Author: emjelo2000

Hike with a Forest Hydrologist

Views from the Table Rock Wilderness Trail

“All life depends on it.”

This was the response I got when I asked Jonas Parker, Bureau of Land Management hydrologist, why anyone should care about hydrology. A no brainer, right? Well, sort of—Jonas elaborated, “hydrology needs to be functional. It needs to be in balance with the ecosystem it flows through.” 

A System in Balance

We don’t just depend on water to live, but we depend on the regulatory processes that sustain a healthy water system. 

Consider the human body—we need to take in a certain amount of water to be healthy. Too little water and you risk dehydration. Too much water and you risk overwhelming your body tissues.  Our body systems help keep the body in balance, even when our choices may not. Overwhelm or abuse these systems and the consequence is death.

In the case of an ecosystem, like a forest, the same principles hold true. Too much or too little water can be devastating for an ecosystem. Natural processes and cycles help stabilize and regulate the hydrological cycle. Overwhelm or abuse these systems and we could be looking at ecological and societal collapse.

In either case, it is the system that needs looking after, not just the water flowing through it. 

Land Management 

As a district hydrologist for the BLM, Jonas’ job is to look after hydrological systems on our public lands. One of these lands is the Table Rock Wilderness area—which is where I met up with Jonas for our hike. 

Jonas begins his descent from the meadows near Rooster Rock.

The Hike

  • Trailhead: Table Rock Trailhead
  • Distance: 7+ miles
  • Elevation Gain: approx 2500 feet
  • Details: We hiked from the Table Rock Trailhead to Rooster Rock Trailhead. Roads to both trailheads are gravel but in decent condition. Road to Rooster Rock Trailhead is a bit rough; high clearance recommended. Ample parking available. Pit toilet available at the Table Rock Trailhead.

Views of a Patchwork Forests

Ironically, our wilderness hike started out on an old road that maybe 30 years ago was used to haul away timber. So, even though our intention was to experience wilderness, we found ourselves face-to-face with industrial timber production. 

The Table Rock Wilderness is a 6,028-acre swath of mostly hundred-year-old uncut forested land. It was established in the 1980s as part of an effort to protect what little remained of unharvested forests in western Oregon. However, the Table Rock wilderness is almost completely surrounded by industrial timberlands, both public and private. Therefore, when views opened up along the trail, we found ourselves looking down on a patchwork pattern of forest in various stages of production.

Beyond the Horizon

Looking beyond the horizon, the patchwork of Oregon’s forests become even more complicated. Almost half of Oregon is forested. About a ⅓ of is owned by private forest owners, while the remaining ⅔ are public forests, managed by government agencies like the BLM and USFS.  A majority of the timber harvest is done on private land, where economics is often the primary driving factor. While the remaining timber harvest on public lands works to meet multiple objectives. 

The BLM’s Northwest Oregon District alone manages about 800,000 acres of land, much of it secondary growth from clear-cuts in the mid-1900s.  A time period when timber production and economic gains was the priority. Now, our public lands are managed for multiple uses, including timber production, but with ecological and social considerations to balance.  To accomplish these goals which may seem to be in conflict with one another, much of the land that the BLM manages are held in reserve, including the Table Rock Wilderness.

In other words, much of Oregon’s forests are the product of out-of-date forest management practices that don’t necessarily jive with our current goals.

Views of a patchwork forest.

Modifying the Land 

Pretty quickly, Jonas and I made our way off the road and deep into the douglas-fir/western hemlock forest.  “Look at this chunk of land,” said Jonas, “diversity of species and canopy layers, appropriate spacing and correct vegetation. It doesn’t need anything.”  The hydrology of this forest is functional.  However, “most of the lands [in western Oregon] don’t look like this.” Most of our forest lands have been modified at one point or another.  And modification changes the hydrology. 

Jonas explained—”Whatever and however you modify the landscape there are going to be consequences.” For example, when a forest is clearcut, the amount of water that trees transport from the soil to the air, a process called transpiration, will decrease, as there are fewer trees to do the work. 

However, if that same area becomes overgrown with lots of shrubs, or is replanted at a high density with trees, transpiration will increase again.

Each of these modifications changes the amount of water in the system which may lead to problems.  For example, too much water added to the system when transpiration decreases may result in more runoff, higher stream flows, and erosion. Too little water and you may be looking at a dry streambed. 

“It’s this balance of modifying the landscape to accommodate different objectives,” said Jonas, which makes his work fun.

Looking toward the Table Rock Wilderness Area.

Quality and Quantity 

So when we are talking about changing the hydrology, what does that really mean?

I asked Jonas how he defined hydrology. He said, “The grade school answer is it is the study of water.” But, he added, hydrology can really be “broken down into two measurements—water quality and water quantity.”  If water quality and quantity are good, then you are looking at a healthy system.  However, in a modified forest, maintaining water quality and quantity can be a challenge. 

Clean, Clear Water

According to Jonas, when it comes to water quality in a modified forest ecosystem, there are two factors that should always be considered in order to ensure good water quality.  

The first is turbidity.  Turbidity is the cloudiness of the water.  In most forested ecosystems, the turbidity should be low most of the time—that is the natural state of a forest stream unless there is a rainstorm or snowmelt which naturally induces erosion and thereby increases turbidity. However, any human activity that disturbs the soil, like building roads or harvesting timber, can also mobilize sediment so that it may enter a body of water. This is a huge problem especially for aquatic organisms— it can clog fish gills and smother eggs; reduces stream visibility; and it can absorb heat. It can also make drinking water treatment more difficult.

Second is the water temperature. Most rivers in Oregon are inhabited by cold-water adapted species. However, with climate change, early snowpack melt, and the removal of forest from along rivers or streams, high water temperatures are becoming a more frequent problem. High temperatures are problematic because they can reduce the amount of dissolved oxygen a stream can hold.  Warm temperatures can also lead to the growth of algae. Algae can throw the ecosystem off balance by reducing oxygen concentration as they decompose, as well as producing cytotoxins. 

Keeping it Clean

However, Jonas explained, proper management can help mitigate turbidity and temperature problems. For example, maintaining a vegetative corridor along rivers and streams can provide shade that prevents water from heating up, as well as help filter out sediments. According to Jonas, the primary shade zone is about 85 ft—this is where 95% of shading occurs. These “riparian areas or buffers” are prescribed by the fish biologists and hydrologists and, in the case of BLM land, a 120 feet buffer is maintained on perennial streams where stream temperature is a concern just to be on the safe side.

In addition, to reduce the risk of damage from road construction, road use, and road work, waterbars can be placed along logging roads at regular intervals. These redirect water and sediments into the forest where it can settle out, rather than allowing it to flow directly to the stream. Jonas pointed out one of these waterbars on the road we walked in on.

A waterbar from our road walk.

Too much or Too Little of a Good thing

On the water quantity side of things, the discharge, or rate, of freshwater flowing through an area is important. Or in the case of a lake, the volume of water. And since most of the water Oregonians consume comes from forested land, modifications to forestland that changes the amount of discharge of a stream is not acceptable. 

Some of the mitigation measures used to reduce pollution can also help with efforts to protect water availability.  For example, directing water flowing in ditches toward the forest (as opposed to directly into the stream) can help slow its flow. A good riparian area can do the same thing. However, much of BLM land has been managed since the 1930s with a goal of intensive timber production, so they are stocked at levels that may be too dense for balanced water quantity. Remember too many trees can mean less water available to the system. 

Hard Decisions

As the focus of the BLM has shifted more towards a balance between resource protection and resource production in recent years, Jonas says, “The struggle is always there to balance the economic, the ecological, and the social.” Sometimes you have to make management decisions that aren’t popular, like thinning a riparian area, in order to reduce transpiration and bring the hydrology into balance.  And though it would be nice to leave things alone and let cycles restore on their own, it takes a lot of time.

“We also have threatened and endangered species—fish, owls, you name it—and their survival depends on a healthy functional riparian area. The question I would ask is, ‘Can they wait two to three hundred years?’”

A Spring! 

Early on in our hike, Jonas and I found ourselves startled by a rare find—a spring right in the middle of the trail!  Coldwater was bubbling right up from the ground! Jonas pointed out that the geology around us is responsible for the formation of a spring. 

A spring right in the middle of the trail.

Geology Brief

The Table Rock Wilderness has a volcanic geological history. The basement rock in the area is a volcanic rock called andesite, probably remnants of an old stratovolcano that existed 17-10 million years ago. Layered on top of the andesite, is a different type of volcanic rock called basalt. The basalt probably formed from lava that flowed into the area and cooled about 4 million years ago from a nearby Cascade volcanic eruption. 

At one point during the hike, you skirt around basalt pillars—called columnar basalt—that makeup Table Rock’s summit. One of the many cool geological sights on the hike.  

Columnar basalt on the base of Table Rock.

Hidden Water

All that being said, it is the volcanic nature of the Table Rock Wilderness that influences a part of hydrology that is often overlooked—groundwater.  About ⅓ of water on Earth does not flow on the surface but exists underground. In comparison, surface water—lakes, rivers, etc—makes up only about 1% of all freshwater. 

In the case of the Table Rock Wilderness, much of the water that lands in the forest will infiltrate into the ground and recharge “deep, deep basaltic aquifers”—huge groundwater storage zones.  

Because basalts tend to fracture, Basalt rock aquifers tend to be very permeable and porous making them ideal for supplying water to springs and seeps. 

“Springs regulate themselves and fluctuate very little,” said Jonas. The Table Rock Wilderness hydrological system is in balance in part because “water that enters the aquifer is equal to the water that leaves.” He went on, “Shallow aquifers are more prone to weather and drought. But that is not what we got here. Here we are 4,000 feet up on a basalt mountain!  If there is that much water coming out of the ground, that amount is going to fluctuate very little throughout the year.” 

Let it Snow

After a couple of miles of hiking in the woods, the trail opens up to views of Table Rock. It was here—while hiking through a rockfall that supposedly is inhabited with Pika—I saw a glimmer of white at the base of table rock. It was snow! 

Water in its many solid forms makes up about 2/3rds of freshwater on the planet—by far the biggest chunk. O.K. so most of that is probably accounted for in the polar regions. But still, glaciers and snowpack are incredibly important water reservoirs in the Pacific Northwest.  

According to Jonas, snow is still the largest reservoir of water in Oregon. And in the Table Rock Wilderness, this is also the case. Though most (well, basically all) of the snow had melted by the time we hit the trail, it was still working its way through the hydrological system underground, ultimately bubbling up to the surface through springs and seeps. 

Looking out to my right from the base of Table Rock, I could also see Mount Hood in the distance. Similar to how Table Rock supplies water to its creeks, Mt. Hood and the rest of the Cascades, supply water to some of Oregon’s largest rivers and most populous areas.  For example, the McKenzie River is a spring-fed system—supplied by a mountain snowpack that melted, infiltrated, and has been traveling underground for several years!   

Table rock sitting just above a rock fall. Can you spot the snow?

Wondering about Watersheds

After returning to the woods and circling Table Rock, Jonas and I eventually hit the switchbacks that take you to the top of the rock. Though Jonas opted to hang back, I had heard the views were too spectacular to miss, so I made the ascent alone.

It was worth it! Looking out across the landscape at the mountains, ridges, and valleys, was spectacular.  It also brought me back to discussion Jonas and I had earlier regarding watersheds. 

Anytime you are standing on the planet Earth, you are standing in a watershed. A watershed is simply an area of land that drains to a common body of water.  For the Table Rock Wilderness this common body of water is the Molalla River. 

A Drop at the Top

As Jonas described it—if you take a drop of water and place it on the top of Table Rock it will travel a number of different ways—it might travel to Image Creek to the north or Bull Creek to the south—but ultimately it will end up in the Molalla River. That is because the Table Rock Wilderness sits in the middle of the Molalla River Watershed. The Mollala River and Table Rock Wilderness are connected, even though the river never flows within the wilderness boundaries. This connection extends to the Willamette River as well. The Molalla River is the largest undammed tributary to the Willamette River.

So standing on the top of Table Rock, I was standing in the Mollala River Watershed, the Willamette River Watershed, and the Columbia River Watershed, as well as probably one or two smaller watersheds nested within. 

