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Hike with a Botanist

I don’t know what it is, but I love plants! You know, the ubiquitous, but easily overlooked green stuff. When plants arrived on the scene they literally changed the world! Nearly all life on the planet depends on plants for survival. And they are pretty, oh so pretty, What is not to love?

Visions of wildflowers danced in my head as I drove out to meet with Linda Hardison, Botanist, and director of OregonFlora, at the trailhead for Iron Mountain and Cone Peak. It was July 2nd—the perfect time of year to catch the wildflower show the area is known for. Set aside as a Special Interest Area for botany, Iron Mountain and Cone Peak attract the attention of many adventurers looking for botanical inspiration.

So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I pulled into the parking lot at Tombstone Pass to find it rather full for a Thursday morning. Unfazed, with sunscreen, hat, and face mask in hand, I found Linda at the other end of the parking lot. We quickly exchanged greetings, before hitting the trail.

All set for a riotous romp filled with botanical delights, I was not disappointed.

The Hike

Trailhead: Tombstone Pass Trailhead
Distance: 7+ miles
Elevation gain: approx. 1700 ft
Details: Amply parking and pit toilets at the trailhead. Trailhead is very accessible as it is right off Highway 20. You will need to cross the highway during the hike. Trails are well marked and maintained.

Plants Rule

Linda and I began our hike from the tombstone pass parking lot, heading down the trail toward Cone Peak. As we ducked down into the foliage and made our way along the trail that leads through some wet meadows, I immediately peppered Linda with questions: Why plants? Why study Botany? Why is botany important?

O.K. so I was a bit excited. Linda was gracious with her reply.

“Well, just look around—it is just so beautiful,” she said.

But in true scientist fashion, she elaborated, “Botany is at the core and foundation of everything. It’s what lets it all happen.” She went onto explain how flowers evolved this amazing ability to do photosynthesis—they capture sunlight and store it in organic molecules. These organic molecules are the basis of the entire food chain, feeding other living things, as well as enriching the soil for more plants to grow in.

“The whole planet depends on plants,” she stated. From a humanistic standpoint, we need them to breathe, eat, and build with. They are so fundamental and they are everywhere.

Plants are everywhere

This is the other amazing thing about plants! They are literally everywhere. “Plants have adapted to every condition on the planet,” explained Linda. Over millions of years, more and more species of plants have evolved and taken on different ecological niches, or roles, in the environment. We now have entire communities of plants that live in forests; others in meadows; some grow in valleys, and others on mountains. Each plant with its own way of surviving in these different conditions.

A Flora

A whole planet to cover, there are a lot of different species of plants on Earth. Too many for one blog post to focus on, but if we narrow it down to say— Oregon—the task goes from being impossible to overwhelmingly difficult O.K. still too much for a blog post, but not too much for Linda and her Colleagues who are taking on just that within the OregonFlora program.

Linda shared some background on the project. The Oregon Flora Project was founded in 1994 by botanist Scott Sundberg with the goal of creating a new flora—basically a plant identification and information manual—for the state of Oregon. At the time the most up to date manual on Oregon plants was nearly 50 years old, so it seemed like an update was in order. As Linda explained how plant populations change: “new plants are always being discovered; new species come in either as weeds or as climate changes and new habitats open up and they adapt to new places, and things go away, things get extirpated.”

So with access to Oregon State University’s herbarium the project got underway. Currently, Volumes 1 is available and Volumes 2 & 3 are in the works. OregonFlora also has a website chock full of botanical information (a massive overhaul is underway to make it more user friendly) and an application—Oregon Wildflowers App—that I personally love and use to identify plants while hiking.

As for the plants themselves, OregonFlora has captured information on 4,762 different plants in Oregon. Talk about biodiversity!

Ecoregions

The diversity of plants in the state makes a lot of sense when you think about the diversity of ecosystems and habitats that exist in Oregon. The state of Oregon is somewhat unusual in that it has many different ecoregions—large areas of the state with similar climate and vegetation. From the cool, wet Oregon Coast Range to the hot, dry Basin and Range—Oregon has been cut to shreds ecologically.

OregonFlora uses the ecoregion concept as a frame of reference as well—recognizing 11 different ecosystems that largely parallel the EPA designated ecoregions in Oregon. Plant communities can be organized within this framework and then further subdivided further into habitat preferences from there.

Linda told me that when she gives presentations about OregonFlora, she will put up a picture of open scrub and grasses and ask people where the picture was taken? “And people will say eastern Oregon,” said Linda. Then she will put another picture up and the audience is right again. “I think people really have a gestalt about this sort of stuff,” explained Linda. People recognize the combination of physical and biological attributes that make up a place. And OregonFlora is there to help them simply hone their awareness.

What’s in a name?

As the trail really started heading uphill, Linda brought up another botanical topic of importance—naming. One of the big jobs of OregonFlora, and a big part of botany as a whole, is figuring out what to call a species. Naming is important because 1) they allow scientists to be precise when they are talking about plants, and 2) because they reflect the evolutionary relationship between plants. As simple as this sounds things can get a bit complicated.

During the 18th century, Carl Linnaeus, often considered the father of taxonomy, first came up with the binomial, two name system that is, for the most part, used today. According to Linda, his system grouped organisms by morphological characteristics, especially reproductive features. At the time, these features were considered immutable because they were so important to the survival of a species. However, with the advent of DNA sequencing, we now have more complete information about how organisms are related. We can see in the DNA evolutionary relationships that don’t necessarily match up with the optics.

So names have changed. And scientists have had to adjust. “Botanists can take care of this,” said Linda by using synonyms. Botanists keep track of and acknowledge synonyms—old, out of date scientific names—as part of their records of each species.

Linda pointed out some false Solomon’s seal. Once Smilacina racemosa it is now part of the maianthemum genus with the scientific name: Maianthemum racemosum.

False Solomon’s seal (Maianthemum racemosum)

Not so Common

Then of course there are common names, like false Solomon’s seal. OregonFlora also keeps track of common names. Linda said they look for the most widespread names for each species in the region to include in the flora. Choosing regionally significant names of species is important as there can be great variability region to region. For example, OregonFlora’s emblem is what most Oregonians call a fawn lily, but in other parts of the country, the same species is known as a dogtooth violet. Though these names don’t provide precise information about the plant, they do provide regional and cultural context to the botanical world.

Taxonomic Concept

But the division of plants doesn’t start and end with a name (or two or three). As Linda puts it, “the isness of a plant” must be determined. The isness of a plant—its characteristic features and range—is what is known as a taxonomic concept. So considering our false Solomon’s seal the taxonomic concepts answer the questions- What is a false Solomon’s seal? It breaks it down and “puts a circle around it.” A name doesn’t mean a whole lot if it doesn’t have a specific plant associated with it.

Taxonomic concepts might be species specific or subdivided further into varieties or subspecies. Linda said, “We try and get down to as small a bucket as we can.” We talked about the example of the species Pinus contorta. The variety of this species that grows on the coast takes on a twisted, gnarled shape, but the variety that grows in montane environments is narrow and upright.

