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Hike with a Predator-Prey Wildlife Ecologist

Wildlife populations are dynamic—ever-changing, depending on circumstances. They increase when resources are abundant and decrease when resources dwindle. Populations are limited by numerous factors that affect their ability to survive and reproduce. Factors, like predation or disease, that limit high-density populations more readily, as well as more sweeping large-scale factors, like habitat change or loss.

However, limiting factors are also wide-ranging and often entangled with each other—a giant web of factors where if you pull on one thread, others are sure to respond. This is where Taylor Ganz, Ph.D. candidate from the University for Washington, comes in. Taylor has been working for the last four years to understand how deer and elk populations in Washington have been changing as they respond to factors in their environment.

I met up with Taylor on a mostly sunny day for a hike in the Capitol State Forest near Olympia, WA to talk about her research and to learn more about population dynamics.

The Hike

Trailhead: Mima Falls Trailhead, Olympia, Wa
Distance: 6.5 miles
Elevation Gain: 700+ feet
Details: There is ample parking at the trailhead and a pit toilet. Trailhead is very accessible, but Discover Pass is required for parking. There are many options for trail routes through the area. The Mima falls Loop is part of Olympia’s Capitol State Forest.

For the Love of Science and the Outdoors.

As we started down the tree lined trail, Taylor told me a bit more about her background and research.

“I have always loved science and being outside,” said Taylor. So naturally, in college, she studied physics and mechanical engineering. “I thought I would work in alternative energy design and development,” she explained.

The problem was instead of doing engineering internships, like her classmates, she found herself drawn toward jobs in outdoor recreation and education. “I was working as a wilderness ranger… a flyfishing guide… a rock-climbing instructor…” For 5 years she worked for NOLS (National Outdoor Leadership School) before deciding “to get back to science.”

She started out at the Yale School of Forestry where she studied air pollution in sensitive alpine environments (tinyurl.com/scienceofsnowmelt), before making her way to the University of Washington to work in the Laura Prugh Lab on wildlife ecology.

Taylor Ganz stopping for a photo during our hike.

Predator-Prey

Now Taylor is deeply entrenched in her research at UW. Taylor’s research is part of a big collaborative project between the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife and The University of Washington called the Washington Predator-Prey Project (www.predatorpreyproject.weebly.com).

Wolves returned to Washington state in 2008 with just one breeding pair documented. Now, the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife reports there are at least 145 individual wolves in Washington. The Washington Predator-Prey project was mandated by the state legislature in 2016 with the goal to understand the impacts of the recolonization of the wolves.

Taylor’s part in the project is focused on how deer and elk populations are impacted by predators, like the recolonizing wolves, both directly, by killing them, and indirectly, by influencing their behaviors or other predators.

“Predators can impact individual prey by killing and eating them,” said Taylor, “…this may or may not impact prey at the population level.” Prey might avoid certain areas or move about differently in the presence of a predators. For example, the presence of a predator may cause deer to spend more time hiding and less time feeding. Of course, this can also have an indirect impact on the deer population by limiting food availability or stressing the animals, which could also decrease deer survival.

Taylor works two 5,000 square-kilometers study sites—one in the more populated northeast part of the state and a second in the less populated north-central part (situated on the east slope of the North Cascades). The northeast site has four wolf packs, while the northcentral site only had only two until recently.

Large-Scale Change

Young trees stood at attention on both sides of the wide gravel trail as we walked along. You could still see the stumps from the last harvest and grass-lined the trail.

“I am also interest in large-scale changes in the environment, like fires and timber harvest,” Taylor told me. This is why Taylor suggested visiting an active timber harvest site for our hike. Though her research sites are in the northeast and northcentral parts of Washington state, much of the sites contain active timber harvest as well.

Areas that have been harvested for timber have the potential to create good habitat and forage for deer and elk populations, at least for a few years. Harvesting timber opens the canopy so that sunlight can reach the ground, which can promote the growth of shrubs and herbs that deer and elk feed on. As the trees grow up, they can provide a place to rest and hide from predators.

The trail as we were getting started on our hike.

Keeping Track of Deer

Eventually, we dropped down into a section of forest with taller, but still not mature trees. Sword fern and Salal became the dominant understory and I was excited to see a few trilliums still in bloom. Enjoying the shaded trail, I asked Taylor to describe just how she goes about finding deer and tracking them.