Though I didn’t spill any water at the top (other than sweat), it was still fun to trace the journey of a drop in my mind. A practice I recommend trying next time you are on a ridge.

One of many views from the top of Table Rock.

An Uncut Forest

After visiting the Table Rock summit, Jonas and I continued along the Saddle Trail and High Ridge Trail toward Rooster Rock. These trails led us back into the forest and through some gorgeous wildflower meadows. 

Taking in all the unique features of the area, Mine and Jonas’ conversion came back to a topic we touched on earlier—change. Change is part of the cycle of a healthy functioning ecosystem. In fact, the Table Rock Wilderness formed following a forest fire about 100 years ago.

View of a wildflower meadow looking up at Rooster Rock.

Things are Changing

But, Jonas asked, “What will it look like in 100 years? 200 years?”  With climate change creating hotter, dryer conditions, will we see a shift away from the Douglas-fir/ Hemlock forest to one filled with Pine and Madrone? As wildfires become more frequent and severe, how will that change the dynamics of the landscape? And, perhaps most importantly, should we step in?

Wilderness areas are for the most part “untouched,” but with global crises like climate change and biodiversity loss, we need to start considering our impact on these untouched places, and whether or not we should do anything in response. “We need to acknowledge no management is management,” said Jonas. 

Neither Jonas nor I had the answer, but we need to keep asking the question—How do we best protect our public lands?

Sweat Worthy

After several hours of sweating it out on the trail, Jonas and I followed the Rooster Rock Trail down to the trailhead where we had staged our return vehicle. 

Overall, the hike was long and challenging, but the scenery was worth every bead of sweat. I definitely recommend hiking the Table Rock Wilderness. Just make sure you pack enough water! 

Jonas Parker is a Hydrologist for the BLM Northwest Oregon District. He received his B.S. in Fisheries and Aquatic Science at Utah State University and Masters in Natural Resources Management from the University of Idaho. 

Hike with a Hydrologist

The Zigzag River flowing through the forest.

Flaming clouds of airborne gases, ash, and fine sediment rush down Mount Hood at 100 miles per hour, like an incinerator in flight. A slurry of hot water and sediment, in some cases 100 meters high, and the consistency of cement, follow—crashing down Mount Hood’s rivers and valleys; rocking and rolling between ridges; decimating everything.

This is Mount Hood 1,500 years ago. This is Mount Hood at various points during its geological history. Heck! As an active volcano, this is Mount Hood in the future.

Massive amounts of sediments were redistributed down the mountainside with each eruptive period. Sediments filled in valleys and creating an eerie lifeless landscape—in effect, a clean slate.

Mount Hood from Highway 26.

The Beginning

Which brings me to where our story begins…

I met up with hydrologist James (Dar) Crammond at the junction of Road 39 and Highway 26 to explore the Zigzag River Valleys.

Little Zigzag River and Big Zigzag River are fed by a glacier near the base of Mt. Hood’s crater, converging to become the Zigzag River further down the mountainside. They also sit precariously in the path of destruction described above.

However, despite this, Dar and I did not find ourselves hiking through a dry, flat moonscape, but a deep valley and forested oasis. The clean slate from 1,500 years ago was not clean anymore. It had been written upon by the very substance we had met up to talk about—water!

James “Dar” Crammond standing next to a logjam in the Zigzag River.

The Hike

  • Trailhead: Unmarked trailhead off of Road 39 at the gate for Forest Service Road 2639-021 where Paradise Park Trail Begins.
  • Distance: 2.5 miles
  • Details: Recreation Pass for US Forest Service Trails may be required. Limited parking and no parking at the trailhead. Little Zigzag Falls Trailhead is at the end of Road 39 and is a great add on to this hike.

A Giant Reset 

Before we hit the trail, Dar took me to an overlook of Mount Hood a little further east up 26 from our meeting point. As I stood there marveling at Mount Hood, Oregon’s tallest and most well-known stratovolcano, Dar explained Mt. Hood’s recent eruptive history. 

In addition to the eruptive event 1,500 years ago (the Timberline eruptive period), the Zigzag episode (500 years ago) and the “Old Maid” episode (200 years ago) also sent pyroclastic flows (airborne debris flows) and lahars (water and sediment flows) down Mount Hood. In fact, in 1804-05 Lewis and Clark observed the remnants of debris flows in rivers coming from the Mountain into the Columbia. Consequently, this is how the Sandy River got its name.

The Sequence

Dar also pointed to the horseshoe-shaped crater on Mount Hood with a tooth in the middle, called crater rock. He explained that each time an eruption would occur the dome would collapse leaving a crater, but then the dome would grow and the volcano would erupt again. Crater rock is a remnant of one of these collapsed domes. Hot spots around crater rock signify the potential for a new dome to build.

In addition, the heat energy from each eruption would liquefy all of the ice, snow, and glaciers on Mount Hood. The superheated water would flow down the mountain at high speed, collecting material along the way.  This “mudflow” is what is known as a lahar. Unlike pyroclastic flows, which are airborne, lahars flow down the mountainsides a bit slower, but much farther. This is why Lewis and Clark were able to observe debris from Mount Hood in the Columbia River many years ago. There is even evidence that the Columbia was temporarily dammed by lahar debris at least once following an eruptive episode. 

Dar called this whole sequence “a giant reset”— as it flattens the terrain with loose sandy material and rocks—setting the stage for a new force to come in and shape the landscape—water! 

Exposure at the end of Road 39.

Loose Landscapes

Leaving the viewpoint, Dar and I headed back to our meeting spot and drove up Road 39. At the end of the road is a parking lot and trailhead, as well a section of old Route 26 that was decommissioned in the 1960s. However, that is not why we stopped here. Instead, Dar wanted to show me an exposure that would provide some insight into the aftermath of Mt. Hood’s eruptions. 

The exposure was probably 25 to 30 meters high and made up of fine textured sand. Growing along the exposure were red alder trees. Dar said, “Alders love loose landscapes” When you see red alders in an area it suggests disturbance. 

Dar explained that during the 1550 eruption that a big lahar, with a peak 30% to 50% higher than what we could see, dropped down into the area where it would have been constrained as it moved down the canyon, causing it to ricochet from cliff to cliff.  Eventually, the slurry of water and sediment would meet a constriction point downstream where the Little and Big Zigzag meet– blocking sediment transport and causing loose sediment to pile up.  Hence, the alder trees.

Red Alders growing along exposure.

Sediment Stratigraphy 

This exposure was one of many Dar and I observed, as we moved downstream along road 39 to begin our hike through the woods.

Another exposure that was particularly interesting was near the pinch point where the Zigzag River tributaries meet and the canyon narrows (just above the trailhead on road 39). Here you could see horizons, or layers, of sediment from different eruptive events.

Dar explained how scientists can use organic bits found in the horizons, like a fragment of charred wood, to date each layer.

He also explained how sediment size and mixing within a horizon, is evidence for the origin of each layer.  Fine, consistently sized grains of sediments signal the normal hydrology of rain and snow. While jumbled sediments of variable size and shape are characteristic of lahar deposition.

Of course, even between different eruptive events, lahar depositional characteristics will differ depending on the stage of dome-building in which the eruption occurred. Fine material is more predominant in layers from early-stage eruptions, while large angular rocks are found in late-stage eruptions that follow dome-building.

Sediment stratigraphy near the confluence of Little Zigzag and Big Zigzag.

A Reckoning

Either way, we are talking about a lot of loose sediment! This is where hydrology comes into play, explained Dar. The powerful forces of big disasters often capture the imagination, but it is during the aftermath of these moments, where the real work begins. It is with the power of a raindrop and the force of a river that water reshapes the landscape—tearing down what plate tectonics builds up.  In this case, a forested canyon just waiting to be explored.

A Giant Sandbox

When I was a kid I loved playing in the sand at the beach—digging holes, building sandcastles, and watching the waves wash it all away. Now that I have my own children—I am fascinated by how many hours they can spend playing in the sand.

For hydrologists, this fascination doesn’t stop at childhood. Hydrologists “play in the sand” all the time. In fact, many hydrologists work with small-scale “sandbox” models.  Provided enough sediment and a continuous supply of water, these models help hydrologists better understand the large-scale ways water shapes the Earth.

The Zigzag River system is important to hydrologists because like a sandbox model, it too has a continuous supply of water and plenty of sediment—but it can be studied on a real-world scale.  As Dar put it—it is a “giant sandbox.”

Let’s go play! 

Hydrology Basics

Just a little past the confluence of Big Zigzag and Little Zigzag, Dar and I headed into the woods near the Paradise Park Trailhead.  Here we followed the Zigzag River downstream along a lovely forested trail.

Stream morphology is influenced by a lot of different factors which makes interpreting a river’s path challenging for hydrologists. Unless you can directly observe the river as it takes shape, you must rely a lot on inferences.

However, according to Dar, there are still some basic principles and observations that offer a good starting point for understanding river dynamics.

Gradient

The first of these being steepness. Steep rivers tend to be more straight—water energy is directed downward resulting in deep, narrow channels. Flat rivers tend to meander or curve—water energy is directed unevenly, cutting one bank, while slowing and dropping sediment on the opposite bank.

Streamflow

The second principle involves streamflow. Streamflow or discharge is a measure of the volume of water flowing through a channel at a given point and at a given moment. Dar explained to understand streamflow you want to consider its velocity, or speed, as well as the cross-sectional area of the river. Knowing streamflow is important because, it not only tells you how much water is available, but it correlates with the kinetic energy of the stream. High flows will have a greater amount of energy, than low flows.

Streamflow is also dynamic. Thus, depending on how much the discharge fluctuates during a day or a year, the energy of the flow and the morphology of a stream may depend heavily on the time of day and/or seasonality. Even within a channel, streamflow can vary as water tends to follow the path of least resistance- resulting in more complex stream channels, with features like meanders, pools, gravel bars, etc.

Play Pooh Sticks

So next time you pass by a river or stream, take some mental measurements of all of that water rushing by—is the terrain steep? How much water is there? Throw a couple of leaves or sticks in the water and see how long it takes them to get from point A to point B. A quick game of “Pooh Sticks” and you can consider yourself an honorary hydrologist. 

Riffle-riffle-riffle

Walking in the shade of the forest, we passed a turbulent section of the Zigzag River with impressive white water. While I was admiring it and snapping pictures, Dar explained what was going on.

“This is a riffle-riffle-riffle morphology,” he said. “It is fast because of the high gradient.” In a youthful stream, like the Zigzag River, water tends to follow the quickest path downhill. This generates a lot of erosive power and downcutting. Therefore, even though it was hard to see through all the white water, the loose sediment that makes up the Zigzag river bed was moving—transported downstream. 

In contrast, streams with different flow regimes or sediment supplies have very different morphologies. For instance, if we were looking at a stream with no sediment load or an older stream where the stream bed was eroded to bedrock, we would be looking at a “pool-drop-pool-drop” morphology. Or if we were looking at the Zigzag River when the eruptions smoothed everything out, a single channel would have yet to be established. Instead many small, braided channels would make up the landscape.

Riffle-riffle-riffle morphology on the Zigzag River.

Wood is a Wildcard 

As important as gradient, streamflow, and sediment supply are to the morphology of a river, there is another factor of often equal importance. Dar described it as “a wildcard” when it comes to morphology—and that is wood! 

As we continued following the trail downstream, we began to notice places where wood had fallen in the Zigzag River and altered its morphology.

Small Jam

One of the first examples we took note of was a small log jam. One end of a log had fallen into the stream and was still sticking out of the water on the other end—what Dar called a subhorizontal arrangement. 

“There are only four or five ways a tree can interact in the water,” explained Dar. It can stick straight up and down, stick out from the bank, create a perfect dam across, or be subhorizontal in the water.  Each of these creates different eddy patterns that accelerate the water in some places, scouring away sediments; while slowing down water in others, allowing sediments to accumulate creating bars or other depositional features. 

With our small log jam, it was easy to see this lopsided pattern of stream erosion and deposition—there was erosion on the bank nearest to us and deposition on the opposite bank. In fact, some of the small boulders on the depositional side had been sitting in place long enough for moss to grow. 