Determining a taxonomical concept for a plant is challenging because there is natural variation in plants as well. Genetic biodiversity that makes one member of a species different from another member of the same species can sometimes blur the lines and create some controversy or debate. Also, things are always in flux. Whether it is through scientific work or natural processes, taxonomic concepts can and do change.

Forest Habitat

By this point, Linda and I had hiked up out of the meadow and into the forest. Conifers dominated the overstory— Douglas-fir and hemlock primarily, but also some true fir and western red cedar. The understory was shaded, and the soil rich in organic matter and moisture captured by the trees and the fungal network below. Plants like vanilla leaf, wild rose, wild ginger, thimbleberry, bunchberry, and vine maple, took up residence in this protected understory.

It is the combination of physical and biological features that create “the magic mix” for a habitat, explained Linda. You can’t rely on physical features alone to determine what lives where. As important as factors such as light, temperature, and moisture are, the other plants, animals, and microbes that live in the same community are just as (if not more) important. That is why you can travel to places that share physical features, Linda explained, and find a completely different suite of organisms.

It takes a Community

I asked Linda to elaborate on the importance of community connections. She was clear—we still have a lot to learn when it comes to relationships between species. We have an inkling that these connections are important, but “we don’t know what makes everything work together,” she said.

In terms of the forest, for example, we are just starting to learn about the importance of fungal communities in communication and the exchange of nutrients. Linda said that she knows a landscaper who will save the “duff layer” of an area before it is bulldozed for development so he can reuse the material later.

Natural and wild places are just that important. “We don’t know what sort of glue some tiny little scrubby looking plant might serve in the big picture,” said Linda. “If we view things as a system, as a whole, I think there are much richer opportunities to learn and explore and benefit from than from looking at one isolated species.”

Botany Rocks

Eventually, Linda and I stepped out of the trees and out onto a rocky outcrop to be greeted by a gorgeous wildflower display—the first of many. Bright yellow Oregon sunshine, deep purple larkspur, and bright blue gilia were all at peak bloom! We gawked at the beauty of the place—bright spots of color and fragrant smells overwhelmed our senses.

First rocky outcrop we saw on the trail.

Adapt

However, perhaps even more fascinating, is that these plants exist here at all. Living in a harsh environment with little moisture, very little soil, and a lot of snow and sun—these plants were not here for our benefit, but because they had adapted over generations of time to these conditions.

Adaptations are characteristics that allow a species to survive and reproduce in their environment. Adaptations arise over multiple generations of time through the process of evolution by natural selection. Though it is impossible to observe this process on a hike, adaptations are readily observable.

Linda and I speculated on some of the adaptations observable on our rocky outcrop. We noted how stonecrop and a species of claytonia both had fat fleshy leaves used to retain moisture. Cat’s ear lily uses a bulb for storing resources for the long winter. Blue gilia was prolific—adapted by living an annual lifestyle—producing a lot of seeds before dying off. Rough paintbrush, a hemiparasite, takes advantage of the company of others, stealing water and nutrients from their neighbors. Then there were the bright colors and fragrant smells of many of the flowers—all adaptations for attracting pollinators quickly during a short growing season.

Blue gilia growing on the rocky outcrop along with larkspur and yellow monkey family.

Family Ties

As you can imagine, walking among the rocky outcrops the diversity of plants was captivating. We continued along the cone peak trail, stopping to admire, identify, and take photos along the way.

At one point while discussing a species of buckwheat (Polygonaceae), Linda shared with me her secret to identifying plants. She said that one of the best ways to learn (for her anyway) is to look at the relationships—the family of plants. “It gives you the start on what something is,” she said. “If you learn the characteristics of a family, it opens the first door.” Then you can use a field guide or an app to narrow things down.

The buckwheat family, for example, typically has lots of very small flowers and colored or no sepals. Asters (Asteraceae)—the largest family—tend to look like sunflowers with very open blooms that are attractive to pollinators. Oregon sunshine is a great example. Some relationships are surprising and a little more challenging. For example, Larkspur is in a subclass of the buttercup family (Ranunculaceae). Characteristic of this subgroup are the fruits or “follicles”— capsules that open along a single side. In general, one way to recognize buttercups is to look at the fruit.

Arrowleaf buckwheat (buckwheat family), Oregon sunshine (aster family), and purple larkspur (buttercup family).

Botanical Controversy

One “family” of plants that I personally enjoy are the penstemons. I asked Linda what characteristics are common among penstemon. She told me that they typically have “snapdragon looking flowers” and that the common name for the family actually used to be snapdragon (Scrophulariaceae). However, according to Linda, the “scroph” family is a classic example of “plant families gone amuk.” As botanists have grown to better understand evolutionary relationships, the family has actually been split into five different plant families! According to Linda, this change sparked a lot of frustration, as people had been trained (like herself) to identify these plants as “scrophs.” She admitted that she still often gets these plants mixed up. Botany is not without its challenges.

Deadly Problem

Identifying plants is not only a lot of fun, but really important if you spend any amount of time outside. Plants can act as irritants and toxins. Most people are aware of plants like poison oak and poison ivy, but there are many other plants that can cause problems. Giant hogweed, for example, can induce photosensitivity in people that touch it.

On our hike, Linda and I ran across several stands of death camas. Death camas is lily-like in the false-hellebore family (Melanthiaceae)—characterized by parts in groups of three—but many people confuse it with real camas, also a lily, and an edible plant. The problem arises from the fact that they can grow in similar environments and are harvested as bulbs that can be hard to tell apart. Being attuned to the differences between these two plants is literally life or death. “Plant families gone amuck”

Stand of mostly death camas with larkspur and paintbrush.

Microhabitat

As we finally reached the sloping top of Cone Peak, Linda and I noticed some areas of land that looked a bit different from the rest of the bloom area. The mix of species was a bit different, with certain species more abundant, while others less abundant—more moss and grass especially. Even the physical characteristics looked different—more rocky and dry; the site also looked like it might have been more recently disturbed.

Whatever the specific reasons, this was an excellent example of a microhabitat. Even within a defined habitat, there is small scale variability that can alter plant communities. According to Linda, understanding microhabitat is really critical for planting projects and restoration work. It is also something we still don’t know a lot about.

Honing our awareness for microhabitats is also a fun way to think about botany while on a trail, with the potential to contribute to a collective body of botanical knowledge.

Unusual section of Cone Peak bloom— rocky microhabitat.

Drawing Connections

Speaking of fun ways to interact with plants, one of the goals of OregonFlora is to encourage people to engage with botany. This is also one of my goals in writing this post. There are, of course, a lot of ways to do so (some already mentioned in this post), but as we hiked from Cone Peak to the Iron Mountain trail junction, I asked Linda what she thought someone might do to develop a botanical eye.

Linda’s advice was to first—“stop and look.” And second—draw! Drawing is a great way to pay attention and notice details that you might not notice from a glance or even a picture.

Take some time to stop and sit down with a plant, suggested Linda. Pay attention to the sites and sounds. Look at what is covering that ground and what makes up the overstory. “Understand this is a community: and who is a part of it, and who the big players are and who are the quiet voices,” said Linda.

