Category: Hike with a Scientist

Hiking along the dry, dusty trail that leads out onto the Rough and Ready Flat on a hot summer day, it is hard to fathom how ecologically significant it is. Strewn with rocks and sparse vegetation, including a few straggly-looking trees, it is no Amazonian rainforest. Yet, it hosts a spectacular array of botanical delights that deserve a closer look.

Rough and Ready is one of only about 200 biologically outstanding areas in the United States and is home to the greatest amount of plant biodiversity in the State of Oregon. So, though it may appear desolate, it is a botanist’s dreamscape—full of a variety of native and endemic species!

Of course, I had to check it out! This is what brings me back to that dry dusty trail, where I met with BLM Botanist, Amanda Snodgrass, to learn more about Rough and Ready Botanical Wayside near Cave Junction, OR, and what it is like to be a botanist.

The Hike

• Trailhead: Rough and Ready Botanical Wayside
• Distance: 0.3 mile interpretive trail with the option to extend the hike by following established road tracks.
• Details: Ample parking at trailhead. Covered picnic table is available at the trailhead with another table near the end of the trail. No restroom.

On Being a Field Botanist

It was early morning but already warm as Amanda and I strode across Rough and Ready, taking the only trail out onto the flat lands.

Energy high, Amanda told me a bit about her background as a Botanist.

Originally from Iowa, Amanda moved to the area in 2018 and only recently, about eight months ago, took up her post as a Field Office Botanist for the BLM Medford District. She had become fascinated by plants at a young age during a trip to Hawaii and has enjoyed studying and learning about them ever since.

“I like plants. I am a plant person,” Amanda remarked. “They are pretty and resilient, and they don’t talk back.”

Zingers, like this one, seemed to tumble out of Amanda. For a self-professed plant person, she was rather personable. Even though she claimed, “plant people usually aren’t people, people.”

I asked Amanda to explain more about what it is like to be a “plant person,” or more professionally speaking, a field botanist.

“I oversee the botanist program for the Grants Pass field office,” Amanda explained. “I do a lot of fieldwork, but I also do a lot of paperwork.”

Most of that paperwork is around managing botanical resources in terms of NEPA (National Environmental Policy Act). BLM land is managed for multiple uses, so that means it may be used for a variety of activities, like recreation, mining, or extracting forest products. Amanda’s job is to ensure important botanical resources are protected while still allowing for these activities.

“I still get to do a lot of fun stuff, too,” said Amanda, “like plant surveys, monitoring, restoration work, and a lot of invasive species management.”

According to Amanda, the job is “50/50,” about half of her day-to-day is paperwork and the other half is with the plants. It was clear what part is her favorite. 

Meandering

As we meandered down the trail, Amanda described some of what goes into surveys and monitoring for a field botanist.

One of the hallmark surveys she conducts is a “clearance survey.” These are done whenever there is going to be a disturbance in the areas to check for rare species, as well as gather basic information on habitat type and species associations to measure overall ecosystem health.

Long-term monitoring, revisits, plots, and transects… all of these are part of a botanist day to day fieldwork.

Perhaps most intriguing was Amanda’s mention of a “meandering survey.” “It is intuitively controlled,” she explained. Essentially, you are looking at the habitat and predicting what species may be present, and then wander around to see if you can find said species.

“It’s a botany special,” smirked Amanda.

Rough and Ready

We ambled further into Rough and Ready.

I began to take notes of the ecosystem around us.  We passed by a view down to wide and braided, Rough and Ready Creek rushing over a bed of cobbles. Low shrubs, mostly ceanothus ran in clumps along the trail with wide sections of open ground where grasses and herbaceous plants grew in scarce quantities. A few pine trees marked the canopy, separated by 10s-of-feet. Flashes of color came from a few wildflowers. The ground itself was gritty, and rocky, appearing less than hospitable to the vegetation—yet stuff was growing.

According to Amanda, Rough and Ready is a part of the Klamath-Siskiyou ecoregion known as the Illinois River Valley. To start, these ecoregions are known for their botanical diversity. But when you add in the unique characteristics of Rough and Ready, the biodiversity is even more amplified.

“It is one of the most botanically biodiverse ecosystems in North America,” said Amanda. While in Oregon, is considered the most botanically diverse. That is nothing to snuff at.

So, I asked Amanda, “Why?” What is it about Rough and Ready?

“It has its own special characteristics,” Amanda responded.

She went on to explain how it is the unique geology, hydrology, and climate that help provide opportunities for diversity to flourish. 

Geologically speaking it has serpentine soils—“aged metamorphic soil, high in minerals like magnesium and nickel.”

Heavily mineralized, ultramafic soil is difficult for most plants—making important nutrients like calcium and nitrogen unavailable, while subjecting plants to heavy metals at toxic levels. 

“Many plants can’t grow in it and the ones that do often can only grow on it,” Amanda elaborated. 

Additionally, Rough and Ready is unique hydrologically, receiving more rainfall compared to adjacent areas.

“It can get over 100 inches of rain a year!” Amanda exclaimed.

Water is carried down from the mountains and distributed onto a broad alluvial floodplain and alluvial bench which hosts a variety of species.

The climate at Rough and Ready is also variable throughout the watershed.

“It has several elevations,” stated Amanda.

With influences from the Pacific Ocean, Coast Ranges, Cascade peaks, and the deserts of the Great Basin, the area has a variety of habitat zones, determined by the physiology and changes in precipitation levels that shift with elevation.

All in all, this makes Rough and Ready “second in North America for endemism,” according to Amanda. In other words, there are a lot of unique species here that you wouldn’t find anywhere outside the region.   

“Are we going to find any of them?” I asked.

 “Yes, they are all around!” exclaimed Amanda jubilantly.

Pining for Pines

At this point, we reached a tall berm of ultramafic, heavily mineralized soil.

“Well, the trail work must have stopped here,” smiled Amanda, as we climbed over the barrier.

After successfully navigating over the dry sluff of soil, it was time to get down to business—the business of plants.

“Are these all Jeffery Pines?” I asked Amanda, pointing to the nearest tree that stood a few feet off the trail.

“Yes,” she responded, “we have a really high percentage of Jefferey Pines. Though in this spot they tend to be straggly.”

Again, the soil was doing its thing—binding the nutrients and stunting growth.

Amanda was a bit surprised by my enthusiasm for the trees, but she was willing to humor me.

Jefferey Pine (Pinus jeffreyi) is one of only two species of pine that has needles bundled in groups of three in Oregon. The other species, Ponderosa Pine (Pinus ponderosa), is much more common and also found at Rough and Ready. So, how can one distinguish between these two look-alikes?

“Gentle Jeffery,” Amanda mused… “and Poky Ponderosa.”

She went on to explain that one of the best ways to tell these two pines apart is by their cones. Ponderosa Pine’s cones tend to be larger, at least 6 inches with more pronounced sharp prickles on their scales; while Jeffery Pine’s cones are usually smaller than 6 inches, with scales that point inward. The needle colors can also be a distinguishing factor—Jeffrey Pines have greenish gray needles and Ponderosa have bright green to yellow needles.

“Sometimes you can smell them,” she added. Ponderosa Pine usually has a sweet scent like pineapple or vanilla.

Of course, this is one place where relying on all your senses might come in especially handy.

“A lot of places there is only one type of pine,” Amanda extolled. But, “Oregon is home to roughly 30 species of conifers, and the Klamath-Siskiyou Ecoregion is home to 36 species of conifer across Southern Oregon and Northern California.

Ah, for the love of conifers! This is my sort of place.

Keying in on Family Ties

Head out of the trees, Amanda soon directed my attention downward. Colorful puffs of yellow and bright white grew from long stems along the trail.

“Buckwheat,” Amanda confirmed.

But how can you tell? It isn’t easy. For the buckwheat family, in particular, you may even need a microscope to get down to the species level.

“It can take hours to key out a plant,” Amanda explained. “One thing that happens in this ACEC (area of critical environmental concern) is there is a lot of hybridization.” In other words, a lot of mixing of genes between species that can make keying out a species even more difficult.

However, with the right tools, including a good identification book or app, it can be done. Amanda recommended the “Oregon Wildflowers” App put out by Oregon Flora, as well as several regional books, including A Flora of California by Munz and The Jepson Desert Manual by Baldwin, et al. 

Amanda pulled out a species list to help narrow things down, and after some careful study and using the wildflower app, was able to identify the yellow buckwheat as ternate buckwheat (Eriogonum ternatum) and the white as sulfur buckwheat (Eriogonum umbellatum).

Okay, so getting down to species may at times become challenging, especially in biodiverse areas. There is at least eight known buckwheat in Rough and Ready, for example. But there is something to be said for identifying to family-level as well. 

Family groups often share some common characteristics. This is true of the buckwheat family as well.

“A lot of the times buckwheat have a basal rosette and then bare stems that come up with these puffs of flowers that turn color over time,” Amanda described. “The leaves are also often spoon-shaped,” she added.

“Spoon leaves,” I let it roll off the tongue. What a way to keep things straight!

“There is all the formal terminology,” continued Amanda, “but I think it is helpful” to use your own terms as well to help distinguish and remember individual plants.

Other families share other characteristics. A few of the families found at Rough and Ready Amanda described include: The Allium Family with their clusters of flowers and pungent linear leaves. The Asparagus family with lance-shaped leaves and parallel venation and often bell-shaped flowers. And the Lily family with 6 petals with three to 6 stamen and leaves often arising from low to the ground.

Spring Flowers

Amanda and I continued to note the various wildflower species along the trail as we hiked—lavender, spiky-looking ookow (Dichelostemma congestum) and purple with sharp, curved petals, Harvest Brodiaea (Brodiaea elegans). We also discovered a small rock fern called Indian’s dream (Aspidotis densa)—what a name!

Eventually, we reached a junction and headed left, following the powerlines on an old roadbed toward the river.

Speaking of colorful wildflowers, I asked Amanda when should people visit Rough and Ready for the best wildflower show.

Though there was plenty to see in these early summer months, Amanda recommended returning in spring.

“Spring is nice because you get the first wildflower blush,” she said. “Early spring wildflowers have a high percentage of endemic species.”

Many of the Irises and Calochortus (including mariposas) show up in spring—both of which have endemic species.

However, according to Amanda, any time is a good time to visit.

“What is cool about this site is it changes throughout the year and as you head up in elevation.”

Shrubs

However, there are some species that can be seen year-round. In addition to the conifer species, hardwood trees and shrubs are also year-round residents of Rough and Ready.  And we saw a lot of them on the trail! So many that, of course, I asked Amanda about it.

She patiently humorous me as we walked along noting species, like deer brush (Ceanothus integerrimus), birchleaf mountain mahogany (Cercocarpus betuloides), and spicy-smelling California Yerba Santa (Eriodictyon californicum).

“It is known as ‘holy weed’ or ‘holy herb’ and is the borage family,” shared Amanda regarding the California Yerba Santa.

We walked past an unusual-looking oak. 

Whipping out the plant list, Amanda stated: “We have seven oaks here in Rough and Ready.”

She then pulled open her Oregon Wildflower App to see if she could narrow things down.

“I think it is Brewer’s oak,” said Amanda after some deliberation. “The Brewer’s Oak is a hybrid of the Oregon White Oak.”