“We need to track adult females and younger animals,” explained Taylor. Males are largely ignored for her study as they are abundant enough to get the females pregnant. Instead, the focus is on capturing and collaring adult female deer and elk and their fawns and calves.

“Elk are primarily captured by aerial darting, and mule deer are mostly collared by aerial rocket netting,” said Taylor. But for white-tailed deer, she often uses ground darting and special traps, called clover traps, to lure deer and capture them. Taylor described them as large boxes with a tripwire that closes the door. Bait, like corn, hay, or something called “sweet feed” is used to attract the deer inside. And once captured, the transmitter sends a text to Taylor, so she knows to check the trap.

When Taylor arrives at the trap, she needs to add a GPS tracker to the deer—this is a priority. To do so the clover trap is flattened and laid down on its side, essentially creating a “deer sandwich.” Taylor is then able to apply an anesthetic before tagging the deer.

The other tool Taylor uses to capture adult deer sounds a bit like a fourth of July firework or something military—”suspended rocket net.” This contraption uses a net with weighted corners that launches during capture overhead an unsuspecting deer. Bait is used to lure the deer into position below the net before it is launched. “It’s kind of like a bug in a spider web,” said Taylor.

One of several Pacific Trillium seen on the hike.

Tough Captures

Later, Taylor told me about the challenges of trying to capture new animals. First, it takes a lot of detective work, looking for “pellet piles” and tracks. Then the trap must be “appealing for the deer.” Taylor told me about a time her boyfriend and dad came with her into the field. She had them both dig a shallow ramp in the snow up to one of her traps to make it easier for a deer to enter.

“No, we need a really gentle entry,” she told them as they worked.

From then on, the trap was referred to as “The Ruby Creek Country Club,” based on its luxury accommodations and location.

Technology Revolution

No matter the method, once captured, the adult deer is collared with a GPS tracker, measurements are taken, and blood and hair samples collected. Vital signs are monitored during the process to ensure no harm. If the vitals deteriorate, the deer will be released. Blood is especially important for tracking pregnancy.

In addition, they will often ultrasound the deer in the field as well. And if pregnant, implant what is called a VIT (Vaginal Implant Transmitter). The VIT talks to the deer’s collar, texting Taylor when the VIT has been expelled during birth. From there, Taylor and her team can often track down the new fawn and add an expandable collar that uses radio telemetry to “speak” to the mom’s collar.

Currently, Taylor has about 200 ungulate “on air.” Each spring they capturing between 30-40 newborn fawns and elk calves.

“Much of the technology is really recent,” said Taylor. In the past, radio telemetry was really the only option for tracking animals, which requires more time in the field with receivers and triangulating positions. Now, GPS collars allow you to know where the animal is every 4 hours, and you can see their positions from the comfort of your own home if you want.

Elk Tracking

Of course, every animal is tracked differently. For Elk, for example, a mix of strategies is used, like aerial telemetry, in addition to GPS collar. It is also helpful to consider the behaviors of the animals for tracking. For example, often elk will move large distances in one day. When this movement stops suddenly in late May, this could mean a calf was born.

On the Look Out

At this point, we had made a few turns on our loop and were getting close to Mima Falls, our designated hiking destination. The forest was still fairly shaded with younger trees which made for a cool walk.

As we hiked, Taylor and I kept a lookout for signs of wildlife, but so far had not seen much if anything. Of course, that does not necessarily mean there is nothing around. I often think about the wildlife that I do not see while I am out hiking. Could there be eyes watching us now as we walk through the forest?

Deer are also on the lookout for other wildlife, especially predators. Of course, they are much more capable of detecting the presence of others than us poor-sensing humans. Interestingly, what a deer detects seems to matter a lot—changing their behaviors in possibly meaningful ways.

Wolves, Cougar, and Bear, Oh My!

Taylor mentioned a study out of Yellowstone that showed that when cougars were around, elk tended to move out into the open, but when wolves were around, they tended to move into more densely wooded areas. This makes a lot of sense, as cougar are ambush predators—stalking their prey and going in for a quick kill. Better to be out in the open where a sneak attack is more difficult. While wolves are coursing predators—chasing their prey to exhaustion. Better to be well hidden where it is difficult to chase.