Ethnobotany

At one point, as we headed down the trail, Linda noticed a nondescript plant, a biscuitroot (Lomatium). She pointed out that indigenous people in Oregon often collected biscuitroot tubers as a food source. The ethnobotanical aspect (or traditional use) of plants is another way people can relate to plants, Linda surmised.

The Summit

Finally, we reached the trail junction for the iron mountain summit and we decided to make the ascent. And after huffing and puffing our way by many more wildflowers, we reached the top and some amazing views of the Cascade Peaks.

But the mountains were not the only thing in view. Linda pointed out, as we looked out across the landscape, the diversity of the plant life that, though we couldn’t see the details of, blanketed all surfaces. Old and new forests, open meadows, riparian corridors, and landslides—the view was awash in greenery.

As we made our way back down, more quickly than we went up, we continued to chat about plants and education, equity, and web design, among other topics. Our conversation shifted from topic to topic, almost as quickly as the plant communities changed as we moved down the mountainside—a dizzying array of botany.

So what is the takeaway? What did I learn from my hike with a botanist? Well to sum up: we are just a single species living in a world dominated by plants. So, as the saying goes, take time to stop and smell the roses.

Linda Hardison is a research assistant professor in the Department of Botany and Plant Pathology at Oregon State University and is the director of OregonFlora. She received undergraduate degrees in botany and marine biology from the University of Texas, and a Ph.D. in botany from the University of Washington. She currently serves on the board of the Native Plant Society of Oregon.

Resources

http://www.oregonflora.org
Meyers, S.C., T. Jaster, K.E. Mitchell & L.K. Hardison. 2015. Flora of Oregon. Volume 1: Pteridophytes, Gymnosperms, and Monocots. Botanical Research Institute of Texas, Fort Worth, TX.

Hike with a Terrestrial Wildlife Biologist

The soft, spongy earth sinks and swells beneath my feet. Branches and needles tower overhead from trunks of various sizes and shapes, diffusing the light and casting shadows. The edges of grasses and herbs slip past my ankles, while shrubs tickle my things and hips. All the while an orchestra of whistles and sing-song sounds float on the wind, and a bouquet of sweet and musty smells rise and fall from the ground. Step, climb, dip, and try not to trip—this is what it is like to hike through a forest.

When I met up with Corbin Murphy, BLM Wildlife Biologist, at the Crabtree Lake Trailhead, I knew that I was in for an adventure. The plan was to follow a trail down into the Crabtree Lake Valley, and then bushwack into the woods to reset some camera traps that needed tending to. We would eventually make it down to Crabtree Lake to one of the oldest forests in Oregon. I knew that walking would be a bit rough, but the payoff was worth it. I was right.

Corbin Murphy checks on his Beaver Dam Analog in the meadow.

The Hike

Trailhead: Crabtree Valley Trailhead
Distance: 4-5 miles
Elevation Gain: about 900 ft
Details: Roads to the trailhead are gravel but in decent condition. The last half mile of road is rough, but I made it with my Honda Civic. The usual route for this hike follows a decommissioned road down. Take a sharp right once you reach a road and follow it up to Crabtree Lake.

Diverse Species

Entering a forest should be a rich, multisensory experience—an orchestra of sights, sounds, and scents. It should be a tangled web of life! Complex ecosystems are not only more aesthetically pleasing, but they also tend to be resilient and functional.

Paying attention to the diversity of species in an ecosystem is an important part of being a wildlife biologist. So, as Corbin and I began our hike along an old decommissioned road heading down toward Crabtree Valley, he was on high alert for the sights and sounds of the forest. It didn’t take long before we started talking about the different plants and animals we were seeing and hearing on the trail.

Sounds of Life

Listening for birds was of particular interest to Corbin. He pointed out the high pitched electronic sounding whistle of a varied thrush and two-note chirp-chirp of a flycatcher. Because many birds are shy and difficult to spot in a forest, wildlife biologists often use bird calls to count birds instead of relying on visual identification.

As part of his work, Corbin shared how he has been participating in breeding bird point-count surveys recently. To conduct this kind of survey you drive along a transect an hour before dawn, stopping every half-mile for two minutes to listen, and identify bird calls. Point-counts are useful for biologists because they give us a better idea of what species are present in an ecosystem, and over time can see declines in specific species populations as well.

Green Stuff

In addition to birds, the variety of plant life also attracted our attention. Corbin pointed out several species of wildflowers, shrubs, and trees—you know, all the pretty green stuff.

It is easy to appreciate the importance of green stuff (a.k.a. plants) to an ecosystem. From an early age, we learn that plants provide oxygen to breathe and food to eat. But not all plants are equal. Like animal species, each species of plant has its own role to fulfill in the ecosystem. In some cases, providing special benefits to select species. Thus, we need a diversity of plant life to support the diversity of life in an ecosystem.

When it comes to conifer forests, less abundant deciduous trees and shrubs play a disproportionately large role in supporting the ecosystem. According to Corbin, conifer needles are generally not very nutritious. They have a low energy density, making them unable to support many invertebrate species. In contrast, deciduous trees and shrubs make a lot more energy available to support an abundance of species.

Biological Desert

According to Corbin, a forest is more than just trees. A forest should have an understory of shrubs and forbs. In a natural system, stochastic disturbances, like forest fires, allow for the establishments of an understory. High-density tree plantations do not. Corbin explained, “shrubs and forbs compete with seedlings. So they will establish, and they can dominate a site for anywhere from 30 to 300 years.” This stage of the forest is called “early seral” and is an important stage of forest development.

However, in a tree plantation, this long period of competition is undesirable. Instead, a more profitable high-density forest is established, and the early seral stage of forest development is shortened or eliminated. This creates “a biological desert,” said Corbin, “You have conifer trees and hardly any understory—any vegetation at all. You can literally count the number of plants and animals on one hand.”

That is why managing forests, like that surrounding Crabtree Lake, requires an eye for biodiversity. Forest density and early seral species should be considered. We don’t just need a bunch of any kind of plant, but we need an assortment of plants.

Look-Alike

Of course, even between deciduous understory trees, diversity of species is important. When hiking through a forest, it is easy to be blind to plant diversity. Everything can seem nondescript in a wash of greenery. But with a keen eye, even close look-alike species can be distinguished from one another.

As we walked through a tunnel of deciduous trees and shrubs, Corbin pointed out a couple of look-alike pairs of species hidden in the foliage.

One of the pairs that sat side-by-side was the Vine Maple and Rocky Mountain Maple also called Douglas Maple. Though very similar looking in size and general shape, vine maples tend to have more lobes, usually nine, than Rocky Mountain Maple, usually three. Also, the Rocky Mountain Maple’s leaves have sharply toothed margins, while the Vine Maple’s leaves’ margins are doubly toothed.

Red Alder and Sitka Alder were another pair of look-alikes found on the trail. Again, though similar looking at first glance, the growth form of the Red Alder is straighter and taller, while the Sitka Alder is shorter and more shrubby. Also, if you look closely at the leaves, the Red Alders’ leaf margins roll under slightly, while the Sitka Alders’ leaf margins are sharply toothed.

All this to say, there are a lot of different kinds of green-stuff in a forest.

Rocky Mountain Maple leaf overlaid with Vine Maple Leaf.

