A drumming downpour on the roof the the Nature Center at the Nisqually Wildlife Refuge this spring morning surely was the last gasp of a fast-moving weather system. Gray sky couldn't make me believe that sunshine wasn't far behind. After eight decades, a guy has to know something about weather patterns, right? And sure enough, the pounding on the shakes eased up into a misting drizzle.
So Allan Dreyer and I left the company of the Washington Plein Air artists who were setting up to paint a quite-adequate scene of willow-lined wetlands and noodling mallards at the Center. With art-making materials to hand, we trudged out along the boardwalk for the covered watchtower that overlooked the broad estuary. Allan was to sketch, but I had acquired a 12-by-48-inch canvas that was absolutely made for the horizontal compositions of that scene. With fast-drying acrylic paint and a 1-inch brush, I was certain to create a masterful, impressionist souvenir of this day.
As we moved along the glistening planks, I was overjoyed to see the subtle greens and browns through the leafless trees. The defused morning light from the low-hanging cloud cover brought out colors that are all but invisible in the dark shadows of summer. I looked forward to slapping paint when we reached the shelter.
Allan is a lifelong man of the mountains. His sure-footed steps set a rhythm that I hard time matching, although he is much older than me--by some 14 months. His pace would eat up the few miles to the estuary and we would be there in no apparent time at all.
As I struggled to keep up with his red jacket, I noticed that puddles were splashing higher from his weathered mountain boots. And water was dripping heavily from the brim of my stylish woolen hat. Hell, it was raining again!
We left the company of the alder and cottonwood and trekked out along the graveled dike. Two Canada geese on the trail ahead watched our approach. They goose-steeped down the berm toward the water. We kept on.
The watchtower was in sight, barely defined through the now-heavy rainfall. A half-mile to go? A mile? Allan, a keen judge of distance from his years as a forest ranger, fire-fighter and national-park volunteer, stopped. He turned. "Too wet," he announced. And headed back. For the first time, I was ahead of him!
We all but loped past the plein air painters crouched behind their easels beneath the Nature Center's roof. I opened the doors of the van. We tossed our sodden packs and coats in the back. In 10 minutes we were at Norma's Breakfast Grille.in nearby Nisqually, warming our hands on cups of coffee and a light brunch.
And came outside a half-hour later to cerulean- blue skies and marshmallow clouds.
When things dry out--say, in mid-August--we'll be back.
