Notes from Disappering Lake: The River Journals of Robert Sund

Robert Sund is our bard of the Skagit River, a singer of songs celebrating skunk cabbage, frogs, muddy water, ducks, and the rising tide.

In the summer of 1973, the poet — who studied under Theodore Roetke at the University of Washington in the early 1950s — built a small dwelling on the pilings of a former fisherman’s shed in the estuary of the North Fork of the Skagit River. Access was only by boat and though his hermitage was only a short paddle from La Conner and downstream from the active artists’ colony at Fishtown, he felt worlds away, “far, far back,” from modern society.

This remove gave Sund time and space to closely observe the rhythms of the natural world, as well as the fluctuations of his own thoughts and emotions, and he recorded these impressions in a series of thin, 26-page notebooks. The tidal marsh surrounding his shack, formed where the glacier-fed Skagit mixed with the saltwater of Puget Sound, provided him with endless inspiration for more than a decade of on-again, off-again residency.

“Out on the river you know you are in the midst of a great creation,” he wrote. “You see the old work and the new work side by side: the ancient migration routes of all the birds, and the slow building of silt and soil in the estuary.”

The choicest tidbits from Sund’s 75-plus journals have been extracted and lightly edited to produce a new volume of work from the well-loved poet, who passed away in 2001. Assembled by Sund's close friends Tim McNulty and Glenn Hughes, Notes from Disappearing Lake: The River Journals of Robert Sund presents poem-like journal entries documenting life in the Skagit River estuary alongside spiritual insights, weather reports, and pithy celebrations of friendship and community.

“Robert was obviously not there to advise us,” explains McNulty, “but he was definitely looking over our shoulder as we worked on this project. We excerpted material that was pretty much intact and didn’t need to do much editing. Robert’s voice was rough and authentic and we wanted to keep it that way. Several friends have read these pieces and said, ‘This is like spending time with Robert again.' "

July, 1973
Snipe walking through the
  flowers & grasses
picking worms & bugs out of
    the mud —

Wren on the front porch
  tiny feet
  tick tick.

Robin, swallow
crow, seagull, heron
goldfinch, duck
blackbird . . .

Who needs a radio?

Song at morning
song at evening
and all day long ...

   This is the real news:
    Local, regional, & world-wide.

Though he departed more than a decade ago, Sund’s unique voice, as expressed through his poems, painting, and calligraphy, has risen in repute since the 2004 publication of Poems from Ish River Country by prestigious publisher Shoemaker & Hoard, home of Gary Snyder, Robert Hass, and Wendell Berry. The Museum of Northwest Art’s successful Fishtown and the Skagit River exhibit in 2010 only heightened interest in the unique countercultural confluence of art, poetry, and spirituality that flourished in the Lower Skagit in the 1970s and '80s.
The recent attention paid to to this now-gone locality contrasts the original inhabitants’ desire to be left alone, hiding out in the marsh grasses where they could be free to pursue their alternative lifestyles.

“(The) burgeoning community (of Fishtown) reflected the larger national impulse towards going back to the land, living simply, and disengaging from chaotic political and social events,” Kathleen Moles writes in Fishtown and the Skagit River, the catalog for the MONA exhibit.

Sund had a deep interest in Chinese literature of the Tang and Sung dynasties — as many drawn to Fishtown did — and his shack provided him a private place to live like the hermit poets he read at night by lantern light. The seclusion, hardships and exposure to the raw elements of storms, tides and bird migrations were a forge for his poetic aspirations.

“A river mouth, in and of itself, exerts an influence on human consciousness that becomes manifest in music, literature, and art,” points out Skagit Valley novelist Tom Robbins in an essay in the MONA catalog.

Sund’s journals contained unvarnished etchings of that Skagit-flavored manifestation, and editors McNulty and Hughes’ work to unearth new material from their friend also revealed insights in to the poet’s methods.

“Robert’s journals held his day-to-day notations; they’re perceptive, unique, sometimes dazzling, and of course poetic,” McNulty explains. “His observations offer keen insights into nature, record subtle personal reflections, and explore the experience of solitude in a wild, natural landscape. At the same time they're often happy and joyful. The journals capture those aspects of Robert’s process, personality, and aesthetic in an immediate way. Chip and I had a great time exploring the journals and delighting one another with new discoveries.”

April 24, 1977   4 A.M.

In the excited mind
          words fly.

The night is still, the water still ––
          & suddenly, in the mind

(as on the night river
          a beaver
breaks the silence)

the first ripple of a poem
swims almost invisible by the river bank.

Blades of grass standing in the river
          feel the waves rise and
                    pass through them.

McNulty further says, “I see a marked contrast between the experience of Robert’s journals and the way we’ve become so locked into gadgets and digital media. The idea of Thoreau-like experiences, of being alone in stunningly beautiful landscape and following the mind’s drift on a daily basis…it can’t hurt.”