A Special Place

Before dropping down toward the lake, Corbin and I stopped to look down at where we were headed. Corbin explained that we were about to enter a really special place. Perhaps one of the oldest forests in Oregon, the Crabtree Lake Valley, and surrounding areas, are all part of the Crabtree Valley Complex—“An Area of Critical Environmental Concern (ACEC) due to its outstanding geological, recreational, and ecological value.”

Crabtree Valley was created during the last ice age. Glaciers carved out large amphitheater-like valleys, called cirques, which protected much of the forest from fire for perhaps 1,000 years. Later, for whatever reason, it remained unlogged. Making it a perfect example of a late-successional forest and refuge for species, like the Northern Spotted Owl.

So when the BLM acquired the land in the 1980s, it fell under ACEC status and a management plan was put in place in order to protect its values. Which brings us to today where it is still under a resources management plan as a late-successional reserve.

View into the meadow with protective rock.

Management to Protect

One of the ways the BLM has been working to meet the goals of the resource management plan is by reducing roadways in the area. Though some areas within the Crabtree Lake Complex were never logged, logging was still rampant in the region. In fact, the first part of our hike was on an old logging road through an area that was probably logged in the 70s or 80s.

So in order to enhance and restore what we might expect from a late-successional reserve, the BLM decommissioned most of the roads, ripped them up, put in waterbars, and took out culverts—all efforts to restore the natural functions of the forest.

Give a Hoot

Eventually, we made our way down to the lower valley floor and into the late-successional forest reserve. Here we took a sharp left onto another road Corbin said he usually uses to access the property. He also told me that the road is where the BLM does surveys for Northern Spotted Owl. Every half-mile along the road is a survey station where a biologist will stop for 10 minutes to call and listen for spotted owls.

There are two pairs of spotted owls reported within the watershed, Corbin said, because “the habitat is so great in this area.” This is unusual because spotted owls usually need a 1.2 mile home range in the Cascades, but these nesting pairs are only about a half-mile apart. Not only that, but last year the pairs each had two juveniles. Which is remarkable because, as Corbin explained, “other than that, there was zero reproduction in spotted owls from Sweet Home in the BLM up to the Columbia River.”

Wear Layers

Continuing down the road, the dynamics of the forest opened up— there were tall douglas-fir trees and hemlock; open areas with shrubs and smaller trees; and snags and down logs.

“One of the big things about late-successional forests too is the structure,” said Corbin. You want to see “horizontal and vertical heterogeneity” in a late-successional forest.

Basically, a forest like the one we were observing, starts with a lot of Douglas-fir, but then over the next hundred years, holes open up in the canopy that allows shrubs and shade-tolerant trees, like hemlock, to grow and fill in gaps.

This development of structure is important because it creates habitat for wildlife. A forest that lacks diverse forest structure is simply not conducive to the wildlife that needs late-successional forest.

Corbin told me about a transect study that looked at how flying squirrels fared when there were big trees, but no holes for shrubs and smaller trees available for the development of an understory. The squirrels had the big trees they needed for food and nesting, but there was not enough cover for them to avoid predation. Needless to say, the outcome wasn’t great for the squirrels

Highly structured forest observed along the road.

A Rotten Heart

At one point, Corbin and I came across a down tree with heart rot. Which brings me to another component of late-successional forest that adds to its complexity— dead stuff.

If the down tree with heart rot was actually standing, or a snag, it would provide habitat for cavity nesters like woodpeckers. As a large down log, it creates habitat for hundreds of invertebrates, bacteria, and fungi, as well as amphibians.

The importance of dead trees cannot be overemphasized. In fact, often land managers create snags by girdling trees in an attempt to mimic the natural process of snag formation. Unfortunately, according to Corbin, it generally doesn’t work very well. The natural process is slow, possibly taking a couple of hundred years for a snag to form. There really isn’t a quick way to recreate that.

In addition, Oregon slender salamanders, a species of concern, rely on the late-successional forest for large down wood. This species is endemic to Oregon and is doing O.K. right now, but as timber harvesting continues to produce young 20-30 years old forests, things could get dicey. Less large down wood means less of an important microhabitat that Oregon slender salamanders need to survive.

This is why on federal public lands, Corbin explained, “we are trying to institute measures to have leave trees, and these are the legacy trees from the previous cohort, and those are the ones that have all the lichens and bryophytes—create a little refugium—and those eventually become snags and fall over.”

Downed Log with heart rot as seen on the trail.

Leave it to Beaver

Not long after passing the downed log, Corbin and I headed off-trail to check on a beaver dam analog (BDA) that was put in last fall. As we climbed through the underbrush, Corbin explained that beavers were historically present in the wet meadow we were about to visit, pooling the water and creating a much larger lake. We even some old beaver sign to confirm it.

However, when roads were constructed in the area, the beavers disappeared. Corbin hypothesized that they could have been trapped. Since then, trees have started to encroach into the wet meadow, altering the historically flooded area and shrinking the lake.

Then, a couple of years ago, Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife and BLM joined forces in an effort to reintroduce beavers into the area. Several beavers were released into the watershed. But they didn’t stay.

Now, the BLM is working on a soft release program in the hopes that the next group of beavers they introduce won’t go away. That is why the BLM constructed the BDA—in an effort to make the meadow homier. Once established, beavers, a keystone species, will naturally alter the ecosystem; hopefully, restoring the meadow to historical conditions.

A Beaver Dam Analog (a.k.a—fake beaver dam) in the wet meadow.

Fishing for Fishers

After visiting the BDA, Corbin and I continued a bit further down the road before making our way back into the woods again. This time we bushwacked our way to one of the camera-traps Corbin needed to reset. The camera traps were set up as part of a Forest Carnivore Research Project started by Katie Moriarty from Oregon State University. The BLM adopted a project grid area, and are working on tracking the carnivores that visit each camera trap site.

The overall goal of the projects is to determine if Pacific Fishers are present in the Western Cascades. Historically, Corbin shared, Pacific Fishers ranged from California up through British Columbia. But their range has shrunk in Oregon over the years and now there is no record of Pacific Fishers anywhere north of Eugene. Later, as part of the carnivore project, Fishers will hopefully be reintroduced into areas like the Crabtree Lake Valley.

As Corbin worked to reset the camera trap and bait it, I asked him about why the reintroduction of Fishers is important. He explained that Fishers are candidate species for ESA listing, which makes them important in the eyes of the government. Candidate species are in danger of extinction in at least part of their range.

Species extinction is a concern because, as mentioned earlier, each species has a role in the ecosystem. Pacific Fishers are top predators. They help regulate populations of organisms that sit below them in the food chain. They are also opportunistic feeders and primarily prey on small mammals, including squirrels and even porcupines. Thus the loss of Fishers could have ripple effects on the forest food web—allowing porcupine populations to increase, for example, which could lead to excessive damage to trees they feed on.

Carnivore Project bate opposite camera trap.

Forest Walking

After resetting the first camera trap, we did some serious bushwhacking up to the next one before heading down to crabtree lake. As we made our way to the lake, I was taken aback by the grandeur of the forest. I felt small beside the mammoth-sized trees, but at the same time, perfectly natural walking across a huge moss-covered log. We were really in the thick of the forest.