“We have collared wolves and cougar, as well,” Taylor told me, as part of the Washington Predator-Prey Project. Using a movement modeling technique called a “step selection function,” Taylor is also looking at how deer and elk are responding to predators.

“Basically, the model considers a handful of possible routes a deer or elk might take, based on their location at a given time, and compares it to the track they actually take. Then, by looking out how their choices change in the presence of cougar, for example, we can see if they are altering their habitat use.”

She is also looking at if humans are influencing these interactions as well. “One of the thoughts is that they might move more toward people because predators tend to be more human adverse,” Taylor shared.

Playing Nicely

“Do they play nice?” I asked Taylor, referring to the cougars and wolves.

Though not her primary focus, Taylor told me that one of her collaborators is working to answer this very question. One thought is that cougar might move into higher elevation areas if wolves are nearby, but there are more than wolves and cougar to consider.

“Bobcats, bears, and coyotes too. All of these can eat deer and elk at some point during an ungulate’s life,” explained Taylor.

Previous research indicates that some mesopredators, like bobcat and coyotes, will change their temporal activity when apex predators, like wolves, are around. And that coyotes and bobcats may find human interaction less threatening when apex predators are present.

Fun in the Field

We continued past a couple of gorgeous incense cedar trees growing along the trail, admiring them as we went. The forest had not changed a lot, but the trail leveled off during the last stretch to the waterfall.

I asked Taylor if there were other ways, other than trapping, that data was being gathered on wildlife populations for the Washington Predator-Prey Project.

“There is another PhD candidate, Sarah Bassing, that has over 100 camera traps set up,” Taylor exclaimed. “She is looking at interactions on a large scale.”

Taylor also told me about another way they are using camera traps to track scavenger behavior at carcasses.

Scat is also collected for most of the carnivores in the research project. “There is a couple of key pieces of information it can tell us,” explained Taylor: 1) what did the animal eat, and 2) who left the scat? You can even use how much scatt is collected to estimate how many individuals of a species are out there.

Overall, “There is going to be three PhD dissertations, one master’s thesis, and additional papers” published around the Predator-Prey project. And hopefully a synthesis paper will be written, Taylor suggested, but probably not for many years.

Waterfalling in Love with Plants

We eventually made it to the Mima Falls. It was not particularly spectacular, but we still took a short break to take in the views and snap a couple of photos, before heading back onto the trail.

“Well, this is the type of forest I am used to…but with a little less fern and more shrub” said Taylor as we walked along through the canopy-filtered light. The forest was still mostly well-spaced young Douglas-fir.

“We run habitat surveys in the summer,” said Taylor. “We have documented three-hundred plants in the understory.”

Taylor admitted that after a long fawn and calf capture season in the winter, focusing on plants is a nice change of pace. “It can feel so relaxing,” she remarked, and “I have been able to learn a lot of plants.”

Of course, good sources of vegetation are important to deer and elk success. I asked Taylor if deer have any preference toward certain plants. Taylor mentioned a study conducted by Lisa Shipley, from Washington State University, where captive deer are observed, and what they eat is recorded “bite for bite.”Mule deer tend to prefer deciduous shrubs, such as willows and serviceberry, while white-tailed deer favor forbs such as heartleaf arnica, bunchberry, and even strawberries.

Migration

As we looped up the trail, we entered a more mature forest with several older, larger trees. While we walked, our conversation migrated back toward a theme, we touched on a bit earlier—migration. More specifically, what are the patterns of migration, and do landscape-level changes impact migratory routes.

In her Okanogan county site, where her focus is on mule deer, Taylor is particularly excited to better understand seasonal migration patterns. “Most animals move up in spring and move back down in winter,” said Taylor, sometimes moving up to 40 miles over the season. This movement is thought to occur due to changes in available browse as spring moves to higher elevations and latitudes—what is known as the “green wave hypothesis.”

One of the larger trees we walked past on the trail.

A Slow Burn

However, with landscape-level changes, such as fire, Taylor suspects movement patterns will change. “I have two ideas about influences of fire,” she said, “both relating to how they reduce canopy cover. One way is it could make really good forage and they may be attracted to these areas.”

On the other hand, “the canopy cover can really block snow from accumulating.” With reduced canopy cover post-fire, snow may be deeper and reduces food access. Deep snow also reduces deer mobility when they are trying to move fast to escape a predator. The fact that “deep fluffy snow favors predators over prey is well established,” remarked Taylor. She hopes to parse out these effects.