Small logjam on the Zigzag River.

Big Jam

As we walked further along the tree-lined trail, we saw more examples of how wood was altering the morphology of the Zigzag River, changing it from a narrow, straight channel to one with increasing complexity.  

Eventually, we ran into what Dar described as a “classic logjam.” The logjam was elaborate with two piers produced from tree fall on each bank. These piers slowed the water upstream, allowing for some pooling and deposition especially during high flows. In addition, the piers constricted the current—sending it through the middle of the river. The energy from the constriction was enough to scour the bottom of the stream, removing sediment, and creating a large scoop pool in the middle of the jam. 

Dar also explained how logjams—like the one in front of us—form and are naturally maintained. When trees growing along a bank are undercut, they will fall into the river where they will collect sediment. If enough sediment is collected, another tree may grow in the sediment and eventually fall.  So it is the repeated falling in of trees that creates and perpetuates logjams in a river. 

Big logjam on the Zigzag River.

Restoration in Reverse

Of course, one might wonder why logjams even matter. According to Dar, “wood is critical” in the Pacific Northwest. Wood naturally alters forested streams and has been doing do so long before humans arrived on the scene. Fish and other aquatic life have evolved in these wood enhanced streams. Thus, complex stream systems are essential for the survival of many of our culturally and ecologically important species, like salmon. 

Unfortunately, when Europeans arrived on the scene, rivers were seen as a resource for commerce and transport. So wood, which interfered with these goals, was cleared out.  Dar talked about how rivers like the Alsea and Nestucca were once wood-choked. However, with the removal of wood, they lost their complexity and their gravel. Now they are armored streams with hard rock and boulder bottoms. Dar called it, “restoration in reverse.” 

Now, we know better. And we have been trying to get wood back in the rivers to restore their lost functions. The Zigzag River serves as an important model for how a forested stream develops without human intervention; providing information for restoration work now and in the future.

Lost in Time

As the trail directed us away from the Zigzag River and back toward road 39, Dar’s and my conversation began to meander. I brought up a topic that seemed important to the Zigzag River story and hydrology in general—the concept of time. 

“Time is the 4th dimension of hydrology,” Dar said, “it is as big a parameter as anything else.” Even 100s of years of stream data and observation only provides a snapshot of the “life of a stream.”

In hydrology, change is relatively slow. It takes time for rocks to weather and erosion to occur; for banks to undercut and trees to fall; and for sediment to accumulate. Even faster processes like streamflow are restricted by time-bound processes like snowmelt and groundwater flow. Just like it is difficult to deduce the plot of a movie from one scene, our understanding of hydrology is time-bound and limited.

As Dar and I ended our hike on the Zigzag River, I reflected on all of this.

In only a few hours, Dar shared with me a fascinating story of a river—a story fashioned from a science that is only about 100 years old. Yet it is a story that has been playing for literally thousands of years and will play for thousands more. We are just getting started.

James “Dar” Crammond is the director of the USGS Water Science Center in Portland, Oregon. He also worked as the Chief of the Water Research Branch for USFWS and began his career with the Bureau of Reclamation in 1997, where he was a water rights expert. Dar has a B.S. in hydrology and J.D. from the University of Arizona, and is a member of the Arizona and Oregon State Bar Associations. 

Hike with a Habitat Wildlife Biologist

View of the Sandy River from the trail at Oxbow Regional Park.

10 Essentials

When you are out hiking, it is often recommended that you bring along “the 10 essentials:” navigation, sunscreen, knife, first aid, headlamp, fire starter, shelter, extra clothes, extra food, and extra water. These items are necessary for your survival, especially when things don’t go according to plan. 

Wild animals also have “essentials”—things they need to survive. However, unlike humans, they can’t carry these in a pack but must find what they need in their environment. In a healthy, unaltered ecosystem, this can be a challenge. In a heavily impacted ecosystem, it can become impossible. 

Meet Bill

As a habitat wildlife biologist for over 40 years, Bill Wieler’s CV is jam-packed with conservation, education, and restoration work. Bill has spent his entire career studying how to best protect wildlife and ensure their essential needs are met; as well as, worked on countless restoration and enhancement projects to that end. 

So when I met up with Bill at the Alder Group Picnic area at Oxbow Regional Park near Gresham, Oregon to begin our hike, I was thrilled to learn more, not just about wild animals, but the places they live and how we can do our part to protect them. 

Bill Wieler standing next to a Pacific yew.

The Hike

  • Trailhead: Alder Group Picnic Area
  • Distance: 2+ miles 
  • Elevation Gain: approximately 400 ft
  • Details: It costs $5 for parking. There are about 12 miles of hiking trails to explore. There are many different trail entry points to choose from. 

Yew Should Consider the Yew

Starting down the trail, one of the first things Bill pointed out was a Pacific yew tree. I love Pacific yew trees. As slow-growing conifers, they are often hidden among taller, more conspicuous trees. I often find them dripping with layers of moss and lichen, almost entirely concealing their noteworthy beautiful red bark. 

“It used to be considered a weed tree with no timber value,” said Bill, referring to the yew. He explained, only later, did scientists discover that its bark could be used to produce a cancer-fighting drug called taxol. “I always mention yew because it shows we really should be taking care of everything because we don’t know what animals and plants can provide.” 

Pacific yew along the trail.

Wildlife is Essential 

Wildlife is essential—it provides a host of benefits. Not every species will provide a cancer-fighting chemical like the Pacific yew, but ecosystems that contain a lot of different species have the potential to provide a myriad of benefits. 

According to Bill, “we depend upon natural ecosystems for many of our needs.”  “Food, fuel, and fiber” are perhaps the first of these benefits that come to mind. However, there are many less obvious benefits, including clean air and water, decomposition of wastes, and flood protection. This is not to mention the many social and emotional benefits biodiverse ecosystems offer. As Bill puts it, “they give us a complete, more healthy world. They enhance our sense of wonder and place.” 

Edible red huckleberries were abundant along the trail.

Moving Up

Unfortunately, most species are lost quietly without anyone noticing—species are lost before we even have a chance to appreciate their value. Even well-known species have faced threats because we have undervalued them.  For example, during the 1900s wolves were nearly eradicated from the lower 48 states in the U.S. because they were seen as dangerous to livestock operations.

Bill is optimistic though. He told me how he often polls people regarding their feelings on various wildlife species. And wolves, among other once-hated-species, have been moving up the list. As scientists have come to recognize the role of top predators in keeping other populations in check—what Bill referred to as “trickle-down ecology”—public acceptance of wolves has improved. For some reason, Bill hasn’t seen a large shift in public opinion when it comes to mosquitos and ticks though. 

Forest Dynamics

As we hiked deeper into the Douglas-fir/Hemlock forest, our conversation shifted from individual species of trees to consider forests. Forests are more than a collection of trees. Rather, healthy forests are dynamic ecosystems that operate as a unit. In fact, many of the wildlife benefits discussed earlier are really a function of a biodiverse ecosystem and not individual species.

According to Bill, there are six structures of a healthy forest ecosystem: 1) big trees, 2) snags, 3) logs, 4) soil, 5) open spaces, and 6) canopy layers. All of these components work together to keep the ecosystem functioning. 

While big trees provide excellent habitat for some species, like bats; when trees fall in the forest, it opens up space for new species and canopy layers to grow. These new species provide new resources and increased ecosystem resiliency. In addition, the down-wood and standing dead trees called snags, that remain following a blowdown, provide habitat for a host of insects and bacteria.  In fact, dead trees can host far more species than living trees, according to Bill. Then, over time the woody material decomposes, which builds the soil, providing nutrients for the next generation of forest plants. 

Can you find the six structures of a healthy forest in this picture?

Observations of a Forest

Bill pointed out that all of the six structures are observable in the forest at Oxbow Regional Park. The park even has some old-growth forest within its boundaries. In contrast, a forest that has been managed for timber production is less likely to contain all of these structures and/or in less abundance. For example, 8-10 snags per acre are typical of a healthy forest, while forestry laws only require leaving behind 2 per acre following a clearcut. 

So next time you visit a forest, go ahead—count up the snags; note the various stages of log decomposition; observe how light filters through the canopy layers down to the forest floor; wrap your arms around a big tree. Though much of the changes that occur in a forest are slow, you can still appreciate the dynamics of the forest if you take the time to pay attention. 

A big Douglas-fir seen along the trail.

Fish Need Forests

As Bill and I followed the trail in a southwesterly direction, we found ourselves hiking just above the banks of the meandering course of the Sandy River. The Sandy River is about a 56 miles long tributary to the Columbia River and, apart from the Columbia, has the highest productivity of salmonid species in Oregon. Efforts to enhance the Sandy River to ensure it can continue to support salmonid populations are a big part of Bill’s current and past work. 

However, while discussing salmon with Bill, he directed my attention back toward the forest. He pointed out a large down tree near the trail. You see, forests are not only important to terrestrial wildlife.  Fish need forests too. 

Down-tree that Bill pointed out during our hike.

Bill explained, trees in streams and rivers, especially those with roots, provide a place for fish to hide from predators. They also disrupt the flow of water—creating a more dynamic stream channel with resting pools, gravel for fish to spawn in, and habitat for invertebrates.

Historically, the Sandy River had many logjams, as logs naturally recruit in stream beds over time. However, much of the logs in the Sandy River were removed by the Army Corps in the 60s as part of flood control efforts. Since then, returning logjams to the Sandy River has become an important part of stream enhancement work today. 

The Log Father

They call me the “log father,” Bill said—a nickname he acquired due to his persistent hunt for large trees needed for stream restoration. However, creating a log jam is not as simple as finding dislodged trees and dumping them in the river.  It takes a lot of planning, engineering, and equipment to get large logs in place and secure them. It is expensive work too! According to Bill, logjams are like icebergs— they are mostly underground. Human-constructed logjams must be secured in the ground in order to function properly, as well as to prevent them from being washed away in a big storm.

Later, after Bill and I parted ways, I spent some time walking the trails along the Sandy River looking for logjams. I was able to spot the top of several just at the water’s surface.

Logjams in the Sandy River.

Dismal to Happy 

After some time, Bill and I reached a small bridge that went over a very small stream.  This creek used to be named “Dismal Creek,” Bill told me, but now it is called “Happy Creek.” Why? Easy! We were standing next to an old floodplain of the Sandy River that had become disconnected during the age of dams, log removal, and channelization of rivers.

Happy Creek was an attempt to bring water back into the river system by restoring one of its side channels. In order to achieve this goal, a culvert was added on the opposite side of the road to collect runoff and divert it to the floodplain—turning dismal creek into a happy water-filled channel, with even happier consequences. 

What are those happy consequences? Well for starters, floodplains make excellent feeding grounds for fish; they also are a great place for fish to escape turbulent flows and find rest.  In addition, floodplains help reduce river pollution by collecting sediments and removing nutrients. Of course, one of the big reasons floodplains are making a comeback is because they reduce flooding and prevent erosion by dispersing flood energy away from areas we want to protect, like homes and businesses. 

Happy Creek.

How to Restore

Bill and I hiked down to the floodplain to observe it more closely. Seven years ago, Bill was the lead on the “Happy Creek Project,” so he was anxious to see how it was doing. When we got down there, he was thrilled to see the channel they had created had water in it. Though there was no way to know if the Sandy River or Happy Creek was the source of water, he was thrilled to see it was still wet this late in the year. 

The floodplain channel still filled with water in June.

Restoration is still fairly “new science.” Bill discussed that even during the initial phases of the Happy Creek Project, plans were easily dismantled as the team responded to nature. For example, at one point during the project, they found Pacific Lamprey in the restoration site. This was exciting news! But it also required the team to adapt their plans in order to protect the fish.

Failure is part of the gig when it comes to restoration work, but along with it further understanding. “I have learned a lot from each project,” Bill told me. Observing and continuing to monitor projects will only reveal more. Bill said that he hoped to see gravel one day get washed into the floodplain here, creating spawning habitat. Will it? Only time will tell.