Here we did the forest dance—climbing, ducking, and trying not to trip. We saw more life, including a small salamander hiding amongst a pile of old deadwood. We talked about huckleberries that would ripen in late summer. And craned our necks looking up at the tallest trees in the forest.

During the last leg of our hike, the biodiversity of habitat and species was all around us—the promise of spotted owls, flying squirrels, and future fisher. This is what hiking in a forest is all about!

Corbin doing the “forest dance” as we bushwhacked our way to Crabtree Lake.

Corbin Murphy is a Wildlife Biologist for the Salem District of Bureau of Land Management. He has been with the BLM for 11 years and currently works in the Cascades Field Office. He has also worked for the U.S. Forest Service.

Hike with a Forest Hydrologist

Views from the Table Rock Wilderness Trail

“All life depends on it.”

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

A System in Balance

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

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

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

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

Land Management

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

Jonas begins his descent from the meadows near Rooster Rock.

The Hike

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

Views of a Patchwork Forests

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

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

Beyond the Horizon

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

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

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

Modifying the Land

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

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

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

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

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

Looking toward the Table Rock Wilderness Area.

Quality and Quantity

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

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

Clean, Clear Water

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

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

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

Keeping it Clean

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

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

Too much or Too Little of a Good thing

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

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

Hard Decisions

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

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

A Spring!

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

Geology Brief

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

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

Columnar basalt on the base of Table Rock.

Hidden Water

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

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

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

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

Let it Snow

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

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

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

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

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

Wondering about Watersheds

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

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

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

A Drop at the Top

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

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

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

One of many views from the top of Table Rock.

An Uncut Forest

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

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

View of a wildflower meadow looking up at Rooster Rock.

Things are Changing

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

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

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

Sweat Worthy

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

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

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

Hike with a Hydrologist

The Zigzag River flowing through the forest.

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

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

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

The Beginning

Which brings me to where our story begins…

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

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

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

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

The Hike

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

A Giant Reset

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

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

The Sequence

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

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

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

Loose Landscapes

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

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

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

Sediment Stratigraphy

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Reckoning

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

A Giant Sandbox

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

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

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

Let’s go play!

Hydrology Basics

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

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

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

Gradient

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

Streamflow

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

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

Play Pooh Sticks

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

Riffle-riffle-riffle

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

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

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

Riffle-riffle-riffle morphology on the Zigzag River.

Wood is a Wildcard

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

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

Small Jam

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

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

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

Big Jam

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

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

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

Restoration in Reverse

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

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

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

Lost in Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hike with a Habitat Wildlife Biologist

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

10 Essentials

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

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

Meet Bill

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

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

Bill Wieler standing next to a Pacific yew.

The Hike

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

Yew Should Consider the Yew

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

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

Wildlife is Essential

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

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

Edible red huckleberries were abundant along the trail.

Moving Up

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

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

Forest Dynamics

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

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

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

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

Observations of a Forest

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

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

Fish Need Forests

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

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

Down-tree that Bill pointed out during our hike.

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

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

The Log Father

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

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

Dismal to Happy

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

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

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

How to Restore

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

The floodplain channel still filled with water in June.

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

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

Looking Out for Fish

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

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

Living with Wildlife

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

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

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

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

Risk Perception

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

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

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

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

A Changing Climate

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

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

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

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

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

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

A patch of old growth found along the trail.

Appreciating Wildlife

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

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

I tend to agree.

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

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

Hike with a Geophysicist

Robert (Bob) Lillie at the summit of Marys Peak

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

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

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

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

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

The Hike

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

Marys Peak Rocks

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

Bob’s bicycle helmet model of Marys Peak.

Cool Rocks

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weathering Time

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

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

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

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

Mini-Yosemite

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

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

Spheroidal exfoliation on a gabbro outcropping

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

Hard as a Rock

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

Island in the Sky

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

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

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

A gabbro wildflower rock garden on Marys Peak

Marys Desert?!?

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

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

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

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

Story Beneath the Scenery

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

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

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

Moving Plates

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

Born in the Ocean

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

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

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

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

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

Volcanic Peaks

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

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

Don’t Sweat!

Yep! Once again, plate tectonics provides an explanation.

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

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

The Dynamic Duo: Uplift and Erosion

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

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

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

Story of People

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

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

“What do you see?” He said.

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

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

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

Back to the Future

I am not ready to say goodbye to Marys Peak.

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

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

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

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

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

Feeling Unwell? Get Back to Nature

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

These Challenging Times

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

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

Seeking Help

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

Nature is my Therapist

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

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

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

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

On Being EcoWell

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

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

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

With Intention

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

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

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

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

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

Tips to Make the Most of It

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

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

Small Stuff

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

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

Be EcoWell.

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

Hike with a Volcanologist

Entering the Blast Zone

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

The Hike

Hike at a Glance

Trailhead: Shellburg Falls Trailhead

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

Elevation Gain: about 400 feet

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

Mariah Tilman on the Shellburg Falls trail.

Volcanology Basics

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

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

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

Safety First

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

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

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

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

It’s All Downhill

A small pile of angular rocks found along the trail.

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

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

Think like a Geologist

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

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

Hotspot or Subduction?

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

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

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

Igneous Rocks, Rock!

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

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

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

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

Count the Minerals

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

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

Crystal Clear

Outcropping of rock found near the Shellburg Creek bridge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Free Fallin’

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

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

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

Blanketed in Basalt

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

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

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

Ancient Waters

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

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

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

Rock on!

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

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

Hike with a Snow Scientist

View up Potato Hill trail from trailhead.

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

Ah, snow— tiny frozen ice crystals falling from the sky. Snow is amazing— chillingly beautiful and fun to play in. Great for skiing, snowshoeing, sledding, and don’t forget building snowmen. But most of the world’s snow is ephemeral. It is like a holiday, or romantic tryst—magical at the moment but doesn’t last.

However, it is the ephemeral nature of snow that perhaps makes it so vital. The fact that snow hangs out for a while on the landscape is one of the most important features of snow. How snow accumulates, shifts and changes form, and eventually melts away, significantly influences the ecology, hydrology, and natural resources of the land.

Change

Christina Aragon on the top of Potato Hill.

While snow is a great influencer, it is also greatly influenced. From its start as a snowflake falling from the sky, its fate depends on a host of environmental factors. Just a little nudge in temperature, or a small shift in humidity, and snow will change. It may fall as sleet, or turn into rain. It may not accumulate or melt early.

Concerns around changing snow, brought me to reach out to Christina Aragon, snow hydrologist and Ph.D. student at Oregon State University. After seeing her speak at a TapTalk in early February 2020, I HAD to see if she would be up for a snowshoe with me. She agreed. And before the month was up, we headed into the Cascade Mountains to find some snow.

The Hike

Trailhead: Potato Hill Sno-park
Distance: 3.5 miles, with a possible 5+ mile loop option by adding the forested Hash Brown Loop.
Elevation Gain: about 800 feet
Notes: Sno-pass is required for parking. There is no restroom at the trailhead. The parking lot is not huge. Snowshoe route follows Jack Pine Road. The elevation is 4,200 feet.