It looked Oregon White Oaky to me.

Amanda admitted she rarely spends much time on shrubs, as we ran across a myriad of manzanita.

“There are three types of Manzanitas here,” said Amanda.

Again, she worked to narrow down the ones surrounding us. “I think it is hoary manzanita,” she proclaimed, noting the wooly twigs and branches.

 We didn’t attempt to identify any of the others. Apparently, manzanita are known to hybridize, making identification even more complicated. Those darn shrubs!

Waters Edge

We continued down the “powerline trail,” passing a cluster of California poppies (Eschscholzia californica). Soon, we reached the rocky shores of Rough and Ready Creek.

Here we decided it was best to loop back. So, we carefully, balanced along the rocky creek edge, passing by a camas lily as we went.

Following the water’s edge, our garden of flowers was even more sparse. We focused on the rocks under our feet as we hopped along.

“So, these are all very serpentine rocks,” remarked Amanda as she picked up a rock to show me. “See the green color. There is asbestos in these rocks.”

There were also a lot of reddish rocks—another serpentine rock, only derived from peridotite, instead of serpentinite which yield the more dazzling green colors. 

All these rocks weather to a reddish-colored soil characteristic of serpentine geology.

Adaptations

We carefully clambered over the colorful rocks, careful to avoid the delicate desert soil. It was hot with the sun and only a few clouds dancing overhead.

Which brings us right back to the question: how do species adapt to this harsh environment? How do they deal with, as Amanda called them “asbestos rocks,” among the many other challenges?

Amanda and I discussed the problem throughout our hike—touching on the various challenges of the region.

As discussed earlier, serpentine rocks are characteristically high in certain minerals, like heavy metals. To overcome this, many species of plants might exclude heavy metals, reduce their transfer through the plant, or concentrate it in certain tissues at unusually high levels. 

When it comes to living in a relatively dry, sunny environment—where evapotranspiration is high—plants take different approaches to reduce water loss and protect from the sun.

“Many of them have leathery leaves or coatings…” said Amanda, and/or “different types of furry leaves and stems.”

Leathery or coated leaves help reduce water loss by reducing evaporation, as well as provide insulation from the sun and cold. While the hairs of furry leaves are helpful for reflecting sunlight and reducing airflow and drying. 

Wildfire

Wildfire is another challenge for species in the Klamath-Siskiyou ecoregion.

“There are three kinds of species—species that tolerate wildfire, those that don’t, and those that require it,” said Amanda. “Here, many require it.”

Those that require fire might need it for a variety of reasons. Some conifer species have serotinous cones—cones that require fire to open and release seeds. Many herbs and forbs have seeds with hard seed coats that need fire, or some other harsh environment, to break that coat to germinate.

“A lot of plants are adapted to fire because it makes nutrients available,” Amanda continued. “After a burn, big blooms of vegetative growth often occur.”

Other species, like oaks, will resist fire. Oaks have thick bark that protects them from lower-intensity fires. While, manzanita, on the other hand, burns fast and hot, but can regenerate easily—resprouting from burls at the base of the shrubs.

However, Amanda warned that changes in the fire interval—the amount of time between fires—could have negative effects on some species and their ability to tolerate fire.

“Burn too frequently, nothing reestablishes,” she said, “not enough, and there is too much competition.”

Non-native species also often arrive following a fire which can complicate things further. Non-native grasses, for example, often come in following fire. The problem is that these grasses create an ecosystem prone to more fire. More fire means more grasses, and on and on.

To sum up, native species are adapted, not only to fire, but to a specific fire regime and a very specific plant community. Changes in either of these can lead to native ecosystem loss. 

Why Plants Matter

As we continued to traverse the cobbles, having seen some of the diversity of species to discover at Rough and Ready, I asked Amanda why we should care about all these plants anyway? Do plants really matter?

This was her response:

“Plants are foundational components in high-functioning systems that support other species and the human population. They are the fundamental backbone. All our materials come from plants, they are the source of food, clothes, drugs, material, and they are also an indicator of ecosystem health.”

She went on:

“Diversity is stability. It is easy to overlook plants because they don’t make any noise. But, they are all around us and necessary for the survival of all species. I like them because they are quiet underdogs. But really, they are important and we need to preserve the diversity of different species.”

Amanda continued to explain how, despite their immense value to the ecosystem and our human societies, plant populations are being threatened by climate change, habitat loss, and many other stressors.

“We need people to speak for them,” proclaimed Amanda. “It is important to have people that care and are willing to support the plants and their communities because we all depend on them for survival.”

You could really hear the passion and concern behind Amanda’s words.

“Cheese-fest?” she smiled, then shrugged. “It’s just how I feel.”

I smiled and kept on rock hopping. Did I just hear a mic hit the floor? 

Keep a Close Watch

Looking out for the botanical resources on BLM is a big part of Amanda’s job, but this has proven difficult as threats are often mounting.

Amanda expressed concern for the plants at the Rough and Ready.

“The other thing about plants is because they are slower at migrating, it is easier for them to just be gone.”

She used several examples of how species tend to be closely connected to their environments. Again, she reminded me how serpentine species need serpentine soils to survive. Then there are saprophytic plants, like snow plants and ground cones, that need specific trees with a specific microbiome to be happy.

“Everyone loves the calypso orchids,” she expounded, “but you can’t pick them up and move them…they are connected with the mycorrhiza of the soil.”

Then, there are threats from “their own kind”—invasive species take up a lot of Amanda’s time.

“They are a major threat to the integrity of the ecosystem and it takes a lot of time and energy to make progress on it,” she explained regarding her efforts.

“What else?” I asked. “What are the biggest threats to the plants here?”

Amanda spoke of the challenges that her district specifically faces, including illegal marijuana grows, offroad recreation, and illegal dumping.

“French flat is one of our highest intact pieces of habitat for Lomatium cookii, a federally listed species,” said Amanda. “And we are constantly having trouble with off-road vehicles.  There are a lot of burned-out cars there, ”she sighed.

As if on cue, we crossed by some trash on the trail. 

“I lose faith in humans sometimes,” she remarked as she bent down to pick it up.

Enjoy Plants

At this point, we decided to begin veering back to the normal trail, but before we made it over the rocky rise, I asked Amanda for advice—how can people enjoy plants?

She had a lot of ideas, but her main message was simple—leave a place better than you found it. Care about plants and share how your care with others.

She also suggested making small goals to help plants.

“Think of your own yard. Do you have some native flowering plants?  That is your base. There is a food chain that connects all the way up from there.”

And, of course, spending time with plants, was her last piece of advice.

“Visit a local park or somewhere nearby and instead of just walking, stop in a spot and look around. Count how many different plants you think you see.”

Amanda recommended reaching out to organizations, like a local native plant society, to learn more about the plants. 

“Peak curiosity… “ After all, once you have truly seen a plant “you can’t unsee it!”

Species List

Amanda and I carefully made our way up the hill and back to the main path. As we walked, I asked Amanda if she could give me a short list of species for the area that she “can’t unsee.” What species could someone visiting the Klamath-Siskiyou learn to appreciate first?

This proved to be the most difficult question of the day—she came up with a few, but later sent me her complete list.

First, the trees. Pacific Madrone (Arbutus menziesii), Brewer’s Spruce(Picea breweriana), Port Orford Cedar(Chamaecyparis lawsoniana), and Pacific Yew (Taxus brevifolia) were Amanda’s picks. 

“They are easily recognizable, native, and all have some personality or rich history,” said Amanda.

Pacific Madrone, for example, has a hard, dense wood with “eucalyptus-like bark,” both smooth and peeling.

Later she added knobcone pine (Pinus tuberculata) to the list—as it is one that is especially dense at the Oregon/California border.

Next, shrubs. Oregon Grape (Mahonia aquifolium) was her first pick.

“It is an indicator of a native ecosystem,” said Amanda of the Oregon Grape. “It’s fruits edible, roots medicinal, and pollinators love it!”

Later she added: Huckleberry Oak (Quercus vacciniifolia), Deer Oak (Quercus sadleriana), and Hupa Gooseberry (Ribes marshallii).

Finally, the flowers!

Originally, Amanda suggested beargrass (Xerophylllum tenax) and Cobra Lily (Darlingtonia californica) to add to the list. Both are unique enough to identify easily and have unique life histories and/or cultural significance.

“Beargrass has a unique flower stalk,” said Amanda. “It is culturally significant to a number of native tribes and is an indicator of the Pacific Northwest Coast Region.”

Later she added: Clustered Lady Slipper (Cypripedium californicum), Gentner’s Fritillary (Fritillaria gentneri), Howell’s Camas (Camassia howellii), Siskiyou Iris (Iris bracteata), and Splithair Indian Paintbrush (Castilleja schizotricha)

Botanical Discoveries

It was still morning when we made it back to the trailhead, so we decided we would check out the Eight Dollar Mountain site just a short drive away before taking parting ways.

At Eight Dollar Mountain, we found a lot of other interesting species, including an amazing view of a Darlingtonia fen in bloom, and many endemics. 

However, my favorite moment on this pit stop was when we first arrived and headed up the road to the boardwalk. Amanda suddenly made a beeline off the side of the road. I followed.

A scattered patch of beautiful large white blooms with hairy petals and pink stamen ringed in a reddish brown grew there from their tall thin green stems. Neither of us had seen these flowers before. The excitement was palpable.

Giddy with our new find, Amanda dove into her reference materials and shortly was able to identify it as Howell’s Mariposa Lily (Calochortus howelii)—a local endemic. We would soon find out it was very common to the site—a lot of it grew along the boardwalk trail—but at that moment, it was new, fresh, and exciting.

And there it was—botany in action, the joy of discovery.

I discovered a lot on my hike with Amanda.

Though, I started out the day loving botany (Yes, I am a plant nerd). Experiencing Amanda’s passion and persistence was both heartening and renewing—like seeing a new plant for the first time. Seriously, it doesn’t get better than that!

Amanda Snodgrass is a Field Office Botanist for the Bureau of Land Management, Medford District. She earned a Master of Science from Iowa State University in Horticulture in 2012. She has worked for U.S. Forest Service and National Park Service as a Botanist and Horticulturalist.

One thing that I love about hiking is its simplicity. You don’t have to invest in a bunch of gear to become a hiker—although some people do. All you need are a good pair of shoes and a pack filled with necessities, and you are off to the races.

At the same time, the sport of hiking is ripe for product innovation. Hikers are ready for products that improve performance, safety, and overall function. I mean, honestly, a good pair of shoes can be difficult to come by.

Which begs the question, how do hiking products come to market? What is the design process for a hiking shoe or pack?

On a cool spring day, I met with Susan Sokolowski, director of the Sports Product Design Program at the University of Oregon, and Henry Gilbert, one of her students enrolled in the program, for a hike on the Wildwood trail to find out.

The Hike

• Trailhead: Newberry Road Trailhead (45.605640, -122.823430)
• Distance: 5.1 miles out and back with longer options
• Elevation Gain: approximately 531 feet
• Details: Limited parking at the trailhead which is a pullout on the side of the road. No restrooms are available. Roads to the trailhead are paved making access easy. This is the northern terminus of the 31.1-mile Wildwood trail.