Looking Out for Fish

Even though restoration results vary widely, scientists do know a lot about what good fish habitat looks like.  We know what fish need. So if you are visiting a river or stream, Bill suggests looking for several features in order to assess its habitat quality for fish. First, he suggests checking the water temperature. Many fish species in the Pacific Northwest require really cold water to survive and reproduce. If the temperature feels good to you, it is probably too warm for the fish. Second, check the turbidity, or how difficult it is to see the stream bottom. Cloudy water is often the result of sediment pollution and can clog gills or smother fish eggs. Third, look for a variety of substrates in the water. Are there logs and boulders for insects to live on? Is there gravel for spawning? Finally, check for man-made barriers, like culverts that may make travel impossible for migratory fish. 

Of course, if you find any of these features missing, you can also do something about it! For instance, joining your local watershed council is a great way to be involved and learn about restoration work you can participate in locally.

Living with Wildlife 

About halfway through our hike, we looped back up to the road and crossed it to join a trail on the other side.  Just before we made the loop, I asked Bill about what he felt were the important issues or topics in wildlife today. His answer really came down to one major theme—education. Most people still really don’t understand the habits of wildlife. We don’t know how to live with wildlife. 

He explained—when it comes to wolves, for example, we have removed them from the endangered species list because their numbers are up. Yet, their distribution is very limited with packs only established in few places. According to Bill, for animals that have this sort of clumped distribution, delisting just doesn’t make sense

Another example Bill offered was with coyotes. Some people really don’t like coyotes and will kill them on sight. Never mind that coyotes are a minor threat compared to other species, but killing them is counterproductive. As Bill described it, coyotes have an innate reproductive trait that causes them to increase their litter size—from 2-3 up to as many as eight pups—when their numbers are threatened.

Then there is the deer problem. Most people don’t worry about deer populations, and may even feed deer—treating them like wild pets—attracting them into suburban and urban areas. However, according to Bill, deer are the most dangerous wildlife species of all, with more people becoming injured or even dying from deer-related automobile accidents. 

Risk Perception

Perhaps more than any other species, Mountain Lion threat is most misunderstood. Bill told me about a study he was involved in called CAT: scientists, with the assistance of local students radio-collared 25 mountain lions in order to see how much they were interacting with human populations. They found that mountain lions stayed away from people. The only time a mountain lion was tracked near humans during the study was in a case where a farmer was attracting deer, their primary food source.

Yet, people fear cougars because of a few newsworthy incidents. According to Bill, the result of these reports, and associated fears, means more taxpayer dollars being diverted toward tracking down and killing cougars, often without good reason.

If you are personally afraid of mountain lion encounters, Bill recommends avoiding dusk and dawn visits to areas where cougars have been sighted, especially if you plan to bike or run.

Overall, there are better ways to reduce cougar associated risk that doesn’t involve killing the animal.

A Changing Climate

Speaking of changing public perception of risk, climate change remains a risk worth paying attention to throughout the world, including in the Sandy River Watershed.

As Bill and I trekked through some heavy mud on the trail back to where we parked, he made a point to discuss his concerns with climate change. Bill explained—when it comes to climate change we know very little about how it will impact most wildlife species. We know fish will be profoundly impacted, for example, but the extent of the impact is still tenuous.

But, Bill emphasized, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do anything about it. In fact, the Sandy River is a cold water refuge for fish traveling in the Columbia River, making it a priority area to protect from climate change.

Bill’s favorite climate change solution is trees. He said that any chance he gets to talk to a climate scientist he asks them about planting trees, and he always gets a positive response.

Thus, under Bill’s direction, about 1.5 million trees and shrub species have been planted in the Sandy River Delta, with future plans to plant more in surrounding areas. Bill focused on using native trees in the plantings, including regionally native trees, such as madrone, oak, and ponderosa pine, chosen as a way to prepare for Oregon’s climate in the coming decades.

Is it just me, or am I sensing a theme?  Trees are not only essential for both terrestrial and aquatic habitat needs right now, but their importance extends much further—as they play a role in improving Earth’s climate future. 

A patch of old growth found along the trail.

Appreciating Wildlife

During the last stretch of the hike, I asked Bill one final question, how can we be more like him? How can someone start thinking and behaving more like a wildlife habitat biologist? Bill had a lot of great answers (some of which I mentioned in earlier sections). However, one idea that stood out as significant was the need to spend quality time appreciating nature. 

Bill emphasized the need to spend time in stillness and silence. He talked about a youth education program he was involved in years ago. One of the activities was a 15-minute silence-solitude station. He talked about an eight-year-old who was determined to remain still during the activity—she didn’t move even when it was clear something was creeping up behind her. Eventually, she was face to face with a doe. “That kind of experience stays with you forever,” Bill emphasized. “One-on-one experiences with nature are invaluable.” 

I tend to agree.

Though I draw the line with mosquitoes. Sorry, Bill! I just can’t!  

Bill Weiler worked for 20 years for the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife. He now works full time with the Sandy River Watershed Council and as a wildlife habitat consultant.  He is also the author of the book, “Don’t Run From Bears: Living With Wildlife in the Columbia River Gorge.”

Hike with a Geophysicist

Robert (Bob) Lillie at the summit of Marys Peak

Have you ever wanted to travel back in time to see what the Earth was like thousands or millions of years ago? Well, then this post is for you!

A hike on Marys Peak is like a window into Oregon’s geological past. Marys Peak’s rocks, viewpoints, and vegetation, all paint a picture of large-scale changes that occurred in Oregon millions of years ago, and continue to shape the landscape today.

Hiking with Robert (Bob) Lillie—a geophysicist with a knack for interpreting the Oregon landscape—is like having a tour guide along for the journey.

Armed with a simple model of Marys Peak, rock samples, and two books on Oregon Geology authored by Bob, he met me at the Day Use Area on Marys Peak to begin our hike.

View of Marys Peak from Beazell Memorial Forest’s south meadow.

The Hike

  • Trailhead: Summit Trailhead (Marys Peak Day Use Area)
  • Distance: 3.5+ miles (summit loop trail + meadowedge loop trail)
  • Elevation Gain: approx 700 feet
  • Notes: Northwest Forest Pass is required to park at the Marys Peak Day Use Area where you will find ample parking and pit toilets. There are many additional hiking options on Marys Peak of various length and difficulty.

Marys Peak Rocks

Holding up a labeled bicycle helmet as a model, Bob explained that Marys Peak was made up of several layers of different types of rock, each with unique properties. At the base was black volcanic rock called basalt, followed by thick layers of light colored sandstone and dark shale, and at the top an intrusive rock known as gabbro. This hard gabbro layer, Bob pointed out, is where we would be hiking today.

Bob’s bicycle helmet model of Marys Peak.

Cool Rocks

You may recall from middle school science, that igneous rocks form when lava or magma cools and solidifies.  However, due to differences in formation and chemistry, not all igneous rocks turn out the same. Bob pulled out some rock samples- gabbro and basalt- and began to explain their differences.

Dark-colored basalt is a low-silica igneous rock that forms from thin, fast-flowing lava (think Hawaiian volcanoes) that cools and hardens quickly— within a few hours to days. Gabbro is also dark-colored with the same low-silica chemical composition as basalt, but forms from magma that cools very slowly below ground, taking 10s to 1000s of years to cool and harden.

The long cooling time allows large crystals to form in gabbro rock. On the other hand, basalt has very fine crystals, making it a bit dull looking and less valuable. Thus, gabbro is used in masonry in Oregon, often as a granite alternative, while basalt is used to gravel roadways.

Image Credit: Lillie, Robert. “Oregon’s Island in the Sky: Geology Road Guide to Marys Peak.” Wells Creek Publishers, 2017.

Putting the rock samples away, Bob and I followed the gravel road part of the summit loop trail upward from the parking lot. Eventually, we reached some gabbro outcroppings, with large crystals glimmering in the sunshine. 

Heading up the summit trail to the first set of gabbro outcroppings

Weathering Time 

Remember, gabbro forms below ground. According to Bob, two miles of sedimentary layers once covered the now exposed gabbro rock. Of course, that was millions of years ago. So what happened? Where did the sedimentary layers go?

The answer lies in one of the most underappreciated geological processes— weathering an erosion. Weathering is the breakdown of rock by contact with the atmosphere, hydrosphere, and biosphere. Basically, exposed rocks get worn down over time with a little help from the environment.  This weathered material can then be eroded (moved away by wind and water), uncovering more rock that lies below. Sedimentary rock weathers and erodes easily, while igneous rock such as gabbro is much harder. 

 “Look up,” Bob exclaimed, “imagine two miles of sedimentary rock pushing down from above you.” 

The slow action of weathering and erosion removed it all! What a load off!

Mini-Yosemite 

As we hiked along the gabbro rock gardens, Bob pointed to some rounded outcroppings of gabbro rock that reminded me of pillow basalt— a form of basalt that results from cooling in water. Though pillow basalt can be viewed on the road up to Marys Peak, it made no sense that we would find it here in the gabbro layer. Something else was going on! Bob explained that the answer lies in a process known as spheroidal exfoliation.

With the slow removal of the weight of two miles of sedimentary rock layers, the gabbro sill would have fractured and broke into cubed or rectangular blocks. Then, spheroidal weathering would have taken over—discriminately breaking down the gabbro blocks; wearing down corners more than edges, and edges more than faces; and eventually forming rounded spheres surrounded by concentric “shells” flaking off.  Once exposed, these layers may erode and “peel” away layer by layer—much like peeling away the layers of an onion.

Spheroidal exfoliation on a gabbro outcropping

Bob compared the rounded rocks on Marys Peak to the huge granite domes (such as Half-Dome) you can see in Yosemite National Park. The same basic mechanisms of exfoliation apply, just on a different scale. Thus, Bob dubbed Marys Peak a “mini-Yosemite” in honor of the striking resemblance.

Hard as a Rock

At about 500 feet above the rest, Marys Peak is the highest mountain in Oregon’s Coast Range. In part, Marys Peak stands out above the other mountains because it is hard-headed or, as Bob puts it—stubborn! Compared to the sedimentary rocks that once covered it, the gabbro on top of Marys Peak is very resistant to weathering and erosion. The stubborn gabbro thus acts as a sort of shield to the elements, allowing the peak to remain prominent.

Image Credit: Lillie, Robert. “Oregon’s Island in the Sky: Geology Road Guide to Marys Peak.” Wells Creek Publishers, 2017.

Island in the Sky 

The fact that Marys Peak is “stubborn, has essentially allowed it to maintain its height and, in turn, a cold subalpine climate. Marys Peak, as Bob describes, is “an island in the sky.” 

With colder, harsher conditions than other coastal mountains, Marys Peak exists as a remnant of the past. Rather than the typical Coast Range Douglas-fir/hemlock forest, Marys Peak is a botanical anomaly, and a very beautiful one—it has even been designated a Scenic Botanical Special Interest Area.   

The meadows, rock gardens, and noble fir forests that make up the upper reaches of Marys Peak are unique to the Coast Range today, but once would have been typical of the region. Botanically speaking, Marys Peak is living in the last ice age that ended about 12,000 years ago. Many subalpine wildflower species are found here. During our hike through the rock garden, Bob and I took note of several: harsh Indian paintbrush, spreading phlox, Cascade desert parsley, and Cardwell’s penstemon, to name a few; and in the meadows- glacier lilies.  

A gabbro wildflower rock garden on Marys Peak

Marys Desert?!?

But subalpine flowers were not the only botanical anomaly of note on Marys Peak. As we hiked farther up the summit trail, past most of the rock gardens, Bob pointed out a slightly lower ridge to the left on the south flank of the mountain.  Here we found another remnant of the past—a veritable desert!  

Some 6,000 to 4,000 years ago, during a warm, dry period, species still found today in the eastern or southern parts of Oregon spread into parts of western Oregon.  Later, as the climate again shifted toward cooler and wetter, most of these—what are known as xeric species—retreated back.  But this outcropping- with it’s thin, rocky soil (thanks again to stubborn gabbro) and it’s harsh, drying winds- held onto its xeric species. The west-facing of this area is especially important because high winds coming from that direction blow away most of the heavy snow blanket that covers other areas near Marys Peak summit. 