Special as a Snowflake

We arrived at the Potato Hill Sno-park late in the morning. The snow was falling as we strapped into our gear. It was still falling as Christina and I began our steep ascent through the white and drifted snow.

We had gone no more than a few 100 yards when Christina wistfully reached out and caught a few snowflakes on her glove. I leaned in closer to have a look. Christina explained as I tried to make the details in the tiny crystals on her glove that, though each snowflake is unique, snowflakes can be classified by their shape.

Different snowflake shapes will form depending on the temperature and relative humidity in the atmosphere. The snowflakes that were falling while we headed up potato hill were mostly clusters of needles. Needles, which look a lot like their namesake, form when the temperature is relatively warmer and humidity is at mid-range.

Christina also caught a stellar dendrite in flight, but it quickly melted into her glove.

Stellar dendrites look more like a classic snowflake- flat with six intricate lace arms coming out from a center. Stellar dendrites will form when humidity is higher and temperatures are a bit warmer, or if the humidity is really high, but temperatures are cold. (They also form when you combine a six-year-old with a white piece of paper and scissors, but I digress.)

Several different snowflakes can fall at one time, but usually, one type predominates.

Other snowflake shapes include columns, capped columns, and six-sided plates.

Also, keep in mind snowflakes are small, defined as a single crystal. If you are looking out the window at what appear to be large fluffy snowflakes, these are actually clumps of snowflakes falling together. This occurs when flakes fall and start to warm up, melting into each other.

What’s the Graupel?

Not all ice falling from the sky is snow or made up of snowflakes.

Graupel is another form of falling ice crystals. Graupel forms when a falling snowflake collects supercooled water droplets on its surface forming a large (2-5 cm) rounded pellet. Though not a snowflake, graupel is a type of snow.

In contrast, sleet is not snow because, though it may start as snow, it melts and refreezes into ice.

Who knew that just defining snow would be so complicated?

A slice of snow cake

Up the tree-lined road, we continued walking along what felt to me like very stable snow.

Just a couple of weeks ago, I had been snowshoeing through snow that was very unstable. That got me wondering—Why was that? What happens to snow once it reaches the ground? Why was the snow today such a pleasure to walk on compared to before? I asked Christina for the skinny on-ground snow.

Once the snow falls to the ground, like a caterpillar in a chrysalis, it begins to undergo metamorphosis (though the change is less predictable than you get with a monarch). The best way to see these changes is to dig in and look at the layers.

Digging a snow pit reveals a snow profile. A snow profile serves as a record of events in the “life history” of the snowpack. It can also help you determine its stage of metamorphosis—is it becoming more or less stable, for example? So that is what we did.

Our snow profile revealed fairly stable snowpack conditions. By running a finger or two through, and into, the snow layers, we were able to identify a softer “new snow layer” and a deeper layer of very “stable rounds”.

Rounds dug from the lower portion of the snow profile.

New snow layers still retain some of their original crystalline shapes and are less dense. While deeper in the snow, either rounds or facets will form depending on the temperature gradient.

Rounds form in snowpack when the temperature range through the snow is pretty similar throughout the snowpack, or isothermal. When the temperature gradient has more than a 1 ° C change for every 10 cm of the snowpack, this is a sign that facets are forming.

Facets are unstable and can lead to avalanche danger. Unlike rounds that have sinters that hold the snow together, facets are large and angular with points and don’t stick together well. Imagine “sticking your finger into sugar” and that is kind of like what facets feel like, explained Christina.

Rain Crusts

In addition to the two main layers, our finger test revealed a small rain crust in our snow profile. Rain on snow is a source of latent energy, as the liquid water freezes on the snow, energy is released into the snowpack.

A rain crust can also change the movement of water through the snow. Instead of water flowing vertically through the snowpack and into the soil below, water can flow horizontally through the snowpack along the ice layer.

One of these Snow is not like the Others

In the Cascade Mountains, having a stable snowpack is actually the norm compared to other places in the U.S. Snowpacks in maritime snow climates, like the Oregon Cascades, generally form right at freezing temperatures, building deep, dense, wet snowpacks. In continental mountain ranges, like the Rockies, temperatures are much colder, and the air is much drier creating a shallow, less dense snowpack. Think fluffy “champagne powder.”

The maritime climate of Oregon’s Cascades results, not only in relatively warmer, but much deeper and denser snowpack. Warm moist air is carried inland from the west, sometimes on huge atmospheric rivers, and pushed up over the Cascade Mountains- this is called orographic lift. The result is that as this air rises, it cools, and the moisture is squeezed out as rain or snow.

Losing Structure

The unstable snowpack I experienced a few weeks ago, was probably due to a loss of structure that can occur with mid-season melt (another very Oregonian snow predicament). In this case, mid-season melt probably caused most of the sinters that hold the rounded snow together to melt away. The remaining snow was more like a loose collection of rounded pebbles of ice with very little strength.

Snow on Fire

The transition from forest to burn area.

Nearing the top of Potato Hill, the scenery changed from snow-covered trees to more open terrain. The B&B Complex fire of 2003 burnt down much of the forest in this area.

Observing snow in burnt forest areas, was one of the ways Christina first became interested in studying snow. In B.C., when one of her favorite forested snow recreation areas was burnt, she noticed that the snowpack was gone MUCH earlier than before the fire. Christina was later able to work with Dr. Kelly Gleason on a research project that explained the phenomenon.

Black Snow

We hiked up to one of the burnt trees on Potato Hill where Christina pointed out its charred bark. She explained how black carbon and micro-charcoal particles from trees and other sources end up in the snow following a burn.

Snow normally is very reflective of the sun’s rays—it has a high albedo. However, as dark particles accumulate on snow’s reflective surface, instead of bouncing back, the rays get absorbed by the black carbon, heating up and melting the snow!

We dug into the snow to see if we could see the particulates in the snow on Potato Hill. Despite the fire being over 10 years ago, the snow still looked dirty with particulates.

More Melt

However, black snow is only one factor that affects snowmelt in the west. Climate change is causing shifts in both the quantity and timing of snowfall in the western United States. Many places in the west are already seeing a decline in snowpack and a shift to earlier spring snowmelt, trends that are expected to continue.

This is a huge problem! Snow is a reservoir for our water supply—storing water for later in the year when we need it. In the western U.S., about 70% of our runoff originates with snow. With the timing of snowmelt shifting to earlier in the year, runoff is making it into our valleys too soon, and we don’t have the supply we need for later in the year.

A Vicious Cycle

Less snow means less reflection of light from the sun (lower albedo), which means more heat absorption and more melting—a vicious cycle.

Earlier melting of snow also results in dryer forest soil in the summer and a longer fire season, which means more black snow and more melting. Another vicious cycle. To make matters worse, the effects of black carbon on snow are not short-lived either—lasting 10 years or more.

Snow Measurement

Pelted by crystalline water droplets, Christina and I reached a “viewpoint.” Here we stopped to celebrate with pictures and a snow depth measurement.

A big part of Christina’s Ph.D. work involves improving models of snow distribution in mountainous and remote places in order to better understand water resource availability during the year. In order to do this work, good reliable snow data is needed. In particular, she needs to know the SWE of snow. SWE is snow water equivalent, the amount of water contained in the snowpack, and is based on snow depth x snow density.