Down Logs

Similarly, down logs can also be thought of as both helpful and harmful to deer. We were noticing a lot of down logs along this section of the trail. First, logs “can alter the way they are moving,” hindering their ability to escape a predator. But second, logs recycle nutrients to the forest and provide habitat for other forest life.

Why should we care

By now we were more than an hour into our adventure, and I realized I had not asked one of the important questions—why should we care? And, of course, Taylor was quick with a response. She really knows her stuff!

“There are a couple of reasons,” she began. “Their role in the ecological community and also people really like deer and elk.”

“They are really cool because they are a species people can see and relate to and understand in a way a bobcat perhaps is not,” said Taylor. “I can go out in the field and see 50 deer!”

As for ecological benefits, deer and elk are “middlemen” in the food web—affecting both the landscape of vegetation while also supporting predator populations. There is also some evidence that they are important to transporting seeds and moving nutrients around.

Deaths

One of the most basic concepts of wildlife populations is understanding death. So, it is not surprising that throughout our hike together, Taylor and I discussed deer and elk death at length.

“Are there any threats to deer and elk?” I asked at one point.

“There are a number of different diseases that regulate a population,” Taylor offered. Though not found in Washington State, Chronic Wasting Disease (CWD) is a potential concern for many populations of ungulates, as it spreads through saliva and tends to be more of a problem in dense areas.

This is, of course, where predators may come in. By potentially keeping deer and elk populations less dense, diseases, like CWD, may become less of a threat. In addition, problems with too many deer, like wildlife conflict, eating crops, and vehicle collision are also lessened. There is some evidence, especially in the Eastern United States, that predator return could save lives and money.

Necropsy

Part of Taylor’s research is looking at causes of death in deer and elk. To get a handle on this, she has also been doing necropsies—full field dissections—on the bodies of dead deer and elk found in the field. When Taylor told me about her involvement in this, I swear, her eyes lit up. “I really enjoy it,” she remarked.

The main goal of the necropsy is to see how the deer or elk died. If the animal died from predation, there will be lethal bite marks present, if that part of the carcass hasn’t been eaten. If it died from starvation or another stressor, the bone marrow turns from a “candle wax like material into red jelly.”

Another cool side project is to sample lethal bite marks for DNA and use it to identify the individual or species that killed the animal.

When I asked Taylor if she found any pattern in causes of death from the necropsy, she could not say anything conclusive, as the final stages of data collection were still underway. However, she did note that car collisions were up there, along with predation, and occasional evidence for starvation or disease. How much each of these limits deer and elk populations is still being investigated. “We are seeing some evidence that there is some nutrient limitation,” said Taylor, “but not exclusively.”

Overall, deer and elk are not very threatened. White-tailed deer have, in fact, expanded their range. Mule deer have been on the decline, but they are not considered imperiled, at least not yet.

Good Habitat

We hiked on, meandering through an interesting section of regenerating forest next to a thin stand of tall trees. I asked Taylor if the area would be suitable for deer and elk and was met with a resounding “yes.”

“This is a good place for cover and lots of good food to get into,” said Taylor. Also, “they love edge habitat.”

However, “in another 15 years it may not be great,” explained Taylor. The trees were planted at a high density, so as they grow taller and without thinning, they will likely shade out the understory, creating a food desert for the deer.

Toward the end of our hike, we walked through a section of dense forest, like what we might expect for the stand of trees in front of us. The forest floor was dark and there was little vegetation—not a good habitat for deer.

Section of regenerating forest along the trail.

Births

It was during our walk through this dense dark forest, after passing a wet swampy area that white-tailed deer would most assuredly love, that I inquired about the other half of the population puzzle—births.

In biology class, you are taught that there are K-selected species and r-selected species. K-selected species have few offspring, a low growth rate, and stabilize around a carrying capacity. While r-selected species have many offspring, a growth rate, and their population size tends to fluctuate more widely.

Where do deer and elk fit into this picture? Somewhere in between. “They aren’t laying thousands of eggs,” said Taylor, but, like an r-selected species, white-tailed deer are very fecund. On average a white-tailed deer will give birth to 1.6 fawns a year. Their maturation time is also impressive as white-tailed deer in good condition can breed at 6 months old. Mule deer are similar with a longer maturation time, but similar growth rate. Elk, on the other hand, do not twin and may not have a calf every year—putting them on the more K-selected side of the spectrum.