It was raining hard right just a few minutes before I pulled up to the trailhead. The trees still glistened with fresh drops clinging to the tips of the branches. I found Susan and Henry just down the road a bit from where I parked, and we got started. A trail running event looked to be coming to an end as we arrived, and a table of volunteers welcomed us to the forest.

We took off at a moderate pace down the trail.  The green conifer forests promising some level of protection if the sky decided to open again.

What it takes

We started with introductions.

Henry introduced himself as a student, originally from Salt Lake City, in his first year in the Sports Product Design program at UO. His background is in electrical engineering.

“I heard about this program, and I was super excited about it,” said Henry, “I have a passion for hiking.”

Susan introduced herself as the professor and director of the sports product design program. Her background is in design, as well as human factors engineering and kinesiology. She earned her master’s degree at Cornell University under Susan Watkins, the mother of functional design, and from there entered the sports design space at the University of Minnesota, co-majoring in biomechanics and design.

“When I went to school, I was definitely an oddball student,” Susan laughed.

The Design Process

We continued along the well-worn path under the canopy of Douglas-fir and western redcedar. Sword fern dominated the understory along with a myriad of herbaceous forest plants, including vanilla leaf and yellow stream violet. 

As we hiked, I asked Susan for an overview of what she does as a sports product designer.

She began her explanation with a mission statement:

“Our mission is to push the field with game-changing solutions for athletes that push performance and society.” She continued, “we are looking at performance, but also in the sports industry, especially sports products, there is a large movement to look into equity in sport—and that is part of it as well.”

This is what sports product design—at least how she does it—aims for. But how does it get there?

“We use a design process that it similar to the scientific process,” entertained Susan.

As Susan explained, the process starts with a line of inquiry based on “how could we” or “how might we” statements—something akin to a hypothesis of sorts. From there ideation begins and the process of prototyping.

“Our program really values creating concepts and physical prototypes,” Susan expounded.

Once the prototypes are built, they are tested. This usually involves athletes or users trying the product and giving feedback.

Of course, just like in science, testing doesn’t always lead directly to the production and marketing of a product. Often the results of testing may require a step back or two. The design process is not linear. 

Product Testing

We soon crossed over a small wooden footbridge as we made our way further into the forest.

I asked Susan to elaborate more on the product testing side of things.

“There are infinite ways to test products,” Susan replied. “We could be testing for ease of use, regulation, impact protection, a feeling, accuracy… anything you can want an athlete to do, or have a better experience with, you can be testing for.”

On the practical side of things, the most common method used for testing is calling in a focus group. Asking people to experience the product and give feedback is the minimum expected for testing.

Then there are more complex methods using equipment, like thermistors or environmental chambers, for example.

Things get even more complicated if you are making a claim or in the business of making products that are more dangerous, like helmets. It is in these instances that, according to Susan, “testing becomes very important.”

“Companies have been shut down,” said Susan, “when testing wasn’t up to snuff.”

So, depending on the product, testing could take a long time, even years.

Hiking Shoes

At this point, we were beginning to encounter a good deal of mud on the trail. I could feel the traction of my hiking shoes failing as the slick clayey mud started to gum things up.

“What about hiking shoes?” I asked, “Let’s say you want to design hiking shoes.”

Susan was quick to admit that hiking shoes are not only a challenge for people to shop for but also a challenge to design. On top of that, there hasn’t been the level of effort put into hiking shoes as there has been for other products, like running shoes.

“Hiking is complicated,” said Susan, “because, like we are hiking on mud today which is different than hiking on something like snow or ice…”

In general, certain features should be considered to deal with the all-terrain use of hiking shoes, including traction performance, flexibility, water migration, waterproofness, and stability.

Methods for testing will often vary by company. Though there is some standard testing. A wear test—where a group of people wears and compares the product to a baseline is another possible method.  Wear tests can be as short as trying a product for an hour of exercise, for as long as a few weeks or even a month. Longer than that and designers can’t meet product timelines that very much rely on a season product launch cycle.

According to Susan, the sizing and fit of hiking shoes are also important to test.

Even though shoes are often built to a particular size model, the materials and how they respond to wear vary a lot.  Thicker material might make the size envelope a bit smaller.  Stretchy material may make it larger.

Duct Tape

We walked further down the trail.

Henry chimed in regarding his experience with product testing shoes. “It was interesting to see what they (the designers) were looking for,” he said.

One such “look for” were hot points and blisters—a common ailment among hikers, especially in certain conditions.

Susan told me about a time she did a hiking race on hot asphalt.  “My feet were burning!” She exclaimed. “I had to wrap them in duct tape.”

I told the group about a backpacking trip on sand that had a similar effect.

The good news?

“I learned duct tape is amazing,” said Susan.

I mean duct tape does fix everything. And in the design world what better tool can you turn to in a time of crisis?

“We aren’t afraid of duct tape,” Susan agreed.

Testing Woes

The weather continued to hold up as we walked along. Thought the mud only seemed to pick up. I told Susan and Henry we could go as far as they wanted.

“We won’t go 30 miles,” was Susan’s comical reply. These two were just plain fun to hike with.

Henry is not the only design student to be recruited for product testing.

“Companies know that they (her students) understand product,” confided Susan. “It is hard to get good product feedback,” she went on. 

If one thing is “wrong” with the product, often time feedback will come back negative, and the positive qualities of a product will be lost. Susan told me how countless times she has had testers come back with comments about the color of a product.

“I didn’t like the purple ones,” Susan mimicked a difficult tester. “It can be really polarizing.”

If even there is a more substantial complaint, like an uncomfortable high top on a boot, often all other feedback is lost on this one major complaint.

Research

Of course, before product testing, comes a different type of feedback—research.

“If the research isn’t there, then the design is completely invalid,” Henry confessed.

Research usually comes in the form of interviews with potential users and looking at existing products on the market. Science also supports and informs product design.

Henry shared a project he worked on designing a base layer for visually impaired skiers using haptic technology to communicate with their guides. He interviewed several visually impaired skiers to determine where best to place the haptics.

Research is imperfect though.

“Sometimes you will design something fully based on science,” said Susan, “but then someone will put it on, and it can nullify the invention.”

Synergy

Soon we reached a large, upended tree—its roots sticking out at us onto the trail and a sticky, thick mud bath below. As we carefully picked our way around it, or in some cases slid our way, I asked Susan to tell me more about how science informs product design.

She laughed because in a lot of ways it doesn’t.

“There is a lot of research that happens in the lab that never gets applied,” said Susan. “In the pure sciences, you get a finding and move on.”

Pure sciences are often funded that way. Scientists are supported for the initial body of work—to answer a specific question. Once that knowledge is obtained the funding dries up.

However, at least at the University of Oregon, Susan is seeing a change—a shift to more collaboration between pure and applied science that seems to really be paying off.

Susan is part of the Wu Tsai Alliance—a group comprised of scientists from a variety of backgrounds with the common goal of understanding human performance.

“The group formed last year, but we are already seeing the synergies,” said Susan. “For example, a biomedical engineer designed and sensor, and one of my students is taking the sensor and putting it into footwear for their thesis project,” she elaborated.

Fighting for Women

Like the obstacles to collaboration, the Wildwood trail continued to throw log hops in our way. As we clambered over another one, I asked Susan to share a bit about the projects she is involved in.

“I have my fingers in a lot of different things,” was her unsurprising response. She didn’t seem the type to take life sitting down.

“I am finishing some research on size and fit issues for women firefighters,” Susan shared one of her projects.

“Gear for women isn’t really designed for women,” she explained. As a result, women firefighters are getting hurt. A fact that has been known for over a decade but hasn’t been acted on until now.

Susan hopes to change all that by identifying important knowledge gaps.

As a next step, she is also working with another scientist that does machine learning to analyze 3-dimensional body scans of athletes.  The goal is to understand geometries beyond the basic chest-waist-hip measurements and interpret findings into better product performance.

Runners High

Susan is also using machine learning and body scans to better understand women’s running. She plans to survey thousands of runners and pair that data with scans to look for unknown patterns that relate to running performance. She hopes to tease out what is talked about in the common press when it comes to performance—to identify what works and what is just hype.

Innovate

At this point, Susan, Henry, and I reached a trail sign near a fire lane. Having gone a few miles, we decided to turn around. Thankfully the rain continued to hold off as we retraced our steps back.

Then I asked Henry, what he wanted to do with his career. His answer boiled down to one word—innovate.

“In our field, there is true athletic product innovation,” said Susan.

However, the focus of that innovation has shifted over the years, leaving many sports neglected. According to Susan, outdoor sports, like skiing and climbing, are ripe for innovation.

Hiking is another one.

“Running shoes are designed for environmental and biomechanical needs,” Susan explained. “Hiking shoes haven’t really gotten there yet….that is why people go to trail running shoes.”

Environmental Wear

Another area ripe for innovation is waterproofing.

Though there are some products that work better than others, waterproofing than be challenging. For one, it doesn’t last. And secondly, the chemistry is bad for the environment.

“It is part of the Teflon family of chemicals,” said Susan.

So, companies turn to more environmentally friendly alternatives, but at a cost—a loss in product quality.

Walking through a beautiful green Douglas-fir Forest, it is hard not to want to protect it. So, I asked Susan, how we are doing in the sports industry with making environmentally safe products?

“We are not doing well,” was her blunt response. As the sports product industry shifted from cotton and wool materials to synthetics in the 1960s and 1970s, sustainability went out the window.

“It is concerning when you learn more about it,” said Henry.

However, there is some hope for the future. According to Susan, natural fiber companies are working on innovating to create more biobased products.

In addition, there has been an uptick in transparency regarding the sustainability of products. For example, Marmot now ranks products for their sustainability versus performance.

“Companies are going to be held accountable, “Susan commented. She mentioned a panel she was on in Europe where there was a discussion on taxing people for purchasing unsustainable products. “I think we may see things like that in the future,” she continued.

Recycle, Reduce, Reuse

A few other ways companies are combating the issues of sustainability and durability are through the reuse and recycling of products. Companies like Patagonia will buy back products and repair them for resale. Other companies will recycle products to make something new.

Repair is another major movement. Susan mentioned Fjallraven in Portland’s Pearl District providing repair and waxing stations for waterproofing.

Keep it Simple

We continued working our way back to our cars, climbing the logs and sliding over the same mud slicks we encountered on our way in.  As we were nearing the trailhead, I asked Susan and Henry for some consumer tips for buying products.

“For me, it is not to overdo it,” said Susan. She recommended choosing clothing that is comfortable, fits well, and allows for mobility. It isn’t necessary to have high-tech gear on a day hike. Even jeans may be acceptable in most conditions.

“There is a lot of discussion around equity in sport,” Susan said, “especially hiking.” According to Susan, people see it as a “white sport” and only for the “affluent,” but hiking is for everyone.

By keeping things simple, she hopes more people will see themselves on the trail. 

Wear and Tear

Another tip Susan emphasized was wear.

“If you haven’t fully worn in something, you can have a really bad experience,” said Susan.

“Your body changes when you are hiking,” she continued. “Feet and hands can swell, for example.”

Taking the time to try out gear in a low stakes environment and wear it in is key to an enjoyable outdoor experience.

Luckily, some companies are creating return policies that allow consumers to really try out products before they fully commit to purchasing.

Functional Innovation

Innovative products that improve functionality is something else to look out for and consider when purchasing items.