I was unable to see or identify xeric species from where I stood, but prostate lupine (eastern Oregon species) and sulfur flowered buckwheat (southern Oregon species) are apparently two xeric species to keep an eye out for. 

Marys Desert—A xeric rock garden (desert ecosystem) on the west-facing slope of Marys Peak  

Story Beneath the Scenery

About ½ mile from the start of the trail, we reached the summit of Marys Peak. Ignoring the unsightly communication towers behind us, we looked out into the horizon. The views on Marys Peak are reason number two for visiting—come for the wildflowers, but make sure you stay for the viewpoints (and the geology)!  

From the summit, looking to the west, you can see the Pacific Ocean; and to the east the Cascade Volcanoes are prominently on display, with the Willamette Valley in the foreground. With such scenery, it is easy to get caught up in the simple beauty of Oregon.

It’s also the perfect opportunity to start thinking like a geophysicist—which, according to Bob, involves observing the landscape and visualizing what happened beneath Earth’s surface to cause it.  Much of geology happens slowly. We can’t watch changes occur, but we can use what we do see to develop inferences regarding the past. Like watching the final scene in a movie, it isn’t too difficult to deduce some of the earlier scenes if you are paying attention.  As Bob puts it- “there is a story beneath the scenery.”  

Views from the summit of Marys Peak

Moving Plates

The Earth is composed of about 12 hard tectonic plates that move around on a softer part of the mantle, called the asthenosphere. These plates grind past one another, and they grow and shrink as they move toward, under, and away from each other.  The motion is messy, resulting in cracking and folding, as well as earthquakes and even volcanic eruptions. These large-scale motions help explain much of Earth’s formations, including those visible from the top of Marys Peak. 

Born in the Ocean

Marys Peak did not start out as a peak. Rather, Marys Peak, and the Coast Range in general, started out as rocks and islands scattered about in the Pacific Ocean. What is now Oregon did not exist 200 million years ago! Over long periods of geological time, the North American plate bulldozed these rocks and islands off the ocean floor, and in the process built Oregon.  

As Bob explained, Oregon sits along a convergent plate boundary, where the North American and Juan de Fuca plates have been colliding for millions of years. More importantly, due to differences in density, the oceanic Juan de Fuca Plate has been diving beneath the continental North American Plate—a process known as subduction.  

But subduction is not a clean or smooth process.  Anything massive that doesn’t fit under North America is scraped off the oceanic plate and added to the continent. These masses of land, called exotic terranes, are responsible for a good portion of Oregon’s land mass, including Marys Peak and most of the coast range.  

In the case of Marys Peak, the basalt lava flows and overlying sedimentary rock layers formed in the ocean.  Later, as the oceanic plate subducted beneath the western edge of Oregon, magma intruded into these rock layers, forming vertical dikes and horizontal sills of gabbro (like the one that forms the “stubborn” caprock of Marys Peak). As the plate convergence continued, a large block of rock was thrust upward and eastward along the Corvallis Fault. Marys Peak was born!  

The other Coast Range mountains visible from Marys Peak summit are similarly composed of volcanic and sedimentary rocks from the ocean that were thrust upward and over the edge of the continent. And like Marys Peak, many of the other high Coast Range mountains are capped by hard, intrusive gabbro. 

Image Credit: Lillie, Robert. “Oregon’s Island in the Sky: Geology Road Guide to Marys Peak.” Wells Creek Publishers, 2017.

Volcanic Peaks

Marys Peak is not a volcano, but from Marys Peak you can see a great many volcanoes. From our vantage point, Bob and I were able to see Mt. Hood, Mt. Jefferson, and the Three Sisters; and, later in the day, Three Fingered Jack, Mt, Washington, Mt. Bachelor, and Diamond Peak. On clearer days you can also see Mt. Rainer, Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams farther north; and Mt. Thielsen, Mt. Mazama (Crater Lake), and Mt. McLoughlin to the south. Marys Peak offers views of most of Washington’s and Oregon’s great Cascade Volcanoes! 

I love the Cascade Volcanoes and can’t help but smile anytime I can see them off in the distance. But why are they there? Is there a story beneath the scenery? 

Don’t Sweat! 

Yep! Once again, plate tectonics provides an explanation.

When an oceanic plate subducts, as is occurring off the Oregon Coast today, it starts to sweat!  At about 50 miles below the surface the plate is under so much heat and pressure that it begins to metamorphose and dehydrate. The hot water released reacts chemically with overlying rock, causing it to melt and generate magma. The result is the starting material for repeated volcanic eruptions. 

For the last several million years, the Cascade Volcanoes have been fed by the magma generated by the subduction of the Juan de Fuca Plate below the North American Plate.  The volcanic peaks have erupted countless times during this time period, building up their cone shapes with each eruption.  Though it may seem infrequent on a human timescale, eruptive periods are frequent- with more than 100 Cascade eruptions over the past few thousand years.  As long as subduction continues, the Cascades will continue to erupt. 

Image Credit: Lillie, Robert. “Oregon’s Island in the Sky: Geology Road Guide to Marys Peak.” Wells Creek Publishers, 2017.

The Dynamic Duo: Uplift and Erosion

As Bob pointed out, while tectonic activity is building up volcanoes and lifting up mountains, the other half of a dynamic duo is tearing it all down. The effects of erosion can also be observed at the summit of Marys Peak. 

The Marys Peak region once had an additional two miles of sedimentary rock sitting on top of it!  As the land was lifted up, wind, rain and snow were, at the same time, wearing it down. Sedimentary rock is easily eroded, but Marys hard-headedness—aka her gabbro top—is a big reason she remains tall today. 

The effects of erosion can also be be observed in the Cascade Volcanoes.  When volcanoes become inactive and are no longer being built up by eruptions, they start loosing their tops.  Mt. Washington and Mt. Thielsen are great examples of this. Their pointy tops suggest they haven’t erupted in a really long time, as glaciers have etched away their smooth cones. Yes, even volcanoes show signs of aging!  One the other hand, Mt. Hood’s symmetrical cone shape is a good indicator of “recent” volcanic activity. 

Story of People

After spending several minutes at the top of Marys Peak discussing the “story beneath the scenery,” Bob and I continued our hike, moving downward along the summit trail until we reached the Meadowedge trail junction. Here we took a left and followed the Meadowedge trail. 

Toward the end of that loop, Bob stopped me, suggesting one more time we read the landscape. 

 “What do you see?” He said. 

I looked out across a rolling meadow. But with thoughts of plate tectonics running through my head, I overlooked what he wanted me to see. Finally, he pointed it out- a stage!  

Following WWII, a group known as the Shriners began holding an annual fundraising event on Marys Peak known as the Marys Peak Trek. Each year thousands of people attended to enjoy food and entertainment. One of the meadows even became a parking lot. The damage was extensive. But by 1983, the Trek ended, and the meadows have had some time to start to recover. Even the earthen stage is easy to miss if you aren’t looking for it.  

The Shriners Trek stage.

Bob and I ended our hike by completing the meadowedge loop back to the summit trail, where we hiked through Noble fir forest back to the parking lot where we said our goodbyes.  

Back to the Future

I am not ready to say goodbye to Marys Peak.

Marys Peak still faces many challenges. Rare meadows have been encroached on by Noble fir forest, at least in part due to human disturbance. Social trails and wildflower gathering remain a constant threat to the meadows. And then there is climate change, threatening the very existence of this ice-aged ecosystem.

However, there are also many forces working to preserve Marys Peak. Meadows are being restored and Noble fir populations kept in check. Signs and barriers mark sensitive areas. And many local community groups, like the Marys Peak Alliance, are working to educate visitors on the ecological and cultural importance of Marys Peak.

As we look forward to the future of Marys Peak, it is my hope that it remains as it is today: a future set in the past.

Dr. Robert J. (Bob) Lillie is a free-lance writer, science communicator, and interpretive trainer. Bob was a Professor of Geosciences at Oregon State University from 1984 to 2011. He studied geology at the University of Louisiana- Lafayette and Oregon State University while earning his bachelors and masters degrees, and later studied geophysics at Cornell University where he earned his Ph.D. 

Bob has written extensively about Pacific Northwest geology in “Beauty from the Beast: Plate Tectonics and the Landscapes of the Pacific Northwest” and “Oregon’s Island in the Sky: Geology Road Guide to Marys Peak.” Both books are available at area bookstores, museums and visitor centers, as well as on amazon.com

Run Around the Alvord Desert: Let’s Playa

The Alvord Desert Playa

With the walls closing in at home, my family and I decided to head out to the Alvord Desert for some much needed solitude and wide-open space for a weekend in mid-May. The plan was to camp for a couple nights, and hike and explore during the day. The Alvord Desert is on BLM land and primitive camping is allowed. So, with the promise of room to roam, we packed up our vehicle with the necessary provisions, loaded up the car, and headed southeast. 

Alive in the Alvord

The Alvord Desert is a playa located on the east side of Steens Mountain- a huge fault block mountain that runs for miles at the edge of Oregon’s Basin and Range region. Dry and expansive (about 11 miles long and 6 miles wide), with a cracked earthen floor. The Alvord Desert landscape feels alien- devoid of greenery and seemingly lifeless; a monotonous swath of dirt and dust. Much like what you would expect from a desert.

But then…

You watch the sun rise and fall, casting shadows and painting the sky intermittently between hours of moon and stars and wind. You roam the sagebrush boundary lands, hunting for lizards or other desert life. When the sun is high and the heat is too much, you swat away invertebrates while reading the book you brought on the trip, moving every once in a while in order to remain in the shade. On your early morning run, you discover large pools of water that make you reflect on what you know about hydrology (more on that later). And suddenly, you find yourself waxing poetic about this mysterious landscape called the Alvord Desert… Or maybe it is just me.

Arrival 

After driving for countless miles, my family and I arrived in Alvord Desert late in the afternoon. It was finally cooling down for the night, when we found a spot to camp on the edge of the playa. There, we spent the evening watching our shadows grow long and once night hit, we counted stars and waited for the moon to rise. Eventually, one-by-one, we fell asleep to the sound of the desert winds, visions of wide-open-spaces dancing in our heads.

The Hike or Run 

  • Trailhead: any place you can find your way back to (make sure you know your return coordinates)
  • Distance: any distance your energy level will allow
  • Elevation Gain: virtually none
  • Notes: Run or hike from virtually any point you would like. Bring plenty of water. Distances appear shorter in the desert, so plan accordingly. Make sure you know where you are starting from, so you can make it back safely.
Heading out on a sunrise run.

A Glass Half Full 

At first light, I was up and ready to explore. My plan from the get-go was to run the playa: so much space and nearly level ground- a distance runners dream, I thought. So I donned my running gear and started to move. The light of the early morning was magic, as I trotted along at my usual slow pace, soaking in the atmosphere. I followed the shrub-lined edge of the playa for most of the run. It was eerie and peaceful.

Eventually, I made it around to the opposite side from camp and figured I would cut across the playa when- splash- water! What I had thought was a desert mirage, was actually a thin lake of water that made crossing the playa at that point impossible.

Rerouting my run, questions began to soar through my mind about the wet encounter. I had read that the Alvord desert had a wet and dry season, but for some reason it didn’t fully register until that moment; until I ran smack into it.

Tired and a bit dehydrated from my run, I thought a lot about the hydrological cycle of the Alvord- about its cycles and seasons- and decided I needed to know more about this unique land of wet mud and dry dust.

Ready? Let’s Playa in the Alvord!

The Alvord Desert covered with a thin layer of water

In the Shadow

Lying within the rain shadow of Steens, the Alvord Desert is considered the driest place in the State of Oregon, receiving only about 7 inches of precipitation per year. As part of Oregon’s interior, not a lot of moisture makes it to this southeastern region. And what little does makes it into the region, is removed from the atmosphere as snowfall on Steens Mountain’s western flank. This process is known as the rain shadow effect. When moisture laden air travels up a mountainside (the windward side), it cools, condenses, and eventually falls as precipitation. The dry air then continues down the other side of the mountain (the leeward side), where it heats up, encouraging further drying through evaporation.  The Alvord Desert is on the leeward side of Steens, so it not only gets little rainfall, but it experiences a lot of evaporation.

