Erwin Buske Photography

Avalanche Lilies by a Small Stream

Avalanche lilies lean toward a small stream fed by melting snowfields higher on the mountain. Photographers often call these flowers snow chasers, for they follow the retreating snowline and bloom in the brief window between winter's departure and summer's arrival.

Their lives are measured in weeks. Born from the melt, they flourish while the ground remains cool and moist, then quietly fade back into the earth as the mountain dries beneath the summer sun.

For this short season, however, they carpet the mountainside in waves of white—an expression of beauty, elegance, and grace. A reminder that some of nature's most extraordinary moments are also its most fleeting. Image 6.16.26

Small Stream in an Ancient Forest

During the uncertainty of the COVID pandemic, when many of us were living with fear of the unknown, I found refuge in nature. In many ways, I still do.

Life has changed profoundly since 2020. Online connections often seem to carry more weight than human ones. Yet some of the simplest remedies remain the most powerful. Turn off your phone, find a friend, and take a walk through a forest. The peace, perspective, and quiet rewards you discover may surprise you.

With portions of Olympic National Park recently reopened in late May 2020, I decided to pay a visit. Arriving early proved to be a wise choice. Few people were there, and with campgrounds and many facilities still closed, the crowds were greatly reduced. The visitors I did encounter were courteous and respectful in their efforts to maintain social distance.

Although I visited several of the park's iconic locations, I found myself drawn to this small stream winding through ancient forest, emerald moss, and weathered stone. The water seemed as pure as one could hope to find anywhere. Perhaps that is one of the rewards of wandering beyond the well-traveled path in a rainforest—a chance to experience a quieter, more intimate connection with the natural world.

As the stream flowed gently through this timeless landscape, the worries of the day seemed to fade away, replaced by a sense of calm and gratitude that only wild places can provide.

Olympic National Park, Washington — May 2020

Melakwa Musings

A quiet inlet opens into Melakwa Lake, beneath the towering presence of Chair Peak. While a gentle breeze ripples the water and clouds drift overhead, a grove of ancient Alpine Firs guards the western shore. Beyond the shelter of the lake, the landscape yields to the harsh alpine zone, where only small, weathered trees endure. It is a perfect snapshot of life in the subalpine transition. Image 6.12.26

Bandara Phlox Garden

Here is a wonderful memory from last year at this time.

"I have been up Bandera several times in early June and recall seeing patches of phlox amid the many boulder rocks on the way to the top. Sure enough, the phlox seemed even more beautiful than my recollection this June, collecting light during the golden hour, reaching out to Mt. Rainier. The vibrant colors of the phlox against the rugged landscape created a truly captivating scene, a testament to the sublime beauty that can be found in nature."

Inner Vision

Touch the mountain nestled within the lake, not only with your eyes, but with your heart. The mountain before you is the same mountain that lives within you. Outer and inner, reflection and reality, are not separate things. They are expressions of the same presence. The two will always be one.

Stones of Contemplation

I began my hike to Olallie Lake in mid-afternoon, stopping often to photograph the countless small wonders along the way. By the time I reached the shore, evening was quietly approaching. The sun was already slipping behind the opposite ridge, and a breeze moved across the lake, scattering reflections.

As I made my way toward these beautifully placed lakeside stones—sculpted through countless seasons of water, ice, and time—the wind gradually eased. The lake began to settle. Soft light gathered in the clouds overhead and reflected back onto the forested slopes, illuminating both mountain and water with a quiet glow.

There was something inviting about these weathered stones, as though they had been placed here for the sole purpose of contemplation. I found myself slowing down, drawing a deep breath, and simply sitting with the moment. In the stillness, surrounded by reflection and fading light, I felt immersed in one of those rare and precious moments that nature offers so generously to those willing to pause and notice. Image 6.7.26

Hypnotized by Beauty

On this August evening, the fog that had accompanied me throughout the day finally released its hold on Mt. Baker, leaving behind a luminous sea of cloud filling the valleys below. Bathed in the afterglow of sunset, the landscape felt like a midsummer night's dream—wildflowers among volcanic stone, lingering snowfields, drifting clouds, and the soft hues of twilight stretching across the sky.

The long hike back down a steep trail in darkness seemed far away. For a brief moment, I stood completely absorbed in the scene, hypnotized by a beauty so profound that time itself appeared to slow. What lasted only minutes felt as though it endured for a hundred years.

I was honored that this image recently received 1st Place in the Open Category and was also selected as the People's Choice Award winner in the June competition of the Seattle Photographic Society, one of the nation's oldest photography organizations, founded in 1933. It is especially meaningful to have the image recognized both by the judges and by fellow photographers. I have been attending the society's monthly meetings and come to value their insights and image critiques.

Pilgrimage to the Rhodies

A few days ago, I made my annual pilgrimage to the Olympic Peninsula, hiking the trail up Mt. Walker in search of Washington's state flower, the Pacific Coast Rhododendron.

These native rhodies are not as bold or flamboyant as the cultivated varieties that fill nursery displays. What they may lack in dazzling color and abundance, they more than compensate for with an organic elegance and understated beauty that feels perfectly at home in the forest. Their blossoms seem less designed to impress than to belong.

Often leggy and reaching ever upward, they stretch toward openings in the canopy, seeking the soft, filtered light that finds its way through the towering trees. There is something deeply expressive in that pursuit—an enduring resilience shaped by the rhythms of the forest.

This year's bloom was less abundant than in recent years, and the forest offered fewer grand displays. Yet in small pockets of light and shadow, the rhodies still whispered their presence. Their beauty is not one that demands attention, but one that rewards it—revealing itself slowly to those willing to linger among the trees.

Perhaps this was the Destination

I’ve always had a weakness for trailside distractions—those hidden nooks and fleeting glimpses of beauty that catch the eye and quietly persuade me to linger. More than once, they have significantly delayed my arrival at the destination I had in mind.

This small garden of Canadian bunchberry was one such place. Delicate white blossoms, close relatives of the flowers borne high in dogwood trees, carpeted the forest floor among emerald mosses and fresh spring greenery. A narrow path wound past them toward a rustic bridge spanning a trickling stream, inviting further exploration.

Standing there, surrounded by the quiet abundance of the forest, I found myself wondering: what more could I ask for? Perhaps these unexpected moments are why I come here in the first place. Perhaps the destination was never farther up the trail. Perhaps it was right here.