Susan mentioned innovation in hydration as another example. Camelback and other bladder systems allow for a hands-free experience, while filters allow for longer and safer outdoor experiences. Both innovations have revolutionized outdoor sports.

Even something as simple as having the right size or style of pockets can make or break a product.

Keep Improving

As we neared the trailhead, I asked Susan one more question—Why does sports design matter?

According to Susan, sports product design is about maximizing human potential. It is also about the benefits of engaging in sport –  like health and happiness, available to everyone.

“There are an infinite number of problems to solve,” said Susan, referring to the sports product industry.

Fortunately, the process of product design is iterative. And with new tools for design, products are improving.

Body scanning and machine learning are changing how products can be made. It may be that mass production changes in the future and more personalized sizing will become available to everyone.

“The tech is already there,” Susan remarked. “I know scientists that can look at your Facebook picture and tell what your body scan looks like.”

Hike Happy

In the meantime, consumers and hikers have a lot of options to choose from when it comes to sports product design. There are still some problems to solve. But, by keeping it simple and choosing products that function and wear well, you can still enjoy the benefits.

So, take a hike through the woods. Climb a mountain if you will. Paddle or float. Whatever sport you engage in, keep it simple and wear what works for you.

Perhaps Henry’s advice is most apt and to the point: “You got to wear what makes you happy.”

Susan Sokolowski, Ph.D., is the director of the Sports Product Design Program and the University of Oregon. She has over 25 years of experience in the sports product industry.

Open prairie grasslands, hummocky wet meadows, meandering rivers, and magnificent branching oak woodlands—before European settlement, Oregon’s Willamette Valley was a very different place. A place blackened by fire and awash in waves of wildflowers. A sea of purple camas covered the hillsides, along with irises, cat’s ear lily, golden paintbrush, and more. Grand Oregon white oaks, with their spreading branches, grew singly or in woodland patches, completing the look.

Now, very little of these habitats remain in the Willamette Valley—lost to human development. It is a place dug up by plows and awash in pavement. A sea of houses covers the hillsides with agricultural fields everywhere in-between.

In recent years, as scarcity has increased, oak habitats in Oregon have been given more attention. Even sites on the edge of the valley are being considered for restoration by conservation groups and land management agencies.

McCully Mountain, just east of Salem, is one such site. A parcel of BLM land with a bit of oak on a wet meadow surrounded by private lands, and in need of a little elbow grease. 

So, with the help of volunteers and other staff, Corbin Murphy, BLM wildlife biologist, has been working for the last few years to restore the parcel. Or as he put it, “create some habitat on the landscape.”

I met with Corbin on a wet spring day to take a look at the progress. 

The Hike

• Trailhead: No official trailhead.
• Distance: varies
• Details: Park at the pullout on East McCully Mountain Road. No trailhead or signage. There are no amenities at this site.

Classic BLM

Corbin and I carpooled out to the McCully site along some backcountry roads, before reaching a small pullout. A faint trail led us through a Douglas-fir Forest a short distance.

“This is kind of classic BLM,” said Corbin. In other words, a parcel of public land, abutted by private lands.

You see, in the late 1800s, as part of a settlement plan for the west, the federal government granted every other square mile swatch of land to the Oregon and California Railroad Company to fund the building of public transportation through the state, the other half was to be sold and distributed to settlers.

Unfortunately, fraudulent sales led to the reinvestment of the O&C lands where they were put under the jurisdiction of the U.S. Department of the Interior, General land Office (GLO). Today these lands are now managed by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM).

The problem is this “checkerboard pattern” of land ownership is a “nightmare for management.” Though there has been some consolidation of ownership, public and private lands still share extensive boundaries.

“Access and road problems are reoccurring,” Corbin explained. And McCully is no exception. “Folks can walk down the spur road to get to the BLM, it is public access,” despite warnings from signs posted on the gate.

ACEC

Eventually, the conifer forest peters out along a grassy ridge with views onto the surrounding hillside.

“This is the property line right here,” said Corbin.

Oregon white oak grow in huddled bunches along the ridge—mostly smaller trees trying to get a foothold. A soggy meadow lays quietly below.

“For the BLM this is one of our Areas of Critical Environmental Concern—an ACEC,” said Corbin. As such, McCully receives special management attention to protect its natural resources.

ACECs are established for a variety of reasons. Some are established for geology; others for their cultural or scenic value; and others for habitat, for example.

McCully was designated an ACEC for its scenic value, natural systems, and wildlife value.

“Special habs,” as Corbin put it—McCully is “not just some conifer forest… it is 80 acres of oak meadow.”

Inverts

As we continued down the ridge, Corbin and I were cognizant of the wildlife all around us.

A Northern pigmy owl called out in the distance. Deer and elk scat lay in darkened clumps on the bed of green grasses and herbaceous plants at our feet. I nearly trip over a mountain beaver burrow entry hidden on the ground.

However, it was the smaller, less conspicuous critters that Corbin is really jazzed about.

“There has been a lot of work on megafauna, and especially rare species,” Corbin explained, “but there are a lot of critters that are new to science and not studied. A lot of these are inverts.”

Invertebrates—animals without a backbone, like insects, spiders, and worms—play many important ecological roles. Many are pollinators; others are decomposers, for example. And all are key parts of food webs—supporting vertebrate species, like birds.

Thus, studying invertebrates can tell us a lot about the functioning of an ecosystem.

Moths

One group of invertebrates that hasn’t recieved a lot of attention are the moths. Which is why Corbin was thrilled to have McCully Peak included in a moth study organized by researchers at Oregon State’s Arthropod Collection.

The study was intensive with survey data collected every two weeks from light traps set up at four different points acrooss the meadow.

“Guess how many species we found?” asked Corbin, a twinkle in his eye.

“I don’t know, twenty,” I guessed reluctantly.

“Two hundred!” Corbin exclaimed. “And a bunch were for the first time documented in this county in Oregon,” he went on gleefully.

Of course, these results were collected before restoration work got underway.

“We will come back and do some post-treatment monitoring,” Corbin assured me.

Competition

Corbin and I continued to circle the forested meadow’s edge. Douglas-fir logs lay abandoned near their stumps along the ridge. Other conifers have been girdled—a strip of bark removed in a ring around their trunks.

“The down wood and snags are important for wildlife,” Corbin explains. Offering habitat for many species, including many of Corbin’s beloved invertebrates.

Perhaps even more importantly, Oregon white oaks are slow-growing species and can easily be shaded out by fast-growing conifers. So, a big part of oak restoration involves getting rid of the competition—in this case, Douglas-fir. But rather than simply harvesting the Douglas-fir trees and hauling them off, the trees are left in place to decay.

Corbin was also quick to note that, though the Douglas-fir have a foothold now, the shallow soils in the meadows make it difficult for the trees to succeed long term.

“Many are dying,” Corbin points out, but while they live, they make it more difficult for the oak.

Invasive Species

In addition to competing with conifers, oak habitats face encroachment from alien invaders—a.k.a. invasive species.

“This was all ringed with scotch broom,” Corbin shared as we cut along the meadow’s edge, dodging poison oak as we went. Shiny geranium, another invasive species, grew in large uniform patches at our feet.

“We pulled and cut all the scotch broom about 2 years ago,” said Corbin.

As Corbin and I headed down the hillside, we spotted a few new scotch broom sprouts. When it comes to invasive species, the work never really ends.

“It is going to be a constant battle,” resigned Corbin.

Volunteers

A lot of the restoration work, including removing invasive species, was done by volunteers using clippers and machetes.  At McCully, several volunteer groups came out to help with the restoration work, including Northwest Youth Corps and Linn County Juvenile corrections, as well as a group from Backcountry Hunters and Anglers.

Volunteers also helped with basketing oaks—encircling young oak with netting to protect against browse.

“Deer are funny,” Corbin chuckled, “they love oak.”  At one point, Corbin pointed out an oak that had been heavily browsed—nary a leaf could be seen.

Thanks to volunteers, more of the oaks can escape these pressures and have a chance to make it to maturity.

“I do love the opportunity to get the volunteers out,”  said Corbin. “Something like this is really fun too,” he went on.

Corbin reminisced about the time the Backcountry Hunters and Anglers visited. Elk ran through the meadow and they saw a ton of wild turkey.

“We are coming back!” they told Corbin after a long day of volunteering.

“Good! This is your public lands, enjoy it!” was Corbin’s reply.

Suspected Species

The sky is gray, threatening rain. Corbin and I continued past more young oak and patches of scotch broom toward the meadow below. 

Tracking down the hill, we followed a wide muddy path littered with deer and elk hoof impressions.

At the bottom of the hill is a wet meadow where yellow monkey flower grows in a wet seep. Fist-sized rocks lay scattered on the meadow that has been heavily grazed. The vegetation is clipped close to the ground in most areas. The scenery is beautiful, and wildlife clearly abundant.

Transfixed by the open, rocky expanse, I asked Corbin what sort of wildlife might use the space?

Well apart from the usual deer, elk, and other generalist species, Corbin mentioned several “suspected” species that he is hoping to find in the space. Streaked Horned Lark and Fender’s Blue butterflies, for instance—are two species associated with oak prairie in the Willamette Valley.

“We say ‘suspected,’” said Corbin, “If it is within the range and habitat requirements are all there.”

Desert Life

Another suspected species Corbin is excited about finding is the pallid bat.

“The pallid bat is a desert species that used to exist in the Willamette Valley,” explained Corbin. Other desert species, like ponderosa pine, jackrabbits, Northern Pacific rattlesnake, and burrowing owls were also once present in the Valley. But, like the pallid ba, these have all but been eliminated.

According to Corbin, the pallid bat is unique from other bats in that they don’t typically use echolocation but forage for ground-dwelling insects, like scorpions by sound. This can make them trickier to identify in the wild using passive acoustic recording units since they are not making ultrasonic calls to locate food.

“This is part of its historic range,” Corbin noted, so they could be here, or move here, even if they haven’t been identified yet.

Woodpeckers

The rhythmic thumping of a Northern Flicker sounded against the high-pitched songs of other bird species as we continued toward the forested edge of the meadow.

“What about woodpeckers?” I asked.

“It should be a feeding frenzy,” said Corbin, looking out on all the girdled conifers. “There are a lot of downy and hair woodpeckers, flickers, and pileated woodpeckers.”

Woodpeckers forage in dead and decaying trees, making the wooded edges of the meadow with newly developing snags, a great place to feast.

Lewis’s Woodpecker is another suspected species for the area, though none have been spotted yet. They were once widespread however due to habitat loss of mostly snags in oak, pine, and cottonwood woodlands their numbers are low. However, for all these species, Corbin is hopeful.

“If we create the habitat, they will come,” he tells me.

Making Habitat

Dark clouds continued to gather, as Corbin and I walked adjacent to the forest, looking up at more girdled conifers. Corbin admitted that girdling is not the ideal way to create snags but it is quicker and cheaper than topping them.

“It is expensive to top them,” he said, but “it creates an opportunity for spores to land on top and heart rot to enter.”

Ultimately, cavities form, making the tree not only an excellent foraging site for woodpeckers but useful for nesting as well.

Legacy Tree

Soon a large snag came into view. This was no restoration project tree—it’s open-top reached toward the sky.

