I hit a cascade or waterfall. I should have known better. For the next three hours I was in the creek as often as I was out of it. Being out of the creek involved fighting foot-for-foot through Devil's Club, Salmonberry, Swordfern, Salal, and Evergreen Huckleberry. Being in the creek resulted in teeth chattering temperatures, slippery rocks, and hidden pools in the creek which at some points almost sent me up to my waist.

A small unnamed cascade on Wright Creek. Photo by Micah K. 

After passing a few small rapids and interesting little cascades, shin deep in the chilly water, my frustration was mounting. I finally came to a sharp bend in the creek, and as I stepped around it I was immediately met with the thundering roar of crashing water.

"Wright Creek Cascades," Photo by Micah Kipple.
Unfortunately there is a serious foreshortening of the cascades in this photo so they appear smaller than they are in actuality. 

1,100 feet downstream of "Wright Creek Falls," Wright Creek narrows and rockets through a small basalt gorge, this gorge is occupied by "Wright Creek Cascades." The cascades begin immediately after the creek is dammed up behind a small logjam. Composed of three main drops, the cascades total about ten feet in height. Below the cascade the creek appears to calm down, with only one more section of rapids before continuing down towards the Inlet.

Kitsap Waterfall Survey: "Heins Creek Cascades"

Heins Creek in the southeastern portion of the Ueland Tree Farm  has already revealed a major waterfall: "Heins Creek Falls", which crashes over 50 feet just before entering Heins Lake. But I have long suspected the creek has more in store as it winds its way down from the Blue Hills.

Some of the reddish basaltic bedrock in the streamed. Photo by Micah K. 

Just under a half mile upstream of "Heins Creek Falls," Heins Creek encounters another layer of basalt bedrock. While the resulting cascades are not nearly as spectacular as its larger cousin downstream, they're still respectable, set in a beautiful green setting and bouncing off of colorful rocks. Here the creek trips over a long series of drops over the course of about 100 feet, similar to the layout of "Gold Creek Cascades" on the other side of the Hills. The total height of this cascade is about 25 feet, well above the ten foot requirement for my survey. It should be noted that this point in the creek may experience times of very low flow during summer months.

The uppermost section of "Heins Creek Cascades," Photo by Micah Kipple.