Dry and Cracked 

Additionally, the Alvord basin, like most watershed in the Basin and Range of Oregon, is a closed-watershed system. Instead of taking a more traditional route to the Ocean, water in the Alvord doesn’t leave by surface or groundwater flowing to the Ocean. Instead, it stays in the basin until the hot sun evaporates it away. The result is another interesting features of the Alvord- cracks.

Alvord Desert’s surface is riddled with geometric shapes separated by cracks. Known as desiccation fractures, these cracks form as the surface of moist clay-rich sediments dry and shrink through sun and wind evaporation. Shrinking results in tensile stresses that radiate out in all directions on the surface that ultimately break, resulting in polygonal cracks- one of the Alvord Desert’s characteristic features.

Desiccation Fractures

Reflecting on a Thin Film of Water

O.K. so that explains why it is so very dry in the Alvord Desert, but it doesn’t explain why there is water there at all.  Where does the water come from, if not from precipitation?

Perhaps not surprisingly, much of the water in the Alvord Desert comes from higher up- on Steens Mountain.  Steens Mountain captures a lot of precipitation in the form of snow. Later in spring, the snowpack melts and feeds streams and groundwater systems that supply water to the basin below. Much like how water accumulates in the drain at the bottom of your sink, the Alvord Desert is one of several low points, separated by alluvial divides, that capture water draining from Steens above. 

Steens Mountain

Shifting Waters

However, as a desert playa, the Alvord Desert also happens to be very large and very flat. In the spring, expansive areas fill with water but at a depth of only a few centimeters. It is the process of inundation that actually helps maintain the flatness of a playa- laying down sediments evenly throughout.

When visiting the Alvord Desert it is important to remember that these thin, but massive lakes of water may grow or shrink, and/or shift, making parts of the playa potentially impassable at times. During my morning run on the playa, it was just a matter of rerouting, but there is potential for getting stranded by these shifting waters. In the Spring, when water levels are wide, the risk of getting trapped by pooling water is particular high, so plan accordingly.

An Ancient Lake

However, even during its wettest season, the thin surface water of the Alvord is nothing compared to the amount of water it once held during its tumultuous past. From about 3.5 million years ago to 15,000 years ago, recurring ice ages increased rainfall in southeast Oregon that filled the large basins characteristic of the region. The Alvord Desert and surrounding sub-basins (as far south as Nevada) were all connected as one massive pluvial lake. Filled to the brim, Pleistocene Lake Alvord had a depth of nearly 200 feet at one point, and would often overflow. 

Overflowing

During periods of overflow, water would travel via Crooked Creek to the Owyhee River.  During one cataclysmic event, water burst through Big Sand Gap on the lake’s eastern rim, eroding it down about 12 m, and sending torrents of water into the much smaller Pluvial Lake Coyote, through Crooked Creek, and out to the Owyhee River. Today along Crooked Creek, you can observe the scabland terrain and boulder bars that serve as evidence of this event.  Apparently, you can also hike out to Big Sand Gap from the Alvord Desert by following wild horse trails to see the breach up close- something I will have to try on my next trip.  

It wasn’t until the last 10,000 years that the Earth warmed again and the Alvord became the desert you see today. 

Alvord Desert at sunrise

You Should Go Playa

Whether you explore on foot or otherwise, the Alvord Desert is a magical place to visit. It may look one-dimensional at first glance, but if you stay awhile, the dynamic nature of the landscape, with it’s subtle shifts and movement, begin to unfold. You should seriously go “playa” in the Alvord- you won’t be disappointing. Just don’t forget the moisturizer.

  • “Alvord Desert – The Oregon Encyclopedia.” 20 Mar. 2018, https://oregonencyclopedia.org/articles/alvord_desert/. Accessed 26 May. 2020.
  • “Playa | geology | Britannica.” https://www.britannica.com/science/playa. Accessed 26 May. 2020.
  • Tanner P.W.G. (1978) Desiccation structures (mud cracks, etc.). In: Middleton G.V., Church M.J., Coniglio M., Hardie L.A., Longstaffe F.J. (eds) Encyclopedia of Sediments and Sedimentary Rocks. Encyclopedia of Earth Sciences Series. Springer, Dordrecht.
  • O’Connor, Jim E., Rebecca J. Dorsey, and Ian Madin, eds. Volcanoes to vineyards: geologic field trips through the dynamic landscape of the Pacific Northwest. Vol. 15. Geological Society of America, 2009.
  • “Oregon: A Geologic History – Oregon Geologic Timeline.” https://www.oregongeology.org/pubs/ims/ims-028/timeline.htm. Accessed 26 May. 2020.

Watch your Boots if you Hike with Newts

Watch your step! Rough-skinned newts are on the move this time of year in the valley’s of Western Oregon.  

Rough-skinned newt in Beazell Memorial Forest

Don’t Crush a Newt

A couple of years ago, while hiking with my daughter in Beazell Memorial County Forest, King’s Valley, OR, we discovered a trail littered with rough-skinned newts. Dozens upon dozens of all shapes and sizes, walked clumsily across and past us on the trail.  They were so abundant that we needed to watch our step to avoid crushing them.  Quickly, our ordinary hike in the woods was becoming an unforgettable wildlife adventure. We reveled in the spectacle.  

This year I decided to head back to Beazell to see if the newts were out and about again. And though I was unable to replicate my 2018 experience, the visit got me thinking about the life cycle and circumstance of a rough-skinned newt.  I see rough-skinned newts perhaps more than any other amphibian in Oregon.  Yet, that fateful day in April was something special.  As I trudged up the hill to reach the south meadows of Beazell, I resolved to learn a bit more about these charismatic, orange-bellied creatures, and what sort of mischief they got themselves into. 

Hike at a Glance

  • Trailhead: Beazell Forest Trailhead
  • Distance: 3.9 miles
  • Elevation gain: about 800 feet
  • Notes: There are many options for loops here. You can go a bit longer or shorter depending on your energy. Easy parking and restrooms on site.
View from the south meadow

Death by Newt

Don’t be fooled by rough-skinned newts’ seemingly good-natured demeanor. They may appear benign, but these newts have a seedy underbelly- a very orange seedy underbelly.  Let me explain…

The story goes that in the 1960s three hunters from Oregon were found dead sitting around a campfire with no sign of struggle or injury. The only clue to their death was a coffee pot with a rough-skinned newt curled up inside.  It is thought that the pot, newt and all, had been unwittingly used to prepare their morning coffee- killing the men. 

Toxic Orange 

Though rough-skinned newts are generally a rather drab color of brown on top, they have a bright orange underside. Bright colors are commonly found in the animal kingdom when an animal is trying to make a point- that point being- “I am incredibly toxic so you better leave me alone.” Think, poison dart frog, and you get the picture.  

Rough-skinned newts are no exception.  In fact, rough-skinned newts have a reputation as the most toxic amphibian in the Pacific Northwest; possibly the most toxic on the planet. They produce a neurotoxin called tetrodotoxin (TTX) that blocks voltage-gated sodium channels, important neural pathways. Hence our dead hunters. 

Their toxic orange skin might help explain why newts aren’t particularly evasive too. Just a quick flash of their orange underside (a move called the unken reflex) is an informative gesture meant to deter any predator that might attempt to consume it. Many have tried.  Many have failed. The message is simple- “drink the coffee”- aka eat newt- and you too will face a bitter end. 

Small juvenile newt during migration

The Race

Interestingly, the production of TTX in newt populations has led to an evolutionary arms race with common garter snakes- rough-skinned newts’ only significant predators.  Garter snakes adapt to the poison, but lose some of their prowess. Research has shown a drop in crawl speed in snakes that survive newt skin poisoning. Apparently, the trade off is worth it- evolutionarily speaking.  

However, with more recent research into the source of newt TTX, a third organism has become part of the picture- bacterium.  Though it is difficult to confirm sole responsibility, recent studies have found that some species of bacteria that reside on the skin of a toxic rough-skinned newt are capable of producing TTX.  This suggests the intriguing possibility that our newt is part of a sordid co-evolutionary 3-way yet to be fully understood.

Watery Beginnings

Rough-skinned newts start their lives in water.  Eggs are laid individually and anchored to the underside of leaves or other debris. Upon hatching, rough-skinned newts will spend at least three months as larvae with bushy gills until they metamorphose into adults. Some will never metamorphose- a phenomenon known as neoteny- and simply live out their days in perpetual youth; sort of like a 30-something living in their parent’s basement- why move?

However, most rough-skinned newts will eventually move to a more terrestrial existence. Here they spend much of their time resting under the cover of logs, rocks, or other surface objects, or foraging for food. It is not unusual to see the proud swagger of a newt looking for a tasty invertebrate, especially following a nice rain.  

Plunkett Creek in Beazell Memorial Forest

Springtime Madness

Then, with the onset of spring, and a particularly warm rain- an instinct is triggered in the newts -and it is time to move!  The migration of rough-skinned newts is a heroic spring ritual, as they make their way in droves out from their winter hiding places, toward their breeding grounds. They will travel miles if necessary to make it back to the same pond or body of water to breed year after year; each time following a similar migratory route. 

It is thought that males will generally travel individually, while females have been reported to travel in large groups during migration.  It is possible that the April 2018 my daughter and I experienced was just that sort of event- a gathering of females in anticipation for the “big night.”  To stretch the analogy further, during mating season, males will also exchange their rough, bumpy skin for a more polished appearance- putting on smooth supple skin, a tall tail, and black pads on the soles of their feet. 

Newt during migration on April 28, 2018

The Dance of a Lifetime

When a female arrives at “the dance” (let’s call it), she is swarmed for attention, eventually finding herself locked in a close tango with a single male. This underwater dance can last for several hours.  Then, before the “night” ends the male will drop a package containing sperm (a spermatophore) behind for the female to pick up. If accepting of the gift, she will store it in her reproductive organs. A few days later, when the time is right, the female will then use the stored spermatophores to fertilize her eggs and deposit them one-by-one, preparing a new generation to dance. 

Watch your Hiking Boot

So next time you hit the trail on a warm, wet spring day, keep an eye out and tread lightly. You just might find yourself encircled by a herd of rough-skinned newts. Emboldened by their bright orange belly, they will brazenly follow their chosen route. Not even the crushing force of your hiking boots will hinder them on their path.

Feeling Unwell? Get Back to Nature

I love trees! I took this picture on a meditative walk through a park near where I live.

These Challenging Times

Lately, I find myself thinking a lot about health and wellness.  Under the stress of a global pandemic, life has shifted dramatically from what it once was. I don’t get up and go to work every morning or send my kiddos off to school. The grocery store gives me the heebeegeebees. I worry over every little sniffle or cough of a loved one.  And when I see a person walking toward me, I turn the other way. In other words, the rules have changed.  And I (well, we) have had to adjust.

But adjustments come with a lot of sharp feelings and emotions.  I personally feel like I have an emotional itch that I can’t quite scratch. And I know that I am one of the lucky ones.  (Which makes me feel even more” itchy”.)  So how do we take care of ourselves in this time of isolation and stress? I decided to ask an expert. 

Seeking Help

I reached out to Ryan Reese several months ago about going on a hike with me.  An expert on EcoWellness, I thought it would be interesting to walk and talk about the nature-human connection from a scientific perspective.  We didn’t connect right away, so I let it drop.  But when the pandemic really began taking its toll and we were all being asked to “stay home,” I knew I had to get him on the phone. Maybe he had some ideas for how to deal with all those itchy feelings.

Nature is my Therapist

Over the years, nature has become my own personal brand of therapy.  Being in nature, especially on a hike, gives me a greater sense of well-being.  And, according to Ryan, that is not without a scientific basis.  There has been a lot of research around the benefits of spending time in nature.  Nature is medicine for the mind.  It reduces stress.  It helps with cognitive processes like focus and attention. Nature is also a bonding force between people.  Research has shown that people that interact in more natural environments are more connected and kind to one another. There have been studies looking at how nature may even reduce crime.  The list goes on and on.  