“That is what we call a legacy tree,” said Corbin. “It was probably part of a previous cohort,” he speculated. “A stand-replacing fire came through and that was the only one that lived.”

Snags are excellent habitat for many species. Legacy trees are even more exceptional. Their large girth can support species that depend on a larger diameter tree.

“Those are great for bats,” Corbin exclaimed. “We have another bat that is out here,” he went on, “the fringed myotis.” Named for the fringes of hairs that can be found between their back legs.

“It loves snags,” said Corbin. “It roosts in the sloughing bark,” he continued.

However, in this case, size does matter. They need a larger diameter snag—”61 inches on average,” according to Corbin for roosting. “It is one of the limiting factors for fringed myotis.”

Large Down Wood

The life or death, as it were, of a legacy tree does not end there. When snags eventually fall to the ground, they continue to support species dependent on larger trees for survival. For example, Oregon slender salamander, an endemic to the Cascades, has only been found in large down wood.

Corbin expressed concern about these species. “Maybe around the turn of the century there were really big trees,” but… “fast forward and much of our forests are on a 30-to-40-year rotation.”

Large trees begat large snags begat large down wood. If we don’t have enough large trees, where does that leave us?

So, perhaps it is not surprising that Corbin called legacy trees “gems on the landscape.” They are both valuable and rare.

Intersection

We continued to follow the forest down to the property line, where BLM land abuts private. As we reached the fence, we could see another clear cut could be seen through the trees.

“Well, I guess there is more meadow now,” Corbin smirked.

A turkey sounded in the distance. Surprisingly, Corbin called back. The turkey gave no response. It remained silent, even after I gave a half-hearted gobble-gobble.

We passed a girdled tree that had fallen over. A few purple calypso orchids grew near its base. Then a bit later, Corbin spotted invasive mullein that gave him pause.

Eventually, we began to edge our way back through the meadow at the back end of the property. It was at this point, that it began to shower.

We had reached a point of intersection—between forest and meadow, public and private, and wet and dry—a confluence in more ways than one.

“Anytime you have the confluence of conifer forest, oak woodland, and prairie,” Corbin stated, “that is where you are getting cover, forage, and nesting opportunity.”

That is where you find wildlife.

Secret Garden

We soldiered on over the soft hummocks of grass and herbaceous plants. Rocky outcroppings and undulating hills gave the walk dimension. Prairie stars and rosy plectritis also made an appearance in these lower meadows.

 “There is a lot of BLM ground like that that people just never really get to,” Corbin remarked as we passed by a patch of popcorn flower. “A fun part of my job is getting to explore these areas.”

This certainly rang true for McCully. There was no one around but us… and the deer.

Boundaries

As the rain picked up, Corbin and I decided to turn and loop back up to our vehicles. Corbin led the way—following the path of least resistance and least poison oak.

I was really starting to feel an affinity for the place—wildflowers have a way of doing that to me. Inspired by the unique landscape, I wondered just how much land BLM has designated as areas of critical environmental concern (ACEC). So, I asked Corbin.

“It is hard to tell,” he responded, “different field offices have different amounts of ACEC.”

For the Cascades field office, running from the Columbia River Gorge to Sweet Home, where Corbin works, he estimated a figure—“there are roughly fifteen thousand acres out of one-hundred-seventy thousand acres, about 8 percent in the Cascades Field office and about 2 percent across Western Oregon BLM.”

In short—there is not a lot.

Each ACEC is specifically delineated to encompass just the small area of land that contains a unique feature, like a rock garden or bog. ACECs are by definition scarce. Anything that isn’t unique makes up BLM timber reserves, some of which are open to timber sales and sustainably harvested.  

Heading Home

We continued up the hill, passing by deer beds… “1, 2, 3, 4, 5…” Corbin counted as we walked by. We followed a creek bed that looked more like a slip and slide where you could see just how shallow the soil was above the exposed bedrock.

“Not even a couple of inches of soil on that,” Corbin exclaimed.

Eventually, we re-entered the familiar forest that we had walked through at the beginning of our hike—back into the ordinary.

Looking back through the trees at the oak meadow, it appeared almost magic against the grey sky—a secret tucked away in the west hills of the Cascades.

But McCully Peak isn’t a secret. It is one of many unique places scattered throughout our public lands—welcoming a visit.

Corbin Murphy is a Wildlife Biologist for the Salem District of Bureau of Land Management. He has been with the BLM for 13 years and currently works in the Cascades Field Office. He has also worked for the U.S. Forest Service.

Tucked in the duff on the forest floor or growing on the stump of a dead tree—mushrooms captivate the imaginations of many, while others rarely give heed. The beauty and variety of mushrooms, as well as their reputations as delicious edibles, sparks interest for many.

Mushrooms are the fruiting bodies of fungi—a diverse group of organisms, best known for their ability to decompose organic matter. An entire kingdom of life, fungi are mostly unknown (all except a few favorites).

Personally, I have long been fascinated with mushrooms. Their colors, textures, and earthy scents have long drawn my attention. The result— a phone camera full of photos of mushrooms and a lot of fungi-focused questions.

Driven by my fungal ineptitude. I reached out to the Willamette Valley Mushroom Society to see if someone there might be willing to help enlighten me. And to my great fortune, Autumn Anglin, Treasurer for WVMS, answered my call.

Autumn has also fallen under the spell of mushrooms, and by her own admission, fallen hard. Ever since her first encounter with the mushroom hunting world in 2016, Autumn has thrown herself into discovering and understanding them.  Today she leads a mushroom study group and is an active citizen scientist, gathering mushrooms for careful study and genetic analysis.

Autumn suggested we meet at Lewisburg Saddle Trailhead, not far from where I live, where she promised to share with me the scientific side of mushrooms. I emphatically agreed. 

The Hike

• Trailhead: Lewisburg Saddle Trailhead
• Distance: approximately 1.5 miles
• Elevation gain: approximately 250 feet
• Details: Ample parking at trailhead with overflow parking a bit futher down the road. Pit toilet available. No parking pass required. Roads to trailhead are paved.

A Cold Day in November

It was a chilly day in November.  A freeze set in the night before and a dense white fog shrouded the air like a mystery. The Douglas-fir forest lay still in the mist when I arrived at the trailhead.

Autumn was there ready. Armed with a wicker basket and, as I would soon find out, an unmatched enthusiasm for all things mushroom.

We quickly made a start down the gravel trail in the direction of the new growth trail cutoff.  As we walked along, Autumn told me about her start with WVMS, and how her involvement has grown over the last couple of years. From joining mushroom forays to leading study groups, to her most recent work —a nearly complete at-home genetics lab. 

Stump Stop

It didn’t take long, however, before something caught Autumn’s eye. She motioned me over to a stump on the side of the trail.

“There is a lot of mushrooms on this little log right here,” she noted as we both knelt to get a closer look. She pointed out “a little jelly type” mushroom next to another completely different species, just a few inches away. Larger mushrooms grew from the side of the log.

The hunt was on. We started looking for mushrooms everywhere. We looked along the side of the gravel road that sloped upward for black cups, a favorite of Autumn’s. Despite our efforts, we didn’t see any black cups. We did, however, see a few gilled mushrooms, including one with a tan, umbrella-shaped cap that smells like sperm.

Clavulina Rugosa

Next, we saw a small white coral fungus—Clavulina rugosa or wrinkled coral fungus—growing straight up from the forest floor. C. rugosa is short, only about 3 inches tall, with branches that end in blunt tips. It isn’t the most glamorous mushroom, but what it lacks in showiness, it makes up for in reliability.

Growing near Douglas-fir, often in rings, C. rugosa is a common mycorrhizal fungus in Oregon. As mycorrhizal fungi do, C. rugosa provides nutrients and water from the soil to Douglas-fir trees in exchange for the sugars the trees exude from their roots—a symbiotic relationship essential to a healthy forest.

“Our study group calls it our friend,” Autumn remarked. “We have seen it every time we go out in the winter.”

How to Know a Mushroom

At this point, we dropped down onto the new growth trail and headed deeper into the forest where we would see even more Clavulina rugosa among the trees.

The distinct characteristic of the C. rugosa made it easy to tell apart from others, but this is not the case for many mushrooms you encounter in the Pacific Northwest. As Autumn put it when asked how many different species there are in Oregon, “We have a lot!”

Thus, identifying mushrooms is a real challenge.

“My background is I am an artist,” said Autumn. “My observation skills being an artist has helped by a lot.”

To know a mushroom, you must look at the details the way an artist does. Look from all angles. Use your senses! Look, feel, and smell mushrooms. Just don’t taste.

“Run your finger over the stem and gill.,” Autumn suggested. “We can’t tell anything just by seeing a cap.”

Mushroom Anatomy

Another thing helpful when working on mushroom identification is to know something about mushrooms anatomy. Autumn taught me a few terms on our hike together.

“Stems are stipes.” The top layer, or “skin,” is called the pileus layer. “Flesh is everything on the inside, but not the gills.” Gills sit below the cap of some fungi and aid in spore dispersal.

Then there are all the terms used to describe gilled mushrooms—the group most difficult to identify. Words like notched, decurrent, forked, tiered—tumbled out of Autumn’s mouth, as we turned over mushroom after mushroom to look at the gills.

Indistinguishable

However, even with careful study of a mushroom in the field, it can still be impossible to tell with certainty some mushrooms apart just by looking at them.

Autumn explained that even the first level of division in Kingdom Fungi, which splits fungi into two main phyla—Basidiomycete and Ascomycete—requires microscopy to distinguish. Basidiomycetes are identified under the microscope by their balloon-shaped reproductive cells called basidia, with spores that develop outside of the cell on small projections.  While Ascomycete cells look more like “sausages with circles inside them,” Autumn described; the circles being the spores that develop internally in reproductive cells called asci.

Luckily, a lot of microscopy work has already been done, so breaking up fungi into phyla is more a matter of looking it up in a reference book.

But it still takes a lot of work to identify a mushroom, and microscopy is still needed in some cases to tell similar mushrooms apart.

Spore prints—spore deposits on paper—is another helpful tool for identification.

Autumn recommends getting a variety of mushroom reference books to aid in identification. Just make sure they work for the region you are interested in studying. A couple of her favorites are “Mushrooms of the Redwood Coast” by Noah Seigel and Christian Schwarz, and “Mushrooms Demystified,” by David Arora.

Blackfoot Polypore and Xylaria Hypoxylon, Oh My!

It was at about this time that Autumn really became animated, as we started spotting one cool mushroom after another. Eyes bright, a cheerful inflection to her voice, Autumn talked about her mushrooms with the tenderness reserved for old friends and loved ones.

“Blackfoot polypore,” Autumn sang out, reaching down to pick up a branch with a caramel-colored mushroom attached. “They only grow on sticks and dead things,” she went on, turning over the mushroom cap to reveal a porous undersurface and its “black foot,” a dark region where the stipe (or stem) touches the Earth.

Then, moments later she spotted another.

“This is one of my favorites!” Autumn exclaimed, pointing out a cluster of thin antler-shaped mushrooms, black in color with white tips growing on some rotting wood. “Xylaria hypoxylon.” 

“They are really cool,” Autumn explained. “Feel it!” she suggested, “They are rubbery and tough.” I pulled at the dark strips with my chilled fingers—the wiry body of the mushroom held together firmly.