Measuring SWE is not easy to do and involves heavy equipment that most people don’t want to carry in their packs. So instead of measuring SWE, Christina encourages and promotes a citizen science project called Community Snow Observations. Data gathered by the project is used to validate data gathered remotely and improve snow models. And the best part is it is easy. Using an avalanche probe, or even a ruler, you take several depth measurements, average them, and then report the value using an app.

Become a Citizen Scientist

Finding SWE from depth using both ground and remote sensing technologies is a hot area of research in the hydrology world. It is also research anyone can get involved in. If you want to do your part visit communitysnowobs.org to learn more.

Shifting Snow

On our way back down the hill to the car, Christina and I talked more about what to look for when in a snowpack environment.

The distribution and build-up of snow on the ground are always in flux, which can make it both extremely interesting to explore, as well as very complex and hazardous. Here are a few variables to consider while hiking in the snow.

Number 1- Trees.

The effects of trees on snowpack are complicated.

Trees can intercept snow, preventing it from reaching the ground where it accumulates, and increasing rates of sublimation, the direct transition of snow to water vapor. When branches of a tree are wide with low hanging branches, like most conifers this can also result in the formation of dangerous tree wells.

Trees also emit longwave radiation, like other dark objects, making the snow around trees slightly warmer than open areas, which may lead to more melting, particularly at the tree’s base. However, at the same time, forests block a lot of incoming solar radiation from reaching the forest floor, slowing down snowmelt in many forests.

Number 2- Wind.

The wind moves snow around a lot. Where the wind is going and coming from changes the profile of the snowpack—making it more shallow in some areas, and in others really deep and hazardous. Wind loaded slopes are a real avalanche danger that can occur on downward slopes where wind piles up snow. Wind scoured slopes, like the top of a peak, will have a shallow profile and can be difficult to travel on.

Number 3- Elevation

In general, the higher up you are in elevation the more snow will accumulate (with the exception of peaks scoured by high winds). Snow profiles deepen at high elevations and may present more layers. Thus, to understand the snowpack in an area, it is generally a good idea to dig snow pits at multiple elevations and locations.

Number 4- Aspect.

North-facing slopes receive less solar radiation than south-facing slopes. Even on a small scale, once the snowpack enters the ablation period, where it is melting off, south-slopes will melt off faster.

Number 5- Slope Angle.

One of the easiest factors to keep in mind when considering potential hazards in a snowpack area is the terrain. Steeper slopes are much more prone to avalanches. If your slope is between 20-25 degrees or less, your risk of avalanches drops significantly.

Let it Snow

Phew! That was a veritable blizzard of snow information! So don’t let it melt away. Instead, hit the snowshoe trail, catch some snowflakes, dig a snow pit or two, measure the snow, or simply watch the snowfall. And next time you take a shower or sip your favorite beverage, think about those cool white flakes. Because odds are, that liquid you are enjoying, first fell as snow!

Christina Aragon is a Ph.D. student at Oregon State University studying hydraulic modeling. Originally from Denver, Colorado, she has experience in avalanche operations and snowboarding. She got her undergraduate from the University of British Columbia where she studied kinesiology and ecology. She got her master’s in Geography from Portland State University where she studied hydro-climatology.

Hike with a Wildlife Biologist

Wild about Wildlife

I love wildlife. Watching a bird on the wing or a deer bounding by makes me feel connected to, and appreciative of, the rich web of life on our planet. Wildlife encounters can also be a source of inspiration and awe. It can be a humbling experience to stand in the majesty of an animal’s presence.

However, with so many reports of negative wildlife encounters in recent years, with lives lost (both human and animal), the positive experiences of viewing wildlife are sometimes juxtaposed against a background of fear and uncertainty. The romanticized idea of wildlife and people living in harmony is exactly that- romanticized. By definition a wild animal IS wild and will behave as such.

Our Love will Survive

Nancy Taylor on the Calloway Creek Trail

As human populations grow and spread more into wild places, we are encroaching into the homes of our wild neighbors. So what can we do? How can we deal with our current situation?

As I headed to the trailhead to meet Nancy Taylor, ODFW Wildlife Biologist on Valentine’s Day (nonetheless), for a hike in the McDonald-Dunn forest, these questions remained at the front of my mind. Can people and wildlife ever find love again?

Perhaps I am a romantic, but I believe the answer to that question is YES! So grab some chocolate, or your preferred hiking aphrodisiac, and join me on a hike with a wildlife biologist.

The Hike

Hike at a Glance

Trailhead: Road 540 Trailhead (Parking area right off I-5, opposite ODFW offices)

Elevation Gain: 200 ft

Miles: 3 miles

Notes: Additional parking can be found at the Peavy Arboretum Trailhead. There are many options for adding mileage to the hike. The hike takes place in the McDonald-Dunn Forests, research forest for Oregon State University. This is a popular hiking area for locals. A Map of the trail system is available online.

Blurring the Line

From the trailhead, Nancy and I headed southwest into a Douglas-fir forest chatting about what it is like to work for ODFW as a wildlife biologist.

Nancy explained that her work entails a lot of public relations and outreach. Though her primary duties are with game animals, she is often dealing with reports of wildlife sightings and alerting the public of these sightings. It has become a large part of her job over the years.

One of the reasons we chose this hike, in particular, is because the McDonald-Dunn forest has become a mecca for wildlife encounters. The Calloway Creek hike is not in a remote area. In fact, part of the trail abuts a street of homes. Yet there are countless wildlife sighting made here and warning signs posted frequently at the trailheads.

Playing Games with my Heart

Wildlife encounters near cities with lots of green space, is not surprising. Forests provide many important wildlife needs, like food, water, and shelter.

I asked Nancy how the forest we were hiking through ranked when it comes to wildlife habitat. She said it was “not bad.” With a decent amount of browse, nuts and berries it should support species like deer and wild turkey.

However, though both of us had seen turkey on the trail in the past, neither of us had seen deer in the area before. Perhaps they found better forage in nearby backyards?

Deer game trail- spotted near the start of the hike.

In any event, it didn’t take long to spot a game trail (most likely from deer) running through the forest.

A game trail is a path created by an animal, like deer, through repeated use. Just like people, animals often follow particular paths through an area while they search for food. Even though you may not see the animal, you can gather signs that that were there. Game trails are easy to spot and can be fun to explore while on a hike, especially when the ground is soft enough to reveal the animal’s tracks.

Who are you?

Looking for tracks on another well established game trail.

On one of the game trails, Nancy and I spotted what looked like cat tracks- probably bobcat, based on their size. There were also tons of canine tracks. But they weren’t wolf or coyote- rather, domestic dog tracks. Which begs the question-Are dog tracks wildlife sign? What exactly is wildlife?

Wildlife is any non-domesticated animal- any bird, mammal, amphibian, or reptile that keeps house in the great outdoors is wildlife. Dogs, cats, cows, and most horses are NOT wildlife. But they can still be fun to look at.

Endless Love? Setting Limits.