Then of course are all the personal anecdotes.  Ryan shared how nature shaped his life. From his adolescence into early adulthood, Ryan experienced his own depression.  During his summers in college, Ryan was an Alaskan fishing guide and spending time in nature became a day-to-day experience for him. Nature broadened Ryan’s identity, and in many ways, helped him transcend depression. Watching others interact in nature also gave him an appreciation for how nature can be experienced differently by different people, thoughts that ultimately guided him towards his chosen profession. 

Like many, I too have battled depression during a few periods in my life and have discovered the restorative power of nature.  If I feel myself slipping into a dark place, overwhelmed by life, or not wanting to do anything at all, that is when I lace up my hiking shoes and hit the trail.  

Mary’s Peak- This is one of my favorite go to places to visit and connect with nature.

On Being EcoWell

However, according to Ryan, despite the onslaught of research into the human-nature connection in recent years there are still some major gaps in the literature. One of them being the application of the human-nature connection in counseling and other “helping professions.”  

So with the support of Jane E. Myers, during his doctorate Ryan led the way by developing a framework, termed EcoWellness, that incorporates the scientific underpinnings of the human-nature connection as part of a holistic wellness model. Ryan’s goal now is to bring EcoWellness into applied settings and endeavour to close the literature gap. 

According to Ryan, EcoWellness is a connection to nature that can only be achieved through safe, confident interactions with the natural environment.  It requires intentional process oriented experiences in nature that allow for opportunities for transcendence, resulting in enhanced spirituality and empathy for people and places.  Just like any healthy human relationship, it takes work to develop a personal connection with nature, but just being present and open is a good first step. 

With Intention

Which brings me back to the itchy emotions I have been feeling lately, and the reason I why I reached out to Ryan to talk now.  In addition to physically distancing ourselves from other people, many have decided to sever their ties with nature. Being told “stay home,”and conflicting opinions regarding what that exactly means, has put a damper on experiencing nature.  And with all the other terrible consequences of COVID-19, losing time in nature seems like a small sacrifice. But it doesn’t have to be. 

I asked Ryan what advice he had for staying ecowell during these difficult times.  And the short answer is: go outside!  Staying indoors is not recommended.  As long as you can get outside safely, do it!    

Ryan recommended spending at least 15 minutes, two times a day, intentionally connecting with nature in order to really soak in the benefits.  Whether that be through direct interactions or indirectly, through imagery or sounds in an indoor environment. The important thing is to be mindful and intentional about the process. 

Also, remember, nature doesn’t have to mean wilderness.  Nature can be found in a local park, neighborhood, or even a single tree. It is regular interaction that is most important to developing a connection with nature.  So if you can’t make it out to some of your favorite hikes because trails or closed, dip your toes in the nature you can access daily.  

Blossoms always bring me joy. Photo taken during one of my afternoon walks in my neighborhood.

Tips to Make the Most of It

Ryan also offered some tips for how to make the most of a visit with nature.  1) Leave technology behind.  It can really distract from the experience.  2) Set an intention. Fully engage in the natural environment. 3) Practice mindfulness.  Ryan mentioned that there are a lot of great apps that can help with this.  He also cautions against getting into a shame cycle if you find the practice difficult. 4) Connect often, especially if you find your lifestyle greatly altered. In addition to longer bouts with nature, tapping into the connection every hour, even for a moment, can be beneficial. 

A sunrise caught on camera during one of my early morning runs from home.

Small Stuff

During the writing of this blog post, I probably went on nothing short of 3-4 short walks around my neighborhood.  With a lot of my time spent working on a computer at home, neighborhood walks and runs have become my daily dose of nature.  I find I need these daily doses.  And though I haven’t been able to visit the mountains or coast for a while now (I do miss them), I am grateful for the small pockets of the natural world that I have been able to find. 

It is easy to neglect certain aspects of our wellness when there is so much pain and chaos around us, but I encourage you to resist the urge to let nature go.  Instead, find new ways to build the relationship.  In my humble opinion, we need it more than ever.  

Be EcoWell. 

Ryan Reese is an assistant professor at Oregon State University, Cascades Campus. He has a Ph.D. in Counseling and Counselor Education from University of North Carolina at Greensboro. He is a licensed professional counselor and is an EMDR certified therapist. 

Curious at Coyote Wall

View from Coyote Wall of Mount Hood and the Columbia River

A Plethora of Curiosities

One of my favorite hikes in “The Gorge” takes you through a Missoula flood inflicted scablands of oak and pine, up a ridge of columnar basalt, and through fields of wildflowers.  Oh and did I mention, views of Mount Hood and the Columbia River. There is a lot to appreciate along the Coyote Wall trail near Bingen, Washington. So today, let’s explore a few trail curiosities that can be found along the Coyote Wall trail. 

The Hike at a Glance

  • Trailhead: Coyote Wall Trailhead
  • Distance: 7.8 miles
  • Elevation Gain: about 1900 feet
  • Notes: No parking pass required, but popular trail so get here early.  Trail is shared with mountain bikers. Pit toilet at the trailhead.  

The Wall (not just a Pink Floyd Album)

One of the most obvious and interesting curiosities to discover at Coyote Wall is the wall itself.  Formed from ancient lava flows that flooded the area about 16 million years ago, the resulting basalt rocks underwent folding and faulting, and later uplift (both of which continue today), creating this magnificent geological feature. You can see Coyote Wall from the parking lot and again later when you climb up and back down it.  It truly is a wonder and a highlight of this hike. 

If you are so Inclined

You see, Coyote Wall is part of the Bingen Anticline- where the earth’s crust has been compressed, folded and uplifted by faulting. The Columbia River corridor east of Hood River is characterized by convex ridges (anticline) and concave valleys (synclines) formed from a north-south compression of the Earth’s crust. To understand how this works, take a flat piece of paper, or other flexible material, and bring its opposite ends together- the paper will “deform” much like the deformation of the Earth’s crust under similar strain.

As part of the Yakima Fold Belt, the Bingen Anticline is asymmetrical. Thus the Coyote Wall ridge is relatively short (maybe a mile or two), compared to the larger associated syncline valley that the town of Mosier occupies across the river (syncline valleys in the area tend to be 10s of miles).  But don’t let it’s length fool you, uplifted Coyote Wall is a steep climb and descent having been uplifted a couple hundred feet! 

Looking back at Coyote Wall

The Labyrinth (not just an 80’s cult classic)

The Labyrinth

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves- first is the Labyrinth!  Before beginning the steep climb up Coyote Wall, a trail to the east leads you through another fascinating geological feature- a channeled scablands. Curiosity number two!  

Throughout southeast Washington, channeled scablands dominate the landscape. Basically, channeled scablands are areas where parts of the soil and bedrock have been torn up, leaving exposed rocks and deep ravines. How did these scablands form?  What happened here? You might have guessed it- water! And lot’s of it.  

Sculpting with Water

During the last ice age 10,000 to 20,000 years ago, massive floods scoured the landscape. At that time, the Cordilleran ice sheet covered large swaths of North American- but it wasn’t static. This ice sheet would periodically inch its way southward, creating an ice dam along the Clark Fork River in Montana.  The water behind the dam would accumulate into a large lake, the massive Glacial Lake Missoula. At roughly 2,000 feet deep, it held about 500 cubic miles of water. Then, periodically, the ice dam would fail, releasing torrents of water and ice. The flood waters tore through Washington and Oregon eroding much of the landscape and depositing materials as far south as the Willamette Valley. 

With many areas of exposed basalt and butte-and-basin topography, the Labyrinth offers a glimpse into the powerful force of these episodic floods.

Wild about Wildflowers

Desert Parsley – Lomatium

Finally (but not least), are the wildflowers!  I am a huge fan of wildflower hikes- and Coyote wall puts on a gorgeous show starting in the early spring.  Among my favorite of the early bloomers (sometimes seen as early as February) are a diverse group of carrot family plants commonly called Desert parsley.  I don’t know how many species of Desert parsley, or Lomatium, can be found along the Coyote Wall trail. But I saw a couple species on my recent visit, and I am pretty sure there are many more- as there are over 70 known species in the west.  Rumor has it they can be difficult to identify. To be honest, I didn’t even try. 

Better than Carrots

Anyway, besides being beautiful to look at, Lomatium also has an interesting history. The tap root of many Lomatium species was both food and medicine to many Pacific Northwest tribes. For example, the Yakama, who once occupied SE Washington, would use the root of Lomatium, also called biscuitroot or kowsh (yes, there are a lot of names for this stuff), to make small biscuits.  The starchy roots of Lomtium were mashed, shaped, and dried in the sun. Then the biscuits were stored for later use.   

I Think… Probably?

Early reports of Lomatium came from none-other-than Merriweather Lewis and William Clark.  Lewis and Clark called the biscuits derived from the root “chapelel bread” and witnessed its preparation and trade. They also reportedly obtained and consumed some chapelel during their journey.  In addition, Lewis collected and described five Lomatium species for his herbarium. Although it seems he too had difficulty distinguishing between species- using qualifiers in his records such as “I think” or “probably” when attempting to identification.  I’m glad I am not the only one. Though the purple Lomatium pictured below is Columbia desert parsley, Lomatium columbianum… “I think… probably.” 

Lomatium columbianum

Get Curious and Explore

In any event, from huge lava flows to massive floods of water to fields of edible vegetation, there is a lot of science and historical curiosities to explore at Coyote Wall.  Botanically and geologically interesting, it is worth a visit. Stay curious!

Credits/Links

Hike with a Volcanologist

Upper Shellburg Falls

Entering the Blast Zone

The skies were clear blue as I headed out to meet with volcanologist Mariah Tilman for our hike at Shellburg Falls.  In the distance, I caught a glimpse of snow capped Mount Jefferson, the second tallest Cascade volcano in Oregon.  Though we weren’t going to get up close to this behemoth during our hike, I wondered if our walk in the foothills of the Cascades might offer a glimpse into Jefferson’s power.  What forces are responsible for the formation of the Cascade peaks? Are these same forces at work in other parts of Oregon? Would we see any evidence of past volcanism during our hike through a humble state forest? Little did I know, I was about to enter the “blast zone” when it comes to volcano knowledge.

The Hike

Hike at a Glance

Trailhead: Shellburg Falls Trailhead

Distance: about 2.8 round trip. Out and back trail.

Elevation Gain: about 400 feet

Notes: There is no restroom at the trailhead. Parking is limited. Part of the hike is on private property so stay on trail. There are many variations to this hike with options for more mileage.

Mariah Tilman on the Shellburg Falls trail.

Volcanology Basics

The Shellburg Falls trail begins on a road through private pasture land before entering the forest.  As we made our way through this area, Mariah and I talked a bit about what it is like to be a volcanologist, as well as why the profession is so important.

Of course, the job of a volcanologist is to study volcanoes.  There are five USGS volcano observatories, all found in the western U.S., including the Cascades Volcano Observatory in Vancouver, WA. The main goal of these observatories is to monitor volcanic activity in order to predict and assess the risk associated with volcanic eruptions. 

How do they do it?  According to Mariah, there are a lot of tools a volcanologist will use to size up volcanic risk.  Among the most important tools are seismometers. These can be placed throughout the landscape in order to detect movement of the earth, and give us an idea of what is happening below the surface.  Another tool that is used is satellite imagery. Satellite imagery can be especially useful in monitoring the activity of volcanoes in remote areas, like Alaska, which has 52 active volcanoes, most of which are part of the hard to reach Aleutian islands.  

Safety First

Public safety is the primary reason we study volcanoes. Besides the threat of lava and pyroclastic flows near the erupting volcanic vent, lahars- a hot mix of water and volcanic debris- can travel dozens of miles.  If an eruption occurred during our hike, a lahar from Mt. Jefferson could easily travel far enough to reach us and neighboring towns. Yikes!

Then there is ash.  Ash has the ability to travel large distances causing widespread disruption of natural and human systems.  As Mariah explained, ash can be especially problematic for air traffic. In 1989, two jetliners nearly went down in an ash cloud generated by the eruption of Mount Redoubt in Alaska.

Fortunately, since the famous Mount Saint Helens eruption of 1980, scientists are better equipped to monitor and predict volcanic eruptions, sometimes even a year in advance.  Given enough warning, communities can at least prepare for the onslaught.