White-tailed deer also fall more to the r-selected side of the spectrum when it comes to recovery. “They are moving further westward, and their range is expanding,” reminded Taylor. Some people even compare them to rats or rabbits in their ability to reproduce. “I don’t know to the extent they are overshooting the carrying capacity of the landscape, but the potential is there,” said Taylor.

The Sign

Over two hours into our discussion and we were nearing the trailhead. It was so much fun talking to Taylor and listening to her speak with such focus and passion, I could not believe we were near the end. And we had not seen a single deer, let alone any deer track or scat!

However, just as we were wrapping up, Taylor found something—hair! Was it a sign of wildlife? Not exactly, but it did illustrate a cool feature of deer and elk.

“So, this is probably just domestic animal,” Taylor explained, but “one thing you can do to tell if it is predatory or prey is to fold it.” Predators have several layers of hair to protect against the elements and keep them warm. “These hairs won’t kink very easily,” said Taylor. “Deer hair,” on the other hand, “are really slippery and hollow, so they kink easily.” Deer hair will also fall out easily if a predator grabs them.

And there you have it. Only a few minutes later and we were back at our vehicles saying our goodbyes.

Complexity

Predator-prey relationships on the surface seem so simple. One species pitted against another; it can seem like an obvious win-lose situation. But speaking with Taylor, this kind of thinking dissolves—it is much more complicated than that.

Predator-Prey relationships are more like a dance, perhaps a tango, but with more than one partner. What happens to one population affects another, both directly and indirectly, which, in turn, may affect something else altogether. Thus, something as simple as the amount of snow on the ground or the density of trees in a forest has the potential to create a ripple effect over the entire ecosystem. As the old adage goes: we’re all in this together.

Taylor Ganz is a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Washington in Wildlife Science. She has a Masters in Environmental Science from Yale School of Forestry & Environmental Studied, a B.S. in Mechanical Engineering from the University of Southern California, and a B.A. in Physics from Lewis and Clark College. She also has multiple years of experience as a Senior Field Instructor of National Outdoor Leadership School, and still enjoys teaching for them on occasion.

Science in the Sonoran Desert

I am drawn to wild places, like a moth to a flame. Like so many, my heart beats for the beautiful landscapes of my home in Oregon. The mountains call out to me; the forests whisper their welcome; the rivers run deep in my heart. I have spent a lot of time hiking in the Pacific Northwest, sweating it out on the trails.

While I love the lushness of the Pacific Northwest, I am also drawn to alien landscapes. Visiting places that are new to me awakens my mind and body to new sensations and curiosities.

A Foreign Land

The Sonoran desert of Southern Arizona is about as foreign to western Oregon as it gets. So, for a couple of weeks in March, I traded my muddy forest trails filled with towering conifers for the dusty desert of the Southwest in hopes of discovering a new place to love.

The sun hung low in the sky, when I met up with environmental scientist and Parsons Field Institute Coordinator, Mary Fastiggi and her colleague, Director of Development and Marketing, Adele Dietrich, for a hike in the McDowell Sonoran Preserve in Scottsdale, AZ. Our plan was to hike a small three-mile loop starting on the turpentine trail, and along the way, for Mary to show Adele and me a bit of the scientific work the Conservancy was invested in.

The Hike

Trailhead: Granite Mountain Trailhead, McDowell Sonoran Preserve, Scottsdale, AZ
Distance: 3 miles+
Elevation Gain: 200 to 400 feet
Details: There is ample parking at the trailhead and restroom facilities at the trailhead, but no water available. Educational signs and placards are available to read and learn more about the preserve. The preserve is open from sunrise to sunset. Automatic gates close off the preserve at this time.

Orientation

Before we set off, Mary oriented me to the Conservancy as a whole. “We are a stewardship organization that works in the Preserve,” explained Mary; the land itself is owned by the City of Scottsdale.

Started by local citizens, passionate about the land and concerned about land development; over the last 30 years, the McDowell Sonoran Conservancy has advocated for the care of the preserve, with the City of Scottsdale now owning roughly 30,500 acres of land in the Sonoran desert. That is ⅓ of the land area of the City of Scottsdale, and the equivalent of about 36 Central Parks.