I asked Nancy if there are certain wildlife species that are a priority for ODFW. She said that game species are the priority. Tracking elk and deer populations is necessary in order to set tag limits and manage game populations.

ODFW and other wildlife management agencies will conduct spotlight deer surveys where they drive around during certain times of the year counting animals at night when they are most active. For Elk, helicopter surveys are used for a count.

You may remember from high school Biology class that populations have a natural carrying capacity. Basically, wildlife populations are limited by their environment as resources are scarce and predators and other threats are an ever present problem. In the managed world we live in, carrying capacity has become culturally set- based on human needs and desires, as well as the health and well-being of the population. When it comes to managing wildlife populations, people are a huge part of the equation.

Roadkill

Another source of information for wildlife biologists on how wildlife is doing is roadkill. Sadly, another consequence of people moving through places that animals frequent is that they are far too often hit by cars. An Oregon law that went into effect January of 2019, makes it legal for anyone to salvage the meat of a deer or elk that was accidentally killed in a car collision . A permit must be filled with ODFW within 24 hours of when the animal is salvaged, and everything must be done according to specific guidelines. One such requirement is that the head and antlers must be turned into ODFW within 5 days of salvage. These heads then become a source of important information on wildlife for ODFW. Age can be determined by looking at the teeth of the animals. Other health conditions can also be examined.

Nancy told me she had just dissected an elk head that day to look for signs of chronic wasting disease (CWD). Caused by a prion- a misfolded protein that causes disease in the brains of animals (kinds of like mad cow), CWD creates holes in the brain tissues of elk, leading to strange behaviors, emaciation, loss of function, and even death. Though not in Oregon yet, this disease is devastating to elk populations in other areas of the country; and there is potential for spread into other animal populations as well, including humans, though no cases have been reported to date.

My Habitat is Better than yours

Continuing on our hike, we entered a couple of my favorite spots on this trail- 1) a mossy green riparian area dominated by big leaf maple trees and 2) an Oregon White Oak woodland further up-trail. As I paused to take in the beauty of each of these familiar spots, Nancy explained how valuable these places are for wildlife.

Riparian areas are incredibly important to wildlife, especially when you think of the disconnected landscapes that wildlife encounter with human roadways and development. Riparian areas act as natural corridors for animals to move about the landscape. They provide water and a food source for many organisms as well. Though they can make up less than 1% of the landscape, riparian areas are used by a lot of different species.

Oak woodlands are great because of their abundance of food. It is all about the nuts and berries! Wildlife signs were much more obvious and abundant when we crossed into this area. We saw holes in trees and multiple burrows with acorn shells scattered in their entryways.

Walk on by

Two invasive species found on the trail- Armenian Blackberry and shiny geranium.

As the trail looped back in the direction we came, we entered what looked like heavily impacted area. There were more invasive species, like Armenian blackberry, holly, and shining geranium, and the forest had less shrubs that would make good browse for deer. Invasive species, according to Nancy, are problematic for wildlife species for many reasons, they out-compete native vegetation that may be an important food source for some species, and invasives, like Armenian blackberry, can restrict movement for other species, like deer. Overall, invasive species impact on wildlife is mixed. What might not be a big deal, and perhaps help one species, can really cause problems for another.

Show ’em Some Love

As we were getting nearer to the end of the trail, I started thinking more about what might be done to resolve problems between animals and humans. I asked Nancy, what can people do to help wildlife?

With the biggest problems facing wildlife being habitat loss, Nancy recommended making this the focus.

There are many simple things people can do to get involved. Nancy suggested planting native plants that deer and elk can feed on, or putting up bird boxes, for example. Remove invasive species on your property, or get involved in a community invasive removal, or help with a native planting. Also, don’t feed wildlife directly. Dependency on humans for food is unhealthy for a wild animal.

You can also support laws and initiatives that put habitat conservation at the forefront of policy. According to Nancy, in Oregon there is a need for forestry policies that ensure better forest habitat. Nancy shared her concern regarding the loss of understory plants from plantation cuttings. Being involved in movements to improve forestry practices is another way to help on a larger scale.

Get to know ’em

More research into understanding population interactions and growth, especially for both our predatory species and game species, can also help. Understanding how animals move across the landscape through fragmented habitat can inform management decisions.

Wildlife corridors is another consideration, though an expensive one, for helping wildlife deal with our impingement into their range. At the same time, putting up fences to help keep animals off our own property can help prevent possible negative wildlife encounters.

Be Safe

Which brings me to another vital point. If we are going to rekindle our wildlife romance, we need to respect wildlife. Assume wildlife is around you, even if you don’t see it. Know what to do to be safe.

To put it in perspective, cougar populations are over 6,000 with a statewide range in Oregon. For safety, avoid being out alone during twilight hours and early morning, especially in areas that have good habitat nearby- and don’t run in these places. Even in a neighborhood setting, be alert and aware of your surroundings at times when cougars are active. If you do see a cougar, make yourself big. If you are attacked, fight back. And again, don’t run.

I’ll be Watching you

We didn’t see any cougar on the trail (though one may have seen us). However, not long before we made it back to the trailhead, movement in the trees overhead to our right caught my attention. Several birds flew across the trail, landing on some trees to the left, just ahead of where we stood. It was a varied thrush and brown creeper! This was our first and only wildlife sighting during the hike! The brown creeper entertained us for a moment by climbing up the tree trunk, while the varied thrush perched nearby showing its burnt-orange markings. Then, as quickly as they arrived, they were gone. There was no time to take a picture.

When on a trail, watching for movement, like that of our bird friends, is one of the best ways to spot wildlife. There are a lot of wildlife guides out there for those that want to identify birds or tracks/scat, but just paying attention to one’s surroundings, both sites and sounds, is a great way to start to find and appreciate wildlife. Evaluate the habitat potential for the places you frequent, as well, and be on alert in transition areas like the riparian forest or oak woodlands we saw earlier. Learn about what you might see and how this may change season to season. And if you really want to see wildlife, be out when wildlife are more active- within a few hours of dawn or sunset.

For the Love of Oregon

In the Pacific Northwest, there is no shortage of opportunities to view a variety of wildlife. Oregon has eight major ecoregions with unique flora and fauna due to its variable climate and soils. More habitat diversity means more wildlife diversity. Nancy recommends Cascade Head as a personal favorite hike for viewing wildlife- she once saw a giant pacific salamander on the trail! She also suggests heading toward the Cascade mountains for hiking. Canyon Creek Meadows is a beautiful hike near Three Fingered Jack that is recommended.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

A pile of acorn shells outside a burrow entry way- anybody home?

So get out there and enjoy some wildlife. Pay attention to your surroundings and be safe. Notice the habitat that surrounds you and, if you are so inclined, help protect and restore it. It is a privilege to have natural places near our homes and workplaces (for Nancy, nearly a stone’s throw away from her work), but it is not our space alone. Show some love for wildlife this Valentine’s day month by giving to wildlife what it needs- a little more space to call home.

Nancy Taylor has 17 years of experience working for ODFW out of the Corvallis, OR Office. She has a B.S. in Biological Sciences from Cornell and a Masters in Coastal Ecology from Louisiana State University. Much of her education and background has focused on wetland ecology and habitat conservation.