In light of this posthumous collection of Sund's work, words he once wrote seem prophetic:

Maybe exalted gestures will be

            retrieved in our time.
Maybe our grandchildren will go through
            our trunks and boxes
                  and be amazed.

Poems are copyright 2012 Robert Sund Poet’s House. Top photo: Erik Ambjor; middle: Paul Hansen, untitled (Fishtown landscape); bottom: Christian Martin

John Scurlock's "Snow & Spire: Flights to Winter in the North Cascade Range"

John Scurlock makes his living working as a paramedic for the Bellingham Fire Department, but finds his calling soaring high above the North Cascades in a small yellow aircraft that he built with his own hands. Flying in all varieties of unpredictable weather above the raggedy peaks and yawning glaciers of our “American Alps,” he circles his snowy subjects, does his best to focus his Canon 5DmkII 21 MP digital camera through the plexiglass canopy and captures vistas most of us will never see with our own eyes.

The results reveal a vast landscape buried in snow and encrusted in ice, a wintery terra incognito of terrifying beauty and austere grace: the frost-bound North Face of Mt. Triumph, impossible cornices on Cloudcap Peak, fire lookouts encased in rime, the Pickett Range hidden in mist, Mount Baker’s shining snowfields, Ripsaw Ridge and Skagit Queen Creek and Park Creek Pass in snowy, silent repose. This is the terrain that holds the world’s record for most snowfall ever recorded in a single winter, and Scurlock’s photography unveils the artistic potential of this seldom-seen northern range: “something primitive, forbidden and inaccessible, yet also profoundly and exquisitely beautiful,” according to Scurlock.

Scurlock's first book, Snow & Spire: Flights to Winter in the North Cascade Range, is a coffee-table-sized collection of his aerial photography published by Wolverine Publishing in Colorado. It represents a culmination of several years of determined labor and features stunning reproductions of his body of work, plus essays by geologist David Tucker and mountaineering historian Lowell Skoog. A display copy in the window of Winthrop's bookstore has attracted more walk-in traffic than they can remember for any other book, and the initial print run of a few thousand seems destined to sell-out as word spreads through Scurlock's networks of climbers, nature photographers, NPS and USFS staff, pilots, naturalists, scientists and other friends.

Christian Martin: When did you first start photographing the North Cascades from the air?

John Scurlock: My first aerial photographs of the North Cascades were in the 1990s when I flew up there in a Cessna with a friend, looking at routes in the southern Picket range for a possible traverse. But my first digital aerial images were in early 2002, when I began photographing Mount Baker and got connected with Dr. Kevin Scott at the USGS/Cascades Volcano Observatory. That led to my meeting with his associate and friend, Dave Tucker from Bellingham. We've collaborated extensively since then, with me supporting their research into the geologic and volcanic history of Baker. I started photographing the rest of the range in winter after I observed the winter mountains while flying above and around Baker. Because of my familiarity with the North Cascades through climbing, I knew I was seeing the mountains in a condition that was really unknown, and I knew photographs of the range in winter either were very limited or didn't exist. That led me eventually to my great obsession…

CM: What were the outlines of your obsession?

JS: Well, I was familiar with the range from climbing and hiking in the summer, but I realized at the outset that seeing the mountains in winter was an incredibly altered condition from what I was used to. I marveled at their stunning beauty after this snowy transformation. I knew I was seeing things that no one else had ever seen or photographed, and that led to my determination to somehow photograph the entire range from the air during the winter. I didn't dive right in however, but rather gradually expanded my boundaries as I gained experience. At this point, I am fairly satisfied that's I've flown into every nook and cranny of these mountains during winter.

CM: When did you begin flying?

JS: I had always wanted to fly, since childhood. I had thought that nearsightedness disqualified me, until I found out in my 30s that I could still be a pilot, though not professionally. After getting my pilot's license, I wanted to own a plane, like all pilots dream of. It was suggested that I could build a better plane than I could buy, and so after some investigation, I started in on my plane, a kit called an RV6 from Van's Aircraft. It took nine years to build, as I traveled, hiked, and skied extensively during that time. It's a small, 26-foot, two-seat tail-wheel plane of conventional construction. It's very versatile, with a fast cruising speed, good handling at slow speeds, generally docile, and a service ceiling of more than 20,000 feet. The design has stood the test of time, and it has proven to be a really great airplane.

CM: What is your goal in photographing the North Cascades and sharing these photographs?

JS: My goal with all my photography, and this book in particular, is to share the amazing beauty of the North Cascades in winter, from every aspect and angle. I've been enormously privileged to see things that are nearly incomprehensible in their wildness and wonderful aesthetics. I've been so fortunate to be in the position to photograph what I've seen and share those images with everyone else. Photography is the means to accomplish this; digital photography, a great airplane, and obsession are the driving forces, and not a day goes by that I don't remember how fortunate I've been in this endeavor.