The white tips are covered with spores, Autumn explained. In the winter, X. hypoxylon, also called “candle-snuff fungus,” produces asexual spores that coat the mushroom.

Decomposers

“The amazing thing about Xylariaceae,” Autumn continued, is that “they decompose more than any other group of mushrooms.”  Xylaria hypoxylon is one of the thousands of mushrooms in this group.  It is our local decomposing superhero. 

Fungi in general are known for their role as decomposers. When I asked Autumn why she thought fungi were important, decomposition was her simple answer. “Fungi and lichen end up making our soil. They are the foundation of our soil,” Autumn elaborated. From death springs life.

Wood Wide Web

Upon reflection, Autumn added in response to my question regarding fungi importance—”They help communicate.”

Scientific understanding of the “wood wide web” has taken off in recent years, as more research has shown just how important fungi are to a forest. Mycelia extend and spread below the ground creating connections between individual tree root systems. Water and nutrients are provided across this network to trees by the fungi, while trees supply sugar and carbon to the fungi and, at least in some cases, to other trees in the network.

“It’s a symbiotic relationship,” Autumn stated. “It is amazing.”Forests are not just a collection of trees. Rather, they are entire ecosystems—plants, animals, insects, microbes, fungi, etc.—connected by interdependence, as well as competition. 

“We should be thinking of forests as whole living beings,” Autumn remarked. We need to see the forest through the trees.

“And we are part of that ecosystem too.”

Be afraid, Be very afraid

As Autumn turned over one of many brown gilled mushrooms we spotted on the forest floor, she spoke:

“People are afraid of fungi,” she said, “but picking mushrooms is okay.” 

She went on to explain that most of the fungi, the important bits, are underground. When you pick a mushroom, it is analogous to picking an apple off an apple tree. Heck, if done right, you might even help spread its progeny.

“Use a basket or bag with holes to spread spores,” Autumn suggested.

Of course, there are some limitations. “Don’t rake up the forest,” Autumn instructed. But if you find something edible or want to study it, picking a mushroom is acceptable. 

Gear

Autumn carried her own beautiful wicker basket on her arm, while we hiked. 

She stopped to show me the contents: pen, notebook, UV flashlight, whistle, paper lunch bags, wax bags, and a tackle box.

Autumn explained that in order to do a scientific study of a mushroom, she tries to get multiple samples at different ages.  The tackle box allows her to separate out smaller samples, while the wax bags and paper bags are for larger specimens. “Never use plastic bags,” she cautioned. “They will turn to goop.”  

Poison

Still off-trail, we noticed a tall, white shaggy stemmed mushroom.  The edges of the cap were also jagged, remnants of a veil — a thin membrane that covers some mushrooms before they are fully grown.

“Lepiota,” said Autumn. “Poisonous.”

All members of the Lepiota genus are poisonous. Many mushrooms are poisonous, even deadly, another reason people often steer clear.

But, according to Autumn, “all mushrooms are fine to touch.” You just need to wash your hands before eating or touching your mouth, she advised.

“Chemical compounds in fungi need to be metabolized to be dangerous, Autumn explained.

Russulas

Autumn and I headed to the other side of the tree-lined path. We kicked at a few of what looked like “mush humps”—areas where mushrooms have raised the soil as they begin to come up—but didn’t see anything growing underneath

However, one type (or genus) of mushroom we saw a lot during our ramble, and are often found hidden in a mush hump, are Russulas.

“They are one of the most common, prolific mushrooms,” said Autumn. They are also “under-identified and misidentified,” despite their commonality. Not a lot of DNA analysis has been done on the group. 

The ones we saw had shiny, soft pink caps, but this is not true of all Russulas.  Russulas come in a variety of bright colors. Autumn picked one to point out the identifying features.  “The main thing is there,” Autumn pointed to the bottom of the mushroom, “gills are attached right to the stem.” This is the signature of a Russula.

Other features include white or yellow stipes (stems) or gills, and a “skin” on the cap that peels back.  Another interesting feature of russulas is their unique flesh—spongy rather than stringy. Their stems “snap like a piece of chalk.” And apparently, if you throw a russula against a tree or similar surface, they “explode.”

Unknown

Autumn and I continued our off-trail adventure in the area of the forest where she discovered a new mushroom just last year.

The fungus itself was first cataloged genetically from a soil sample in the 1970s and 80s but was never described further. Autumn had seen and documented the fungi’s fruiting body for the first time!

As exciting as the discovery was, however, there was still more work to be done. The fungi would need to be found again, Autumn explained, “five or six more times” before it can be named. 

Our eyes scanned the duff, sweeping the area slowly as our feet sunk into the spongy earth.

More to Discover

Surprisingly, very few of the mushrooms on the planet have been identified, so discoveries like Autumn’s are not all that unusual. Experts estimate that as much as 90% of mushrooms out there are waiting to be discovered and given names.

“Most of our mushrooms are European,” Autumn said, “the U.S. doesn’t have that many named species.”

This is problematic because it is likely that the North American version of what we think is a “European mushroom” is probably genetically different from its European counterpart. Work needs to be done to find these differences and, thus, discoveries to be made.

Look Closely

And discover we did! Not anything new to science, but plenty more striking and fascinating mushrooms. 

We saw “stunning” Marasmius plicatulus with their velvety, chestnut orange caps and thin, dark mahogany colored stipes. “They are really sturdy mushrooms,” Autumn noted as she picked one for closer examination, revealing its widely spaced gills. 

Then there was the small, understated Inocybe geophylla mushroom —with its mostly lilac-colored cap — a yellow spot at the center. Inocybe mushrooms have gills that are detached from the stipe.

We saw (and I later tasted) a jelly fungus with the common name “cat’s tongue,” a member of the Pseudohydnum genus. The mushroom was translucent with the texture of a gummy. It also had small teeth on the bottom of the cap, giving it a tongue-like look. Autumn offered me a bag to collect some in. I washed them off the best I could before taking them home to prepare and eat. 

Finally, growing on a Douglas-fir cone, a new favorite—the small, but stately earpick fungus, Auriscalpium vulgare. Itty-bitty and brown, with teeth that look like fuzz on the bottom, the earpick fungus immediately stole my heart. How have I never seen these! Autumn told me that they grow exclusively on Douglas-fir cones.  I will never look at a cone the same way again.

Mycologist Pace

At this point, Autumn and I had probably hiked about a quarter-mile on the forested trail.

I learned quickly — you can’t really “hike” with a mycologist. It is more like a focused crawl.  You bend over a lot.

We laughed at our slow progress, as we headed back onto the main trail to pick up the pace (only slightly).

For Every Season

Autumn and I followed the trail through the young forest, the mist contrasted against the unpruned trunks of the skinny trees and large stumps. A chill hung in the air.

As we walked, we talked, keeping a watchful eye out for more mushroom gems. Autumn had hoped to find one of her favorite groups of mushrooms, black cups. But today they eluded her.

“It must be too early for black cups,” she remarked.

Too early. Too late. Mushrooms are picky. Some more than others. They pop up when conditions are right, and just as quickly, they disappear.  Then again, they may not come up at all.

Morels are particularly challenging weather watchers.

“Morels need three weeks at 50 degrees before they fruit,” explained Autumn. “If it gets too warm too fast or stays colder longer…” she trailed off, but her face said it all. “Morels are temperamental. They can sit underground for 50 years.”

For Every Habitat

We walked past a tree with some cool shelf mushrooms growing on it. I snapped a picture and Autumn grabbed a sample, placing it in one of the compartments of her tackle box.

On a dead tree next door, we saw an orange jelly mushroom growing. “Probably not Naematelia aurantia,” said Autumn—a.k.a witches butter.

Witches butter grows on decaying hardwood. This orange jelly was affixed to a conifer. “Dacrymyces chrysospermus—a basidiomycete with two, as opposed to the typical four, spores at the tips of its reproductive cells—doesn’t grow on hardwoods. It grows exclusively on conifers.

Just like other forms of life, fungi have habitat requirements. Knowing where a mushroom will grow can help you tell mushrooms that might otherwise be indistinguishable (or at least without a microscope) from each other.

Planting Biodiversity

We continued down the path. Stopping occasionally to check out a mushroom or two along the way.

Even though we were hiking through a plantation—a forest replanted for timber and not necessarily known for its biodiversity—Autumn noted just how many different types of mushrooms we were seeing.

“Inside plantations, I find that the diversity seems to be a lot more,” she commented.

Biodiversity is important. Biodiversity produces functional ecosystems that are resilient and produce many natural products and provide services humans, among other organisms, rely on.

One of the goals of Autumn and her WVMS Fungi group is to document mushroom biodiversity at each of the study sites.  Using an app called iNaturalist, her group has recorded over 700 observations of mushrooms of a variety of types over a one-year period.

“I feel a sense of urgency due to the climate crisis to get out here,” Autumn went on. She wants to make sure we know what is there!

“It is really important that we preserve this,” she stated empathically.

Chemical Signals

At the end of the new growth section of the trail is a small log bridge that you step through before entering old growth. Here Autumn and I noticed a lot of different mushrooms growing on and around the structure.

“Careful of tan, yellow mushrooms,” warned Autumn pointing to a cluster growing on a decaying stump. “They can be really poisonous.”

Each species of fungi produces its own chemical suite designed to attract, deter, and sometimes kill other organisms. As sessile beings, chemistry is how fungi communicate.  

While the chemistry of mushrooms can be deadly, it can also be a benefit to society. Humans have harnessed compounds extracted from fungi and other sessile organisms as medicines and supplements. Most of the commonly prescribed drugs in the United States, and at least 1/3 of medicines globally, are based on naturally sourced chemicals.

“I never eat white gilled mushrooms,” Autumn confessed. The chemistry is just too risky.

Waxy Caps

Stepping over the bridge, Autumn and I were met with clusters of orange-capped mushrooms.

“Waxy caps,” Autumn exclaimed, “one of the most stunning mushroom genera.”

Waxy caps, or Hygrocybe, are visually stunning. Autumn pointed out how the vibrant cap color contrasted with white, widely spaced gills.

Hygrocybe is also mycorrhizal with Douglas-fir—networking with the roots of trees. However, from where we still the nearest Douglas-fir tree was maybe 100 yards away.

“Does the network go all the way out here?” Autumn wondered out loud.

We were baffled. And impressed. Why not?

Old Growth Delights

Walking through the old growth forest, was like entering a different world compared to the plantation we had hiked through earlier. The trees were larger and more varied in age and species—including Douglas-fir, Western Hemlock, Big Leaf Maple, and Pacific Yew. Leaf litter covered much of the soil, and shrubs, ferns, and small trees added vertical structure to the scenery.

And then there were the mushrooms!

Bird nest mushrooms with their spores tucked away inside little cups, only to come loose with the splash of rain. A Marasmius mushroom with its bell-shaped cap and fragile stem. And a cluster of brightly colored Hypholoma with black spores and gills that turn green under UV light, as demonstrated by Autumn.

The List

We continued hiking the muddied path, stopping to look at mushrooms as we discovered them. I couldn’t believe how much we were seeing. A mushroom newbie, I asked Autumn if she had a recommendation for mushrooms to learn first.

