It was quite by chance, or was it, that the Trowbridge Chronicles, as they've come to be known, found their way to the world outside the rain forest. Of course now the Chronicles are renowned throughout the world. But there was a time when they were known only to the littlest creatures that inhabited the deepest regions of the rain forest. I have often pondered… did the Chronicles choose me to take their gentle message to the outside world. Or was it by pure happenchance that I, among all others who have passed this way should come upon this hidden forest treasure. I shall always wonder, but never know…
THE LITTLE GOLDEN BOX
The hot summer sun blazed in the midday sky, but beneath the evergreen
canopy the air was cool and fragrant. Beams of bright sunlight streamed
into the rain forest glade like spotlights from heaven. All was quiet
where I sat, except for the soft twitter of birds high above and the
gurgle of Wild Rose Creek beside me.
I had stopped for lunch on a mossy log beside the stream. As I nibbled
on a handful of trail mix I watched the monkey flowers nearby. They
were softly swaying in a summer samba to the rhythm of the forest breeze.
I was traveling light… just my day pack, canteen and Nikon camera
slung over my shoulder. My mission was to locate and photograph the
albino Camparula piperi, the albino Piper’s bell flower. Only
a few dozen plants are known to exist on earth. I longed to be one of
the privileged few to happen upon and photograph this rarest of rare
wild flowers.
There are eight varieties of rare endemic wild flowers in the Olympic
wilderness… found here and nowhere else on earth. The albino Piper’s
bell flower is the only one that still eluded me. It had become my personal
quest to be the first person ever to locate and photograph all eight
of the Olympic endemics. I had a feeling that today just might be my
lucky day. Little did I know…
I resumed my trek up Wild Rose Creek, hoping to find the rare flower
growing among the rocky outcroppings high in the alpine meadows.
I was climbing up a steep bank to traverse a waterfall when something
bright and sparkly flashed from the corner of my eye. The object lay
on a mossy ledge on the other side of the stream, just below the waterfall.
I knew it would be difficult to reach, requiring a risky log walk high
above the waterfall and a climb up a steep slippery bank. One slip and
I would find myself tumbling down the raging torrent, over the waterfall,
and into the boulders below…not a pleasant way to end a trek.
But my interest was piqued. I decided to pursue the sparkly object.
“Perhaps it’s a gold nugget, a precious gem, or something
of great value,” I thought.
At the halfway point of the crossing, I took my eye off the log in front
of me and glanced down at the rushing rapids below…not a wise
thing to do. At that moment my toe caught a broken branch stub. I teetered
back and forth, fighting back panic as I struggling to regain my balance.
Thankfully, a nearby cedar branch came to my rescue. I grabbed it and
hung on tight until my balance returned. Then, oh so carefully, I took
small careful steps until I reached the other side of the stream. “Whew!”
I breathed a big sigh of relief.
The mist from the waterfall made the bank too slippery to climb, so
I took a rope from my backpack, and then lassoed a small snag above
the ledge. Pulling myself up to the ledge, I quickly snatched the glittery
object, dropped it into my pocket, and then rappelled down the bank.
Then I sat down on a boulder to catch my breath and examine my find.
My first impression as I inspected the object was one of puzzlement.
It wasn’t a gold nugget, or a precious gem. It was a small box,
made of gold, measuring ½ inch by 3/8 of an inch. Assuming it
was a piece of jewelry or a keepsake of some kind, I dropped it into
a pocket in my backpack. I would examine it more carefully after I returned
home.
Then I resumed my log-over-boulder journey up Wild Rose Creek. It proved
to be a much more strenuous climb than I had anticipated, so it was
a great relief to break out into sunny subalpine meadows two hours later.
I would follow Wild Rose Creek to its headwaters near the summit of
an unnamed peak just east of Three Lakes.
Stopping on the crown of a hill I reached into my pack and pulled out
my canteen and binoculars. After a few gulps of water, I scanned the
peaks above for rocky outcroppings. This is where I hoped to find my
flower, clinging to life in the crevices of the lichen covered boulders
near the summit.
Sure enough, the ridge directly above me was abundant with pillow lava
outcroppings, just what I was looking for. Within 20 minutes I reached
the rocky area. The first boulder that I inspected, and many others
to follow contained numerous specimens of Piper’s bell flower,
but they weren’t the rarest albino. These were the lavender variety
that I had seen and photographed numerous times before.
After an hour of wandering from boulder to boulder, my spirits were
flagging. I began to brace myself for yet another discouraging day in
my quest for the rare albino. Then, I noticed that there were a few
more boulders that I had missed on the other side of the ridge. I figured
if I had come this far, I might as well check them out.
I was still some distance from the boulders when I saw that the little
patches of color in the cracks of the rocks were WHITE, not lavender.
I let out a primal scream and broke into a run, almost taking a tumble
when I tripped on a root. At the first boulder that I encountered I
counted nine albinos growing in a long deep diagonal crack. I stood
silently and gazed, awestruck, at the precious flowers for several minutes
before I began to photograph them.
With the macro lens, each one-inch wide star-shaped flower filled the
entire frame of my camera. I peered through the lens, transfixed, as
I examined the delicate petals and tiny stamens. By the time I came
to my senses, I had shot through six rolls of 36 exposures. It was the
most joyous experience I’ve ever had photographing the wildflowers
of the Olympics.
Back at my studio I placed the little golden box under my magnifying
glass to examine it more carefully. It was painstakingly crafted with
little curly designs on the edges and corners…then came the first
surprise. A tiny key protruded from the front of the box. The key was
so small it required a pair a tweezers to turn it.
The top of the golden box flipped open with the first gentle turn of
the key. I brought my magnifying glass in close to survey the contents
of the box, and the first sight of what I saw took my breath away.
It appeared to be a tiny book. But who could read a book so small? I
used a pair of tweezers to gently lift the book out of the box. Then
I ever so carefully opened it to the first page. To my utter surprise,
I saw what appeared to be tiny scrawlings, but they were so small that
I had to place the book under my microscope.
As if I hadn’t already had enough surprises in one day, I gasped
in astonishment when I focused in on the title page. It appeared to
be a journal, rendered in an almost microscopic scale, complete with
full-color illustrations. Under the title was a beautifully rendered
albino Piper’s bell flower!
But who, or what… could write and draw on such a small scale?
The title page read: “The Trowbridge Chronicles: the Journal of
Fern Trowbridge”. In my studies of the flora and fauna of the
Olympic wilderness, I knew the term Trowbridge. It applied to a tiny
shrew that lives in the Olympic rain forest.
I was amazed and bewildered as I turned from page to page. The text
was carefully scribed and the illustrations appeared to be exquisitely
rendered in rich watercolors. I studied the journal carefully far into
the night until I had seen the book from beginning to end.
There are still mysteries that remain about the authenticity and authorship
of the journal. Of course I cannot explain how a journal could be written
and illuminated by a small forest creature. But, as I have come to discover,
the world is full of mysteries. This is indeed a tiny one.
Bron Smith