Frost Fire in the Quehanna Valley of the Elk

I was deep-dreaming of the thundering hooves of the elk herd we'd seen the evening before, when I heard a voice above my head speaking from very, very far away: "Are you sleeping in?" the voice said; "It's going on 8 a.m.!"

And I roused myself and looked up, and discovered it was my husband, trying to get me up. I'd awakened around 4 in the morning with a stuffy nose; couldn't get back to sleep for an hour or two, then finally did. And then nearly slept through the frost mist at the Valley of the Elk!

You might be surprised how quickly I was out of my sleeping bag and dressed. And I checked my watch: 7:45 a.m. I could see light, and mist, out in the clearing. I hurried up, put on my pants, my jacket, struggled into my boots, grabbed my gloves.

And then I was gone. Out on the rock overlooking the Valley of the Elk, I could see that everything had hard frosted. In the distance, to my left, frost mist was rising, and I scurried in that direction, hoping to catch it before it faded.

The photo above was one of the first few I took. The hard frost on the ground was turning into mist as the sun warmed it, and then the light caught it and lit it all up with gold. The yellow of the tamaracks gave an added boost of color. And it changed before my eyes from silver into gold: frost fire!

I wandered around the hillside, and then made my way to the creek in the valley below. Every fern, every blade of grass, every bush, was covered in frost crystals, shining with silver. Three weeks ago, the creek was low, but now the water ran full in the stream. I could not cross easily to the other side.

I walked around for about 45 minutes, until the light had filled the valley, the mist had risen, and ice was dripping from the trees. Then I returned to our campsite to waken my husband, who had gotten back into his sleeping bag and passed out after waking me.

He checked the thermometer and informed me that the overnight low at our campsite in the pines had been 33 degrees F; and colder than that out in the field below us, where it had hard frosted. It had been, indeed, a chilly night!

We spent the morning packing up in a leisurely fashion. We'd agreed the night before that we'd like to hike out early and then go and visit one of the jet engine test cells near Reactor Road. There are two of them, north (closest to Reactor Road), and south. Each has a tiny parking area, a gated road, and a flat tree-lined road back to the bunker (a flat, squarish, cement building).

So we left our campsite less than 24 hours after we walked in. We stowed our gear in my car and tried to remember which of the two roads was the better one. My recollection was that one was a longer walk, but it paid off because you could actually go inside the bunker.

Which one did I think it was? I picked the south one. Of course, in the end, I was wrong. This is why I don't gamble much; I'm not innately lucky. And to be honest, my sense of direction isn't so hot either! Which is one of the reasons why I don't generally go into the deep woods without my husband.

So we walked back to the south jet engine test cell, and I felt pretty silly when we got there and it was the wrong one. I tried to hide my disappointment as we sat in the sun near some lovely orange trees. On such a beautiful day, how could ANY choice be the "wrong" one?

But shortly my husband asked, "Do you want to go to the other place?" And of course, I did! So we walked back to the car, tossed our stuff in, and agreed that we'd check out the second one, but try to make it quick, as it was a long way home and we had errands to run on the way. Between bunkers, we made a quick drive up Reactor Road, and the foliage colors there were quite nice in the afternoon sun.

The north bunker turned out to be the one I had hoped to see. The foliage colors around it were golden and red, and I snapped many photos. In fact, I am not sure what button I pushed, but I ended up with a really strange shot that almost looked like a colored negative. You may see that photo in the extras.

But there was a surprise waiting for us, and not a happy one: they have soldered the metal door shut since we were there last, and you can no longer go inside! And I must admit that I wondered who had made that decision and why. Lawyers, probably, all out to ruin our good time.

That was a big disappointment, as one of the reasons I loved going there was to walk inside the building and take photos of the strange surroundings and weird artwork that people have drawn there. I remembered a photo I took there two Octobers ago - Doorway Into Autumn - and was glad I took it, but sorry I will not have that opportunity again.

So there's another proof, as if we needed one, that you should do all the fun things you can, take all the pictures you can, because tomorrow or "later" you may not get the opportunity. As if I needed to say it again, seize the day! For a picture you did not take today is a picture you may not ever have a chance at again.

We walked out the long pathway lined with trees and the light was extraordinary. I took far too many photos of the pathway, the light, and my husband disappearing into it all, the usual.

You may see one of my favorite monochrome shots, looking back the long, narrow pathway in the extras. And so with this posting you get to see pretty much the first and last photos I took on this day.

The song to accompany this posting is a favorite and it goes with the photo above, of frost fire: Pat Benatar, with a live version of Fire and Ice.

Now get out there and Seize the Day!