“I would say try not to get overwhelmed,” Autumn replied. “You will see a lot of things you won’t be able to identify…try and identify to family and genus to start.”

So, what are the top groups of mushrooms Autumn recommends learning first? Here they are in the order mentioned.

First on the list, Red-banded polypore, or conks. Widespread wood-eating decomposers, red-banded conks are identified by the orange to red stripe that runs between the darker inner and lighter outer edge.

Next, is Mycena—small in stature but large in group size. Mycena is a genus of tiny mushrooms with translucent, fibrous stipes and white gills “you see everywhere,” according to Autumn,

Agaricus is a common urban mushroom. These white to brownish mushrooms with “super tiny, closely spaced gills.”

Stereum is another—a genus of mushrooms that grows on decaying wood. Autumn and I found some growing on hardwood log next to the trail. These thin shelf mushroom clusters are decorated in wavy bands of greens, yellows, and browns. 

Russulas made the list; along with Xylaria hypoxylon and bird nests.

Perfection

As Autumn contemplated what else to include on “the list,” we walked and observed. We saw a cluster of mushrooms (too non-descript to identify), followed by a large single mushroom coated in white (it had been parasitized). 

Suddenly, Autumn and I were stopped dead in our tracks. In front of us was a large amanita.

“A perfect specimen,” Autumn spoke, her eyes sparkling. 

I took a few pictures before Autumn pulled the Amanita vaginata, or Grisette, from the earth, revealing its true height.

Amanitas are mycorrhizal species—again, part of the wood wide web.  The mushrooms vary in size from small to large. They have white spores, and their stipes and caps are usually decorated with veil remnants.

As mentioned earlier, veils enclose some mushrooms when they first emerge, later expanding and breaking apart. In Amanita, this means patches or warts on the older caps, and skirts or scales on the stipe.

Amanita can be dully or brightly colored, like the well-known Amanita muscaria, and their caps flatten with age. The Amanita cap has a distinct margin and bell shape with a “nipple” or umbo at its center.

“That is gorgeous!” Autumn exclaimed, overcome with the beauty of it.

We added amanitas to the list. After all, Amanita muscaria is “the poster child of mushrooms,” said Autumn.

Puffballs

After our Amanita discovery, the trail veered back onto a gravel forest road that would take us back to the trailhead.

Autumn’s head swerved around looking for earth star mushrooms along the road—a type of puffball mushroom with a round “puffball” center in the middle of star-shaped rays.

We didn’t find any earth stars, but we did find a few puffballs further down the road hiding in the grass. Though difficult to tell apart. Puffballs are wildly entertaining. Poking a puffball will send out clouds of small brown spores.

Puffballs were also added to the list.

Ascomycetes

We still had some more searching to do as we neared the trailhead.

Autumn was determined to find Helvella vespertina.

“Ascomycetes are my favorite,” Autumn told me, and Helvella vespertina is one of the largest mushrooms in the phylum. (Most ascomycetes are very small and usually lichenized, partnering with algae or cyanobacteria.)

It didn’t take long before we ran across the structural beauty of Helvella vespertina. The first ones we found were parasitized with a white fungus, hiding its black cap, but not its unique shape. Later we found an untouched sample.

It is hard to describe Helvella verspertina—the stipe and cap are wrinkled and folded making it look almost “brainy.” Autumn called them “bizarre and consistent,” an equally apt description.

Morels are the other large ascomycete mushroom with a similar vibe. We added both to our ever-growing mushroom list.

Mycology on the Mind

Still with several hundred feet to make it back to our car, Autumn and I continued to hunt mushrooms.

We found several more interesting specimens including a Lactarius, or milkcap mushroom that when you break the cap oozes out a white milk-like substance.  

While we hunted, we also chatted more about Autumn’s citizen science work. Thanks to her passion for mushroom biodiversity documentation, her research group earned a grant to send in 50 species this year for DNA analysis to FunDiS, or Fungal Diversity Survey, a nonprofit focused on fungi conservation. 

Now, she plans to continue her work by doing her own DNA analysis of fungi she finds, and by collaborating with researchers and interested groups. With a shoulder shrug, she even hinted at the prospect of going back to school to study fungi.

Mycology Matters

After spending the morning hiking with Autumn, it was clear to me just how much mushrooms and fungi are a part of her life. Her interest and enthusiasm were infectious, and I couldn’t help but smile every time we ran across another mushroom that caught her attention.

I have always enjoyed mushrooms, but Autumn reminded me of just how much fungi matter. It is easy to forget the work fungi are doing in the soil, to take them for granted, but when mushrooms appear they serve as a reminder of the important role fungi have on the planet. 

Seeing mushrooms is like seeing into an otherwise hidden world. So, take the time to get to know a mushroom or two.  Perhaps, learn their names. And give thanks that there are those out there, like Autumn, ensuring their conservation.

Autumn Anglin is a mixed-media artist and vice president of the Willamette Valley Mushroom Society. She is also a “mushroom” citizen scientist, contributing to various mycology studies, including the Fungal Diversity Survey (FunDiS).

Fire. Red, hot whirls of gases set ablaze in the presence of oxygen. It is beautiful. It is dramatic. And it is dangerous. Right?

When I think about fire in my own life, phrases like “don’t play with matches” and “only you can prevent forest fires” spring to mind.  I imagine firefighters battling blazes, blackened trees, and billows of smoke filling the sky— in short, destruction.

This view of the fire is not uncommon. Over the years, fire has developed a bad rap. Fires have wreaked havoc on millions of acres of forests in the west. Thousands of people are displaced and even die each year as a result of fire. It has been suppressed and fought against for a good part of the last century.

We fight fire. But should we? 

After spending the afternoon talking and exploring the hillsides of Southwest Oregon with Chris Adlam, OSU extension forester, I am inclined to say “no.” Or at least, “not always” and “it’s complicated.”

The Hike

• Trailhead: Bear Gulch Trailhead, Sterling Mine Ditch Trail
• Distance: Approximately 4.7 miles loop with longer options.
• Elevation Gain: Approximately 690 ft
• Details: No restroom at the trailhead and limited parking.

Welcome to California

I met up with Chris on a warm spring afternoon at the Bear Gulch trailhead. Moisture hung in the air teasing us with the prospect of rain, but except for a sprinkle or two, we stayed dry. Dry is a common condition in the part of Oregon, which, as Chris expressed, is “much more common in California.” He described the place we were hiking as “oak woodland,” an ecosystem characterized by its hot, dry summers and little rain.

“As far as the ecology is concerned,” said Chris, “we are in California.”

It’s Complicated

Of course, there is one more thing that defines an oak ecosystem—fire! “This is a landscape that was made this way by fire,” explained Chris. But, as we started up the trail, it became evident that this defining characteristic had not been present on the landscape for a long time. 

“It looks messy,” said Chris pointing to patches of dead manzanita with new growth on top. There were also a lot of trees, including conifers crowded together along the path. “It looks terrible to my eyes,” Chris exclaimed.

Chris told me how he had found an old snag not to far from where we were hiking that showed “17 fire scars.” He explained that these scars mark the frequency of fire in the area. “It would have burned every 3-5 years,” said Chris. But that was the past. Looking around at the crowded hillside, Chris frowned. “This place hasn’t seen fire in decades.”

An Education

We moved up the trail slowly, taking in the scenery and flowers. Both of us botany nerds, we paused frequently during the hike to marvel at the rich plant diversity we encountered. After attempting to take photos of Henderson’s Shooting Star, I asked Chris to tell me a bit about his background.

“Well, my family growing up spent a lot of time outdoors,” Chris began. He recalled going birding and visiting the mountains. But “I never thought that much about it,” said Chris. Later, he became interested in sustainability and ecological restoration. “You can help fix them,” Chris said, referring to ecologically damaged areas, “And I thought that was very powerful.”

Mindshift

Chris grew up in France and moved to Canada when he was 19 years old. His earliest understandings of Native people had come from John Wayne movies. It was not until he moved to Canada, where “the tribes were very visible,” that he has his first encounters with Native people. He saw Native people fishing in rivers and interacting with the landscape. He was intrigued by their connection to the land.

Chris, like many from a western culture, had the perception that people are separate from nature. That you “go to nature,” rather than being a part of it. Stemming from this is the idea, he was of the mindset that “people necessarily hurt nature”—a contentious relationship.

However, Chris learned during his time in Canada and later in the United States, this does not have to be the case.

“There are many cultures that live sustainability not by separating themselves from nature but taking responsibility for their role as caretakers of their ecosystem.” It was this shift in thinking that really got Chris interested in fire ecology.

Cultural Problem

As we gradually reached the ridgetop, Chris spoke more about fire and how his interactions with Native people taught him to appreciate fire.

“I have been fortunate to learn from many tribes—the Karuk, Yurok Tribe, and Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde…” began Chris.

“What have you learned?” I asked.

“I think about it a lot,” was his response. “Most important to me,” he concluded after much consideration, “is understanding how Native people treat fire differently.”

“We tried to fight fire; we tried to prevent it,” said Chris, but “you can’t control fire!”Chris went on to explain that the “fire crisis,” as he put it, “is a cultural issue.” “It is not a lack of science or knowledge. Not a policy support problem. It is a culture problem.”

“For Native people, fire is a sentient living thing.” While in the United States, it is legally considered a nuisance if it is not controlled.

FireKeepers

For centuries Indigenous people worked alongside fire to actively manage the land. Fires were set regularly before European settlement to maintain an open landscape ideal for hunting and foraging.

Walking along the ridgetop now, though, overgrown with vegetation and littered with deadwood, it was hard to imagine the open prairie ecosystems of yore. The views would have been incredible!

Botanizing

Despite the overgrowth, there were still some lovely remnants of the past landscape to admire, though I think Chris had a hard time getting past the devastation.

In particular, Chris and I admired the native wildflowers along the trail. Chris had a knack for identifying plant species

Many of the plants we observed were used by Indigenous people as food, fuel, or fiber. I asked Chris to point some out. He pointed to a fuzzy white flower with rounded petals that pointed at the tip—the Cat’s Ears Lily. “These have an edible root,” said Chris. Traditionally, they would have been used by a lot of tribes as a food source, he explained.

We also saw several examples of yellow Lomatia or biscuitroot. I had heard of the use of Lomatium to produce a flour that was shaped into transportable cakes. In addition to having edible roots, Lomatium has edible leaves and flowers, Chris told me.

“And then, of course, are the oaks!” exclaimed Chris. The acorns of the oaks were staple foods for many tribes who, at the time, lived in an oak-dominated environment. Once the dominant tree across the landscape, many tribes depended on and managed for, oaks and their associated species.

And what was used to manage the land for these plants? You guessed it. Fire.

Fire Dependent

Manzanita is another species used by Indigenous people found on our hike. “They made the berries into a drink,” said Chris.

At this point, we walked past a tall manzanita tree. Though beautiful to the eye, “ecologically they are an aberration,” said Chris.

Like other important indigenous plants, manzanita is a fire-dependent species. They need hot fire for seeds to germinate and plants to grow. Looking around the area, there was no young manzanita to be found. Instead, the shrubs were old and dying.

Ceremonies with Fire

Fire was also used in many tribal ceremonies.  Unfortunately, a lot of ceremonies were made illegal, Chris told me, “even until the nineties!” So, ceremonies were practiced in small groups or families. I asked Chris if he was able to observe any of these practices. He said that there are some you can go to but didn’t speak to his own participation.

