One of the advantages of residing in Portland, Oregon is its central location from many interesting parks, preserves, and natural curiosities. A couple of weeks ago, amidst a break in the clouds, I made a weekend gateway for the Painted Hills Unit of the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument in central Oregon.

Located about 75 miles east of Bend, “Painted Hills is named after the colorful layers of its hills corresponding to various geological eras, formed when the area was an ancient river floodplain” (Wikipedia).

It has been a year since my hitchhiking and backpacking trip with Chelsea to the Humboldt Redwoods State Park and the Lost Coast trail. We emerged in Shelter Cove, tired and hungry, from backpacking along the trail, and spent the last night of the trip camping on a bluff above a beautiful black beach. That trip was the catalyst for my move from Juneau, Alaska to northern California four months later. Ironically enough, at the same time next year, I would find myself in Shelter Cove again, working for the California Department of Fish and Game.

One of the perks of my California Department of Fish and Game job is that I get sent from Arcata to Crescent City, California several times a week. It’s an hour and a half drive one way, which takes me through several Redwood State and National Parks. On those days, I often get up at 4 am, just so I could spend a couple of hours before work looking for photos in the midst of the Coast Redwoods. It seems the best way to photograph them is early in the morning, when the fog envelopes the trees separating the foreground trees from the beautiful but overwhelming clutter of the forest. I am still hunting for interesting shots that combine flowering Rhododendrons, the Redwoods, and the early-morning mist, but I am getting closer to finding those photos.

The sheer expanse of the Pacific Ocean. Thirty percent of the Earth’s surface. So properly christened Peaceful by Magellan.

The incredible coastline of the East Pacific, stretching from the northern tip of Western Alaska to the southern tip of Chile. Inviting and soothing at times and places, like a kitten. Crushing and spewing and hissing and boiling at its mightiest.

Dotted with coves and lagoons and bays. Heaven for kayakers and explorers.

There is something about lighthouses and waterfalls that stand out as destinations for so many people. Personally, waterfalls have never been a draw for me. I would rather have a trail end at a tree – or a so much more useful tree stump – for lunches and resting, or even a non-discreet destination – than a waterfall. But then again, I haven’t tried climbing them in the winter, when they’re frozen.

On the other hand, lighthouses have a magnetic effect on me, and not just because pictures of them sell like pancakes. Or the Israeli pickles. No, it’s the sea rat in me. These messengers between tiny fishing and merchant boats on the high seas and quaint and quite harbors make me reminisce about my days on the water: on fishing vessels in the Bering Sea in the winter. On a rumbling bright-orange U.S. Coast Guard icebreaker Healy north of St. Lawrence Island. The trips on my beloved Alaska Department of Fish and Game Research Vessel Pandalus in the Gulf of Alaska. The surreal night fishing trips on wooden dingies in Lake Tanganyika in East Africa. My very first research cruise on NOAA vessel Ferrell to the Gulf Stream in the Atlantic. Hot days spent on skiffs on the Illinois River setting traps and surveying fish while trying to avoid flying Asian carp. Or, on a wooden chartered boat full of dedicated researchers scrubbing and measuring the intertidal life on the major islands of Prince William Sound – an unforgettable experience. Or, … but I better stop myself.

So, when I ended up on San Juan Island in Washington, I knew I had to visit the two lighthouses there. The Cattle Point Lighthouse, above, sits on a desolate bluff on the southeastern part of the island. No being very photogenic, I made a point to hike to it with a flashlight before sunrise, in hope of getting an interesting photo with the rising sun. With almost no clouds, the sunrise wasn’t particularly captivating, so I added my own mood to the photo digitally, if you will.

The Lime Kiln Lighthouse, above, the much more visited lighthouse on the west side of the island is more photogenic but too crowded for my tastes. The first time Chelsea and I were looking for it, we had only several minutes left before the sun set, as we managed to miss all the road signs pointing to it. In a rush to see it before the sun would completely disappear, we ran down a trail without paying attention to any of the signs, assuming that all the trails from the parking lot would lead to the main attraction in the area. Well, they would have, had we headed in the proximate general direction. At least, with the sun set, we also missed the last of the crowds for the day.

While visiting Coose Bay in Oregon, my CouchSurfing host took me to the nearby Umpqua River Lighthouse. With the fog rolling in from the Pacific, it created a fast-moving light-catching blanket around the head of the lighthouse. I was going to add a cacophony of frogs to the background, but now that I think about it, it was January in Oregon. There were most likely no frogs “cacophoning”.

I did get a couple of shots of the  moonlight reflections in the Gastineau Channel next to downtown Juneau.

My idea was to write a cheerful story about the Governor’s Mansion since I live only a few minutes from it and often pass it on the way to downtown. How it turned into a post of gloomy night-time shots of desolate downtown and the governor’s mansion, I don’t know. Perhaps, I shouldn’t have looked at my credit card statement before sitting down to pick the photos for this post. But here it goes anyway, with photos completely out of context.

When Frank Murkowski, our previous governor, occupied the mansion, it looked and felt dead. I could hardly see any sign of life. I suppose the mansion was reflective of its inhabitant. Now that Sarah Palin moved in, a younger governor with teenage children, the place came to life. A trampoline magically appeared in the backyard. Two swings were made for her kids, by suspending fishing buoys from a tree. I even see her once in a while playing with her kids in the backyard. A truly unique feature of my favorite city and the state. It’s also refreshing to meet our governor jogging on trails, by herself, without bodyguards. Yes, Juneau is not big (and we like to keep it that way), but the state still is.

The photo of the governor’s mansion was modified in Photoshop. It actually was quite cheerful when I started playing with it, with bright Christmas decorations, and a mother and a kid standing in front of the mansion, reading a placard. But by the time I was done massing with it, it became almost Hitchcockien. Now, the photo of downtown Juneau, with the background lights of houses on the Blueberry hill on Douglas Island, was not modified at all.