Though the original focus of the McDowell Sonoran Conservancy was land preservation, its mission has “shifted from advocating for land preservation and then expanded to education and science.” Here is where Mary’s work really comes in. She is part of the science pillar of Stewardship at the Conservancy, with a goal of conducting ecological research in order to inform and inspire a deeper understanding of the Sonoran desert.

Urbanization

And there is a lot to be learned! One of the biggest threats to the Preserve and also a priority of the Parsons Field Institute, where the Science pillar is housed, are the impacts of urban stressors. The Phoenix area is the second-fastest-growing area in the U.S. so this is a major focus for the Institute.

Mary pointed to a map of the preserve found at the trailhead: “This is the Preserve in green,” she said. Though there was a lot of green on the map, you could also see that there was also a lot of land that was not protected, and thus open for development.

Connectivity

“Wildlife corridors are really really important for wildlife,” remarked Mary. With the Preserve adjacent to the Tonto National Forest and other protected land, the function of the Preserve for creating connectivity is paramount. “We want to make sure that connectivity stays connected,” expressed Mary.

With that in mind, there has been ongoing research on the use of the Preserve as a wildlife corridor and the impacts of nearby urbanization on wildlife. One break in the connectivity that is a concern is a road, Rio Verde Drive, that cuts across the Preserve.”

“We have done a Mule Deer telemetry study,” said Mary, to see how the road impacted migration. The study revealed different patterns of behavior between the sexes of the deer when it came to crossing the road, confirming that the road does pose a challenge.

However, one of the projects Mary was most excited about was a new Sonoran Desert Tortoise study, funded by the Arizona Game and Fish Department’s Heritage Grant. Mary directed my attention out past the map toward an open expanse of land. “It all looks like a desert,” she said, “but all this land can be developed and will be.”

The plan is to use telemetry to track the tortoises over time. By following the movement of tortoises, the Conservancy hopes to gain a better understanding of the impact of urbanization and other pressures on desert life.

Native Plants

After my orientation, Mary, Adele, and I all decided to head out on the trail. Enthusiasm was high as we began our walk along a dusty desert trail heading west.

However, we hadn’t made it more than a few yards when a colorful red color caught our eyes. According to Mary, it was a Hummingbird or Chuparosa plant! The Chuparosa is a beauty! Not just to me, but to hummingbirds, as well, who are attracted to the vibrant red blossoms of the plant. It is also “promoted for yards,” said Mary.

Surrounding the Chuparosa was a lot of golden-colored dry grass. “Red Brome,” stated Mary, “does pretty well and is naturalized across the Preserve.” This non-native grass was one of many we saw through the Preserve during our hike.

Tens of feet beyond the Chuparosa and grasses stood a shrubby plant. Mary grabbed a few leaves and held them to her nose and inhaled deeply. Invited to do the same, a sweet earthy, smell filled my senses. It was a Creosote bush. Apparently, the smell emanates from a waxy coating that protects the leaves from losing moisture during drought.

Interestingly, after a rainfall, the desert takes on the “fresh smell” of creosote, explained Mary. A reality I can corroborate, as the next week, following a rainy night, I went backpacking in the Superstition Wilderness and was enraptured by the earthy scent of what I could only assume was the creosote. It smelt like a fresh start.

Different Communities

We also saw some Yucca. Though not in bloom during our hike, in the spring, the Yucca grows clusters of flowers on stocks up to 6 feet high. These flowers are pollinated by the yucca moth which also depends on the yucca fruit seeds during their larval stage—an interesting mutualistic interaction.

We also saw the narrow-leaved turpentine bush. Though also not in flower, its leaves gave off a sweet smell, which is also an attractant for birds and insects that use the bush for food and shelter. Contrarily, it also attracts botanizing humans as well.

“You won’t find as much of these in the southern part of the Preserve,” Mary stated, referring to the Yucca.

“You don’t really see this one a lot lower either,” Mary pointed out, referring to the Turpentine bush.

Within the preserve elevation changes, as well as differences in rainfall and temperature, have resulted in many different community types or subtypes. “There is about a 700-foot difference in elevation from the lower parts of the Preserve,” explained Mary. Thus, depending on where you are in the Preserve, you will see a different mix of plants and animals.