Instead, Chris told me about one of the ceremonies observed by Indigenous people in Northern California until the early 1900s. The ceremony took place at the landscape level. One mountainside was set ablaze, and then another, and another. Eventually, the signal reaches the medicine man who is waiting in the valley bottom to “call the salmon” home.

At the same time, the landscape responds. As the shrubs and grasses burn on the mountainside, the water level is raised in the river. The smoke from the burn fills the valley, blocking the sun’s rays and cooling the water. All of these help the salmon return. “It is more than a lot of symbolism,” Chris proclaimed. 

Prescribed Burn

With all this in mind, Chris made the argument that we need to burn. And a lot more than we are doing right now. By doing this, we will not only revive the landscape but learn to appreciate fire and dismantle our need to control it.

“The most important thing to me is to do more prescribed burns. If we can figure out how to do that, then we will be good,” Chris stated.

A prescribed burn is a controlled process where landscapes are set on fire systematically. Prescribed burns are started from the top down. The landscape is lit with torches in lines and allowed to burn downslope until the fire burns out, then another line is placed below it and allowed to burn.

The whole process is easy according to Chris. “Regular people do prescribed burns,” explained Chris. “That is how we have done it over this last century.”

And prescribed burning has been used virtually everywhere across the globe. “You can go anywhere, people use fire.”

It wasn’t until recently that prescribed burning has, as Chris put it, “been given to the professional elite.” This change in responsibility is a mistake, according to Chris who has made it a goal to get people who live in fire-adapted landscapes involved in the process. “Everyone who lives in a place like this should get a chance to go to a prescribed burn,” he stated. It is part of our history and needs to be part of our future.

In Favor

We passed by another area filled with dead and down wood.  I started wondering why we were not burning more landscapes and I asked Chris about it.

“For a long time, we thought we could stop fire,” suggested Chris, but recently, “I think it is changing.” People are beginning to understand that prescribed burns are okay. In fact, according to Chris, eight out of ten people nationwide are in favor of the practice. People are getting it. They are understanding we need it. “It is not controversial,” said Chris, as some might make you think.

Overall, “we need to get people together to talk about it,” Chris suggested. “We need to agree. We can’t fight about this.” Being flexible and looking at the management options available, including prescribed burns, is key.

Doing Nothing is Deadly

Chris and I reached a viewpoint or at least a partial one. For the first time in a while, we could see out onto the adjacent hillsides. “This place should be oaks and a few madrones,” said Chris. “We should see all the way out.” Instead, spindly orange conifers, sick from bark beetle infestation, dotted the crowded hillside.

“ These trees are a bunch of garbage and are doing to die !” Chris exclaimed looking around us. He pointed to a sickly sapling that was losing foliage and a tall Douglas-fir riddled with cones. “That one is dying,” he stated matter-of-factly.  Both losses in upper crown foliage and producing a lot of cones are signs of stress, Chris explained.

“If a wildfire came through it would do great things ecologically,” Chris continued. The area would be cleared of much of the sickly Douglas-firs, which would allow the oak tree to flourish. The fire would help any remaining trees better able to fend off insect attracts.  The manzanita and ceanothus would be able to go to seed. Grasslands would be reestablished.

 As I walked the ridgeline, I tried to imagine it—this place 100 years ago. I tried to see through Chris’ eyes what was lost and what one day may be found.

Fire Scars

Eventually, we passed an old snag, cracked and open so you could see inside.  Chris later called it a “cat-face.”

“This one had fire,” said Chris as he crouched down to get a closer look. Tracing his fingers across the black markings that punctuated its open face. “There are at least six here,” said Chris, referring to the multiple fire scars found on this one tree.

Each time a tree is burned it leaves a blackened mark. Given time, the tree will try to grow over the blackened area. However, like in the snag we found, it does not necessarily heal completely over, so that sometimes fire scars remain exposed for years to come.

The fire scars on this tree were close together, Chris estimated that the tree had been scared 3-4 times over a 20-year period. “Not to mention those that didn’t make a mark!” Chris clarified.

Legacy of Fire

As we continue along, Chris pointed out more examples of the legacy of fire on the landscape:

We saw another “cat-faced” tree—an oak—but this time its face was completely healed over so you could not see inside.

There was a notable area that was mostly clear of trees and underbrush, except for a few oaks with spreading branches. Though it was difficult to say for certain what had cleared the area, Chris had a sneaking suspicion it was fire.  “I would guess 1987,” said Chris, as a fire had been in the area that year.

“The oaks are doing great,” Chris pointed out as a testimony to the efficacy of fire. An understory of roamers fescue, a native bunch grass, punctuated scene.

We also saw countless madrone on the trail, some that were huge having survived the fires of the past.  Others with multiple stems, creating a tentacle-like effect that was mesmerizing. Chris explained that almost all broadleaf trees, including madrone, will send out multiple shoots following a burn. Though some trees, like oaks, will thin themselves out, madrones keep their multiple stems. These octopus-like trees were a result of fire!

Legacy in the Landscape

Chris also noted how different areas within an ecosystem will have different legacies of fire. “South facing slopes tend to burn hotter and will have more oaks and fewer conifers, while cooler north-facing slopes will not burn as hot and have more conifers, Chris explained. In general, all areas “burn more severely on the upper part of slopes,” said Chris.

As we walked down into a stream drainage, Chris continued to ruminate on the topic. He speculated that the drainage would offer a different outcome when it comes to fire, perhaps acting as a fire stop and protecting the area from a severe burn. However, he prefaced that the steepness of the slope could also help spread the fire more quickly if it got started lower in the drainage.

Essentially, by looking at the contours of the land and the ecosystems that exist there, you can start to piece together a fire story.

Oh, the Plant Biodiversity!

Okay, so we talked a lot about fire on your hike! But another topic that came up time and time again was plants! “I aspire to know every plant where I live,” he admitted at one point. 

Considering I also have a strong affinity for plants, Chris and I spent a good amount of time distracted by the botany all around us.

We saw everything from milk vetch with its fuzzy seedpods to balsamroot with its bright yellow flowers. We saw paintbrush, wild carrot, sweet cicely, fern leaf biscuit root, nine leaf biscuit root, Henderson’s fawn lily, and larkspur, to name a few. Fragile fern was another hit along the trail. The biodiversity was amazing!

And the enthusiasm of Chris equally so. At one point, Chris charged off the trail to check out what he thought might be a cypress tree, only to find out it was a juniper. We were seeing species that you find in western Oregon, co-mingling with species from eastern Oregon.

It seemed like around every bend, was always another fantastic botanical find!

Of course, Chris could not help himself. “People don’t always think about it,” he said as we passed by another patch of manzanita, “It is fire that creates all this diversity.”

Not Clear Cut

As we came back up from the drainage, our views out became less obstructed than earlier in the hike. We could see hillsides of grasslands with ceanothus patches rising all around us. However, that is not all we could see. Off in the distance was a large patch of open ground—a clear cut.

Chris stopped in his tracks. You could tell he was not happy about what he was seeing. Though he admitted that timber harvesting was not his area of expertise, he saw some huge issues with how it was being done in Oregon. “Oregon has the least restrictive laws,” he started in on the issue. “You can clear cut 120 acres and if you throw a stick back in, you are all good.”

You could sense Chris’ frustration, which he tempered quickly. “There is a place for it,” he admitted, referring to Oregon’s coast range. It can provide “important habitat for bird species,” he went on, but this was not the place for it. “Dry forest is not good for this.”

Then there is the concern for fire. “Plantations burn more severely than older forest,” Chris said. Once the trees start to regenerate, all the benefit of fire protection that might come immediately following a clear cut is gone. “5 years you don’t have to worry, but once it is tall again, it will carry fire.”

Out in the Open

As we moved further along the trail and our views continued to improve until ultimately, we found ourselves in an open prairie ecosystem—face to face with the past. “I think this is a lot more what the landscape would have looked like,” said Chris.

Stately Black Oaks were spaced out at irregular intervals on the windswept hillside. It was beautiful. And it was the result of centuries-long practices of using fire.

Chris talked about how Indigenous tribes not only burned to maintain the open meadows ideal for hunting deer but how it was also used for pest management. For example, burnings occurred at night so moths that infest acorns would be attracted to the light and burn up.

Invasive Grasses

Amongst the fields of native grasses, there were also many invasive grasses, like medusahead, vying for space on our green hillside. Chris explained that a lot of the invasive grasses are annuals that go to seed each year, repopulate, and spread. The native grasses, on the other hand, are perennials that don’t seed every year, and thus are better adapted to frequent fire.   

Without frequent fire, the invasive grasses were encroaching on the lands of the native grasses—an all too familiar tale. But, as ever, Chris had the remedy—fire.  He explained that the annuals could be killed off with a well-timed prescribed burn, leaving the perennial natives to thrive.

Working toward Change

Despite the presence of invasives, Chris was in his “happy place” as we walked along the rolling hillside.

Chris and I talked about his work as we went. “So far I am working with landowners,” he said, helping them go through the steps of doing a prescribed burn. He also hopes to work with tribes in the area to bring fire back to the landscape.

Eventually, we reached the opening to a tunnel and a sign that read “Turning Water into Gold.” It was the opening to the Sterling Mine Ditch Tunnel—a hand-dug, 26.5-mile tunnel used to divert water for gold mining.  After poking around for a few minutes, we continued our conversation.

Changing Minds

“I want to bring people to more burn areas too,” remarked Chris, we began descending the trail through some oak woodlands and back to the road. He explained how people that experience fire are often traumatized. They cannot imagine the burned area ever being beautiful again. Chris wants to break that cycle of trauma by bringing people to a burn site so they can see “that not all is lost.”

Following a fire, life remains. There are still many live trees. Water flows through the streams. An entire seed bank of herbaceous plants, including brightly colored wildflowers, awaken and bloom.  Animals, like woodpeckers, reptiles, deer, elk, and bears thrive in a burnt landscape.

Chris talked about using nature journaling as a tool for self-reflection on the burnt landscape. “It is a project I am working on,” he said.  Nature journaling involved getting people to record what they notice in pictures, words, and numbers, generating questions, and reflecting on their own experiences.

By experiencing firsthand, the resiliency of the landscape to fire, Chris hopes to get people in touch with their own resilience. Experiencing “hard things” does not necessarily equate to a diminished existence, Chris explained. “You can come up all the better.”

Slow Burn

Chris and I continued to chat as we descended downhill through the woodlands to the gravel road and then back to our cars.  Upon reaching the road, we said our goodbyes.

I really enjoyed my time talking and walking with Chris. His passion for his work with fire and its ecological and cultural significance was evident throughout our time together. 

Since then, the idea that fire is a force to be valued and respected has been slowly burning in my consciousness.  To think of fire as something vital is a paradigm shift, but one that makes a lot of sense both ecologically and socially. It is easy to become alarmed by the fires that burn through the west each summer, but if we can start to see fire differently, we can learn to respond to fire more appropriately and learn to adapt.

Chris Adlam is the Regional Wildland Fire Specialist for Jacksonville County Oregon State University Extension. Chris completed his Ph.D. in Ecology with a focus on revitalizing the use of fire in managing the land with northern California tribes.

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