THE COMEDY GROUP Firesign Theatre redefined reality with their 1975 hit album, "Everything you know is wrong."

Could they have had us in mind?

One of the most intriguing aspects of life in the Pacific Northwest is the complex blend of fact and fiction in our history and lore.

We have Bigfoot, but does he really exist? We have ancient forests, but will they survive? We can go to the San Juan Islands for a weekend, but can we get a ferry back on a busy Sunday evening?

Today we try to unravel a few threads from the rich tapestry of truths, near-truths and not-so-truths entwined in the wonders of Our Northwest. So let's get started:

Q: We often hear that despite Seattle's soggy reputation, it actually gets less rain than New York, Washington, D.C., and Miami. Is this true?

A: Not quite, and it may be time to admit it. The frequently quoted statistic that Seattle gets a meager 37 inches of precipitation a year is based on readings taken at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. Federal officials recently discovered that the airport's rain gauge is repeatedly shadowed by aircraft landing and taking off. The gauge may be moved sometime this year.

Q: Do native salmon really return to spawn in the streams where they hatched?

A: Generally, yes. The salmon's strongly developed sense of place no doubt helped make it a symbol of the Pacific Northwest. But in the last several seasons, biologists have been discovering a new trend: increasing numbers of salmon stopping early, heading up streams on the Olympic Peninsula. One theory suggests that salmon, like humans, may have a desire to make things easier on the next generation.

Q: The Alpine Lakes Wilderness Area is a true gem of the Cascades. Will its status as a wilderness area protect it forever?

A: That's the goal, but one never knows. Many typical forest activities - logging, drilling, mining, dam-building and heavy construction - are usually no-no's in wilderness areas, but some relaxation of the rules may be considered if the Forest Service is successful in its bid to host "Survivor 2002" in the Enchantment Lakes basin. Two large meeting halls proposed for the hit series might be left in place as an interpretive center and a Starbucks, although builders promise to use colors and materials that blend in with the surroundings.

Q: Are Puget Sound's large tidal swings, which average 14.4 feet in Olympia, caused by the moon's gravitational pull on the ocean?

A: We used to think so, but the science of oceanography keeps advancing by leaps and bounds. These days, we realize much of what we regard as "the tide" in the Sound is the captured wake of thousands of runs by commercial vessels and state ferries, intensified by relatively steep shores. This erosive power is expected to flood Interbay and make Magnolia an island by 2072.

Q: Eastern and Western Washington have such different climates. Is it all because of the effects of the cloud-stopping Cascade Mountains?

A: Mr. Our Northwest knows you may get that feeling driving east across Snoqualmie Pass, when a downpour in North Bend turns into a sunny day by Cle Elum. The mountains are one factor, but population and congestion also figure in: Carbon-monoxide from auto emissions has the effect of "seeding" the clouds above us, wringing much of the rain out of them before they get to the Cascade peaks.

Q: We're seeing a lot of "Tsunami Evacuation Route" signs near the Washington coast. They all point inland, which would seem to be a no-brainer. How many tax dollars did the state pay for these enlightening messages?

A: None. They were donated by South Carolina, which had them made to be placed along that state's Atlantic coastline. Only when the job was complete did highway officials notice all the arrows pointed east.

Q: Is 9,000-year-old Kennewick Man an ancestor of current American Indian tribes?

A: Funny you should ask. The only 9,000-year-old Kennewick Man we know is Mr. Our Northwest's own father-in-law. But the set of 9,000-year-old bones found along the Columbia River in 1996 belong either to 1) an ancestor of Northwest tribes, 2) the Tri-Cities' first hydro fan or 3) D.B. Cooper.

Q: When did the Northern Spotted Owl become Washington's official state bird?

A: In 1996, when a spotted owl on the Olympic Peninsula devoured the state's last known wild Goldfinch.

Q: Does the dining area of the Space Needle really rotate?

A: Actually, no, although Mr. Our Northwest says we can be forgiven for telling tourists it does. The fact is, the entire planet rotates, and scientists who helped design the Space Needle realized the only way to give patrons a glimpse of the Cascades, Olympics, Queen Anne and Harbor Island would be to keep the restaurant stationery.

Complicated geophysical tracking using the sun, Venus and Heaven as reference points assures that the restaurant floor, riding on a thin cushion of air, stays put while the rest of the region rotates around it. At this latitude, a full rotation takes almost exactly 60 minutes.

Just be glad the Needle wasn't built in Nome. Diners there would have to chew on their caribou steaks for more than 3 hours to get back where they started.

Q: How many alligators live in Green Lake?

A: Skeptics will say zero, which is what you'd expect skeptics to say. The truth could lie closer to the estimate of 60 to 90 in Professor C. Johnny Reed's 1990 treatise, "See ya later . . ."

Reed extensively studied the 1986 alligator sightings in the 255-acre lake, reports which mysteriously ceased after two caimans (or "caimen") were found along the shoreline.

But Reed questioned whether the critters discovered were truly the alligators that had been sighted. Alligators, he said, typically shun the limelight, and may have sunk to the lake's murky depths to reproduce like rabbits, waiting to resurface hungrily when the time seems appropriate, like when you're floating by on an inner tube this summer.

Reed, an expert in large lizards, promises to have more illuminating insights about the case in his upcoming book, "What, a Croc?"

Q: What's the correct term: "The Seattle Fault" or "Seattle's Fault"?

A: The latter. Mr. Our Northwest knows this well, because he owned a one-eighth interest in the promising filly, Seattle's Fault, who graced Emerald Downs' 1996 inaugural season. Expectations were high for this daughter of two proven winners, Seattle Slew and Not My Fault. Sadly, we took a bath on this one; the usually spirited 2-year-old had the unfortunate habit of stopping to gaze in awe whenever she saw Mount Rainier, visible on all but the cloudiest days at the Auburn track.

Interestingly, we also found some obscure references to something called the Seattle Fault, a supposed uneven layer of bedrock that could - if sufficiently jarred - turn the city into a heap of rubble. Usually, Mr. Our Northwest tries to keep an open mind about the wonders of science, but a fault that could wipe out a major city? Give us a break.

Jack Broom, when he is not playing fast and loose with Northwest truths, is a Seattle Times reporter.