Turpentine bush is common in the preserve at higher elevation.

Defining a Desert

So with all these differences, what exactly defines the Sonoran Desert? And why should I care?

At this point, we were nearing one of Mary’s Field Sites, but before I could focus my mind on what I was about to see, I just had to know—Why the Sonoran?

Mary stopped to answer my question: “The Sonoran desert is one of the most biodiverse deserts in the world,” said Mary. “It is also the only desert with saguaro cactus,” an indicator species, found consistently across the Sonoran desert.

“It is fascinating,” Mary went on, “it gets quite a bit of rain in some areas compared to other deserts.” It also has two rainy seasons—the winter rains and the monsoon rains. These rains bring about changes in the vegetation.

“Rainfall is very localized,” said Mary, contributing to habitat biodiversity, and ultimately, species diversity. Annually, you might get only 3 inches in one location and 20 inches in another.

Thus, though some things are consistent across the Sonoran Desert, like the Saguaro, it is the differences across its range that make the Sonoran Desert a spectacularly special place.

Desert Crust

Satisfied for the moment, Mary brought my attention to a checkerboard pattern of nail heads sticking up out of the soil. Behold—the soil crust experiment.

“Soil crust, which is a community of living things that are very very small and usually slow-growing, covers a lot of the Sonoran Desert,” Mary shared as we looked out on the microcosm. “In an untouched area you will find a lot of soil crust, but with human impact it is one of the first things eliminated.”

Despite the smallness of the community of microbes that create the soil crust, loss of soil crust is a huge deal in the Sonoran Desert! Not only is soil crust incredibly slow-growing (once it is gone it is gone), but soil crust retains water, aids in nutrient cycling, and stabilizes the desert soil.

“Have you heard of the Haboobs?” Mary asked. I hadn’t. “The haboobs are giant clouds of dust— a wall of dust—and they take over the city.” They literally “stop traffic” Adele offered. Why do these dust storms occur? Lack of soil crust.

So again, soil crust is small stuff, but kinda a big deal. As Mary puts it: “soil crust is the skin on the desert.”

Growing Soil Crust

In any event, the “nailhead” soil crust study is an attempt to better understand how soil crusts form. “To see if we can make soil crust faster,” said Mary.

Basically, the Conservancy, with the aid of volunteers, and in partnership with Northern Arizona University and the City of Scottsdale, collected soil crust from a city excavation site. Then took that material and treated it in a variety of ways. And now are watching to see how the microbiota of the soil crust will respond. Some examples of treatments include:1) seeded the soil crust with native seeds, 2) soil crust rolled out on burlap material with minimal disturbance, and 3) crushed and spread soil crust.

We got up as close as possible to see if we could see any developed soil crust but were unsuccessful. Normally the soil crust in the Sonoran Desert is thick and black with microbial growth. At this stage in the study, there was still not a lot to see.

Mary also mentioned that other scientists are trying to characterize the biota of soil crust in various deserts around the country. There is still a lot we don’t know about soil crust communities and how interchangeable, if at all, they are from region to region.

Restore a Desert

We continued on past the sparkling nail-heads of the soil crust experiment, tracing the path of power lines overhead. We even passed a pool of water along the trail, an unusual site to see in the desert.

Eventually, we made it to the next destination on our Preserve tour—the RestoreNet plots. This was the last major site Mary planned to show Adele and me. The RestoreNet site is an old camping and recreation area from before it was part of the Preserve. It was chosen from 67 sites identified via satellite imagery because it was impacted.

Mary explained the purpose of the experiment. “A lot of restoration projects are very localized. Most don’t go very well. There is a lot of seeding failure.” RestoreNet is an answer to this problem. By involving a “network of sites” across the country, the project hopes to provide land managers with more comprehensive information regarding restoration site treatments.

Treatments

“We are in charge of four RestoreNet sites in the Sonoran Desert,” said Mary. Each is different in terms of type and degree of impact, but each received the same treatments. At each site, “we have 36 different plots,” said Mary. Half are seeded with a warm mix and half a cool mix, with the exception of four untreated plots.

Mary took us around the site showing off the different treatment plots. There were mulched plots, plots with connectivity modifiers (basically metal stood up on end), seed-only plots, and pit plots.

Though it is still too early to tell what the RestoreNet results will ultimately suggest, there is preliminary data that