The following is an excerpt from the 1916 The Mountaineers Annual written by Mary Paschall. Mary was the younger daughter of the family which owned the 'Hidden Ranch' property just below the Mountaineers' property. She wrote this very lyrical passage introducing the greater Mountaineer organization to the beauties of her home. Mary was to become an important member of the Mountaineers and was involved in numerous plays in the 20s and 30s.
THE KITSAP RHODODENDRON PRESERVE
MARY R. PASCHALL
A new departure of the Mountaineers during the present year was the purchase of seventy-four acres of upland in Kitsap County for a rhododendron preserve. It has since been surveyed by Mr. R. H. McKee, assisted by several club members who volunteered their services for the long and arduous task. Their measurements show it to be a rectangular tract, approximately one-half mile from east to west by one-fourth mile from north to south. It includes several acres of cleared land besides a large forested area and embraces a portion of Wildcat Valley with about one hundred twenty-five feet of the running stream. The contour is rugged and full of surprises, especially in the ravines, while a series of parklike enclosures on the bench land on the southwest, offer ideal locations for evening campfires.
The farm buildings found on the property are constructed of fir logs, are well roofed and are at present adequate to shelter week-end campers. The main house has been equipped with a good range and cooking utensils while members have contributed many additional household articles, including hand-made benches and chairs. The upper story is assigned for the use of the women, while the barn, with an airy haymow and lean-to, has been set apart for the men. The subject of family cabins, for use when several parties register at the same time, is of especial interest to the married members. It has been suggested that one-room buildings with facilities for making a fire might secure for them the necessary comfort and privacy. Three such are ready for slight remodeling. A satisfactory water supply has thus far proved most puzzling, as the present well is adequate for drinking purposes for only half the year and quite dry during September. There is, however, abundant flow of water in Wildcat Creek, and the springs near the southeast corner seem to be constant.
Next to water supply the matter of trails is of vital importance. A clean-cut boundary would serve not only to define the limits of the property but also to check fire which is a constant menace. The rhododendrons do not recover for many years after burning and the timber is irreparably damaged. When the fire trail is completed several others of peculiar beauty will no doubt be opened. The Bennett-Curtis trail, which is the first new one, drops quietly down into the hundred-foot ravine in front of the house and terminates near the northeast corner stake. It might be continued down the full length of the valley, and connect eventually with the logging road for Kitsap Lake. The trail along the north line, westward to the corner, should eventually join a water-grade trail to Wildcat lake, and there should be a direct route to Baldy by way of Lost Creek. The present short cut to Seabeck, across Big Beef Valley, is already uaed by guests from Kitsap Lodge, who are enthusiastic over its varied windings through forest and field.
Yet strong as is the lure of the outgoing trails, there is nothing of greater interest to lovers of the open than the forest gardens of rhododendron which rival in gorgeous display the irised fields of the mountain meadows of the high Cascades. The largest of these has almost a level floor. On one hand rise the tan spars of fir trees, on the other a valley drops sheer a hundred and fifty feet into deep green meadows, where two little rivers join hands and run to the sea. When late spring fills the valley with clover blooms the hill gardens are flushed with masses of pink, as though a sunrise had suddenly become tangible. Each bush is painted a different shade, each flower cluster holds a sphere of separate flowers as translucent as soap bubbles, each tiniest floweret is crumpled on its margin like a seashell and mottled in the throat as perfectly as a lily. To look upon it even once in the hush of early morning, when the world is fresh with dew and the thrushes are repeating their matin song, is to have lived deeper. There is in this garlanded amphitheatre unique opportunity for welcoming May as it has not been welcomed since the hawthorne graced the hedgerows of old England in the time of Good Queen Bess.
It is difficult to speak of the park and overlook the wild tenants whose title is so much older than ours. The smaller animals include the Douglas squirrel, the variable hare, the mountain beaver, the muskrat, the raccoon, the mink, the weasel and the otter, with an occasional coyote, a wildcat, or a shy black bear. None, however, have frequented it more or marked out so perfect a network of trails for our laggard feet to follow as the timorous deer that haunts the wild places of the park as a last safe feeding ground. No bit of wild life, though, will be so likely to arrest the attention of the casual wanderer as the sprightly water ouzel when he sings in the November rain beside the stream where the great salmon make their submarine demonstration. He sings whenever he is lucky enough to find a salmon egg, sings in the hope of another, sings because of the down pour, and sings because he simply must sing in a world so full of motion and music and light.
The query as to the future purpose of the Kitsap property is perhaps partially answered by the use which has been made of it since May 6th when it was first opened. Of the four hundred nine members and guests who registered in the six months, two hundred twenty three are included in the annual rhododendron walk. The remainder came in small parties. The Kitsap preserve is a park in the larger sense, and as such will have more significance as time passes. It may well be styled the kindergarten of the club as the beautiful Snoqualmie Lodge in its mountain environs, is the finishing school.
In these lower playgrounds lies everybody's chance to become a pioneer in woodcraft, to learn to make a fire in the rainstorm, to follow the unmapped forest with only his compass, to read the writing on the trail. When he knows his forest as the seaman knows his sea he is prepared in a peculiar sense to go forth alone and unafraid in answer to the trumpets of the winds that are ever calling man up into the high mountains.
1916 Mountaineers Annual (pp. 67-70)