Bloedel Reserve

Author's Comments

The ferry from Seattle is part of it. By the time you have crossed the sound and driven the length of Bainbridge to the north end, you have already begun to slow down, and Bloedel rewards that arrival rather than rushing it. The reserve limits how many people are inside at once, and you can feel the math of that decision in the air. Trails empty out. You hear your own footsteps on the moss. I come here in February when the rest of the region is still photographing waterfalls and waiting for spring. The moss garden is at its richest in the wet months, a green so saturated it almost reads as painted, and the second-growth forest holds the kind of soft, diffused light that the Pacific Northwest does better than anywhere else. The reflection pool is the photograph everyone wants, and on a windless morning it earns the attention - a long rectangle of still water set into a clearing, the trees behind it doubled and slightly darker in the inversion. Get there at opening. The water settles overnight and the first hour is when it holds. But I find I spend less time at the pool than I expect to. The Japanese garden is quieter and stranger. The moss garden is where I lose track of the hour entirely. Bring a macro lens if you have one. Bring rain gear and assume you will use it. This is not a place that rewards a quick visit and a checklist of compositions. It rewards walking slowly and letting the reserve set the pace, which it will, whether you cooperate or not.

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