With Mt. Jefferson looming “a little too close for comfort,” I asked Mariah if we should be concerned about it erupting.  She reassured me that none of the Cascade peaks are currently predicted to erupt anytime soon. Phew!

It’s All Downhill

A small pile of angular rocks found along the trail.

As we made our way into the forest, we encountered our first geological phenomenon- the remnants of an old landslide.  Landslides occur when the shape of the land, climate, and geology work in concert to weaken the connection between overlying sediment and material beneath.  When this occurs, gravity takes over, moving earth materials downhill where they accumulate. Though people often think of geology as the building up of land through plate tectonics and volcanism, the wearing down of the land by weathering and the movement of land by erosion, are also important geological processes. 

But how do we recognize a wearing down process, like a landslide, in nature?  What can we observe to understand the geological activity of a place? I asked Mariah what to look for.  

Think like a Geologist

She explained, one of the best ways to begin thinking like a geologist is to look for patterns in the landscape.  Differences in the landscape are important evidence to understand the geology of a place. Though the area where the landslide had occurred in the past was now overgrown with trees, moss, and other vegetation, Mariah pointed out that the shape of the land had changed.  

There were other landslide clues as well. First, Mariah and I observed many large rocks strewn about the base of the hillside. Unlike in a river, where sediments are sorted by size as the river loses energy downstream, rocks in a landslide lose energy abruptly, falling into a jumbled piles.  Second, the shape of the rocks was angular. Landslides happen quickly, so rocks in a landslide will be angular, instead of worn down and smooth.

Hotspot or Subduction?

Rock outcropping along the trail.

As we continued our hike past the landslide, the shape of the land changed again . We started noticing outcroppings or rock of unknown origin to the left of us. Mariah and I began to speculate-  How did these rocks form? Where did they come from?  

Mariah narrowed down the source of these outcroppings to two likely possibilities.  First, about 16.7 to 5.5 million years ago it is believed that the Yellowstone hotspot was under the Oregon-Idaho-Nevada border.  This hotspot resulted in huge floods of basalt lava to cover large swaths of Oregon.

Secondly, about 35 million years ago and again 7 million years ago, tectonic activity along the Cascadia subduction zone built up the old and new Cascade volcanoes.  Subduction occurs when an oceanic plate plunges beneath an overriding plate. As the descending plate heats up in the mantle it “sweats,” resulting in a build up of gases and pressure- the perfect conditions for explosive volcanic eruptions characteristic of the Cascades and other stratovolcanoes.  

Igneous Rocks, Rock!

The dark color of these rocks are a clue that we are looking at basalt.

Though Mariah wasn’t 100% sure the origin of the rocks in the Shellburg Falls area, one thing was certain- these were igneous rocks.  In general, rocks can be classified as igneous (molten rock that has cooled), metamorphic (rock that has been subjected to intense heat and pressure), or sedimentary (rock formed from compacted sediments).  However, rocks can also be further described and classified depending on how they formed and their mineral content.  

Rocks formed from hotspot volcanism, for example, are typically basalts, with high amounts of iron and magnesium and low amounts of silica minerals, giving them a dark color.  In contrast, rocks like rhyolite, that are formed through subduction volcanism, have a higher amount of silica content, making them lighter in color. So rock color is a clue to the mineralogy, which in turn is a clue to rock formation. 

Broken rock with large weathering rind.

However, Mariah warned, be careful of broad generalizations. Stratovolcanoes (those formed by subduction) actually form many types of rocks during their activity, including basalt.  Also, the color of rocks can easily be distorted by weathering, making it difficult to identify the mineralogy based solely on color.

Count the Minerals

In order to effectively classify an igneous rock, you need to look at the mineral composition more closely.   Basalt by definition should only be 49-50% silica, rhyolite should be 70-75%, with andesite falling in-between. Unfortunately, in order to get down to percent composition that requires magnification. Without a microscope in the field, using color and shape are often the best one can do.

With that in mind, and after cracking into a rock to get a better look at its color, we came to a conclusion that the outcroppings were probably basalt.  Left in uncertain agreement, we hurried up the road. 

Crystal Clear

Outcropping of rock found near the Shellburg Creek bridge.

Soon, we reached the bridge that leads over Shellburg Creek, just above lower Shelberg Falls. To the left, was a large outcropping of igneous rock. At Mariah’s suggestion, we stopped to examine the rocks here.   

However, rather than trying to identify them, Mariah began searching the rocks for crystals. Mariah explained, in order to really understand the life of an igneous rock, knowing the type is not good enough- you have to look at the crystals!

A bit like tree rings provide the life history of a tree, crystals provide a record of where and for how long the magma the crystal formed in spent underground. Different crystals will form in magma depending on its temperature and depth. For example, olivine- a green colored mineral- forms at high temperatures and depth.  While quartz forms at low temperatures and shallow depths.

Perhaps the most notable crystals that form in magma are those called plagioclase feldspars. The chemical composition of these crystals will change depending on temperature. Deep in the ground under high temperatures they are calcium rich, but as the crystal grows closer to the surface, calcium is gradually replaced by sodium. The results are concentric rings of crystals with different amounts of sodium and calcium that offer a record of the magma’s movement before an eruption. 

Unfortunately, we didn’t find any distinct crystals in our wall of rocks, only some small grains. It seems the magma that formed this particular outcropping did not spend much time underground. 

Right before the outcropping is a small dirt trail to the left that leads to upper Shellburg falls. We retraced our steps back a few yards to this junction and made our way onward toward our final stop- the falls.

Free Fallin’

As we walked along Shellburg creek, we could see large boulders of rock in the creek below.  Where did they come from? These boulders were likely the remains of an old waterfall overhang- “old Shellburg falls.”

You see, waterfalls form when a hard rock overlays a soft rock.  In the case of Shellburg Falls, basalt rock sits on top of sedimentary rock. The softer rock erodes over time creating a waterfall overhang.  With enough weathering, the overhanging rocks stability can become compromised resulting in collapse. This process of weathering and collapse means a waterfall is always moving further upstream over time.

We would need to move further upstream to see”new Shellburg falls.”

Blanketed in Basalt

Shellburg Falls- notice the distinct layers of igneous and sedimentary rock. A large boulder to the left may have once been part of a past waterfall overhang.

Before long, Mariah and I were in full view of the waterfall. The hard igneous rock cliffs that line the canyon, and form the waterfall overhang, stood out beautifully against the sedimentary rock below it. 

But wait, look at the rocks to the left! The left wall of the canyon showed a familiar jointing pattern- columnar basalt! Columnar basalt looks sort of like a pipe organ, but with hexagonal pipes that aren’t pipes at all, but columns of lava rock.  This pattern of basalt is the result of slow cooling, cracking, and contracting. Columnar basalt is not only useful for identifying rock as basalt, but it is a geological wonder in many regions around the world.

Columnar basalt

Ancient Waters

The cavern behind the falls

Things got even more interesting, as we made it into the large cavern behind Shellburg falls. From here, you could see how the soft sedimentary rock had been worn away below the basalt cliffs.  However, rather than looking up at a ceiling of hexagonal columns of basalt like that observed outside the cavern, large bubbles of rocks protruded down towards us. We found pillow basalt!

Pillow basalt forms when lava flows into water and cools there.  That means the location of present day Shellburg falls was once the location of another ancient body of water. Not only that, but this ancient body of water probably existed for some time. The sedimentary layer below the basalt was thick; it must have taken a good deal of time to collect so much sediment- possibly millions of years!  

Pillow basalt

According to Mariah, the geological history of Oregon is not very long compared to other areas of the country.  Oregon is young geologically speaking. Yet, so much has happened to take us up to the current day. Oregon of the past was a fiery furnace with lava flows and explosive eruptions; it faced deluges of water & ice; and experienced many changes in climate and weather.  It has been built up and torn down countless times by the forces of nature. And it is just beginning! The ancient body of water that existed in the past may be long gone, but give it a few million years and Shellburg Falls will look completely different.  

Rock on!

After continuing to the other side of the falls for a different perspective, Mariah and I decided to head back to the trailhead.  Who knew that in just a few miles of trail, one could see so many signs of geological activity. From landslides to lava flows, from weathering to the formation of crystals, you don’t need to visit a volcano to see the drivers of geological activity in Oregon.  Just pay attention to the landscape. And maybe pick up a rock or two.  

Mariah Tilman is a volcanologist and igneous petrologist. She studied volcanoes at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks.  In addition to volcanology, she also has a background in hydrology and water quality. She currently teaches Geology of the Pacific Northwest among other classes at Chemeketa Community College and Portland Community College. 

Sea foam: Life or Death?

Hobbit beach on the Oregon Coast

Winter time on the Oregon Coast

One of my favorite times to visit the Oregon Coast is during the winter.  With incredible whale watching opportunities, winter wind storms, and King Tides bringing huge waves- there is lot of drama on the Oregon Coast to enjoy in the winter.  

Close up of sea foam

Winter also brings increased amounts of white (sometimes brownish), billowing suds from the ocean to collect on our sandy beaches. Sea foam is not just a winter phenomenon, but it is the time of year that it does seem to pile up.  So, a couple weekends ago, when I found myself on a hike on the beach enjoying the sun and waves (yes! Sun in February), I found myself face to face with a lot of this surf riding fluff.  

The Hike

View from Hobbit Beach Trail heading toward Heceta Head

The Hike at a Glance

Trailhead: Hobbit Trail Trailhead (turnout on Highway 101 a little north of Heceta Head)

Miles: 1 mile round trip to the beach. 4 miles round trip to Heceta Head

Elevation Gain: almost 1000 ft

Notes: Trailhead can fill up easily on a nice day. There is no restroom at the trailhead. Trail is well signed and easy to follow.

Foam Fairy Tales

I grew up a Disney kid.  I saw all of the movies, including The Little Mermaid.  In fact, it was one of my favorites. I loved to sing the songs and dream of adventure, just like Ariel.  Of course as an adult, I can see a lot of flaws in the timeless tale, but I digress. Anyway, later in my childhood, I was also exposed to the original story of The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Anderson.  A much darker tail where Ariel is rejected by the prince, dies, and turns into sea foam. Though Hans, when he wrote The Little Mermaid didn’t know it, his depiction of the death of sea life turning into foam is not terribly inaccurate. 

Good Foam

Sea foam at Hobbit Beach

Sea foam is dissolved organic matter that has been churned up by the sea creating suds much, like washing detergent suds up when agitated.  More agitation means more bubbles. Thus, in the winter, when there is more churning of the ocean, we often see more sea foam. But where did all these organics come from?  

The dissolved organic matter that creates sea foam is mostly natural occurring. Ocean water is made of a lot of materials- salts, fats, proteins, and all sorts of particulates. All of these things have the potential to create bubbles when you shake them up.   However, according to NOAA, one of the most common causes of thick piles of sea foam is dead algae.  

When algae growth is high in the ocean, a lot more of it dies and ends up washed up on the beaches in sea foam.  This is a good sign. Algae are producers – the base of the ocean food web- they transform sunlight and inorganic chemicals (carbon dioxide and water) through a fancy biochemical reaction into food and oxygen.  A lot of dead algae means a lot of living algae available as food for ocean life.

Sea foam piled up on Hobbit Beach

Not So Good Foam

Of course it should be noted that algae blooms have the potential to be harmful.  They can form toxins and other compounds that may be bad for people and wildlife. For example, in 2007 a harmful foam formed from algae called Akashiwo sanguinea on the west coast. The protein surfactants from the algae, in this case, stripped the natural waterproofing off the feathers of sea birds leading to hypothermia and death. Will we see more cases like this in the future?  It is hard to tell. 

It seems there is still much to learn about the foamy stuff.  There are even some ideas floating around about using sea foam to increase the albedo (reflectivity of sunlight) of the ocean in order to limit global warming. 

Pretty Good Foam

So for now, just enjoy watching sea foam pile up creating a beach wide winter bubble bath. Despite the fact that it contains the remains of living creatures, it is a better indicator of life than death.  Besides, it sure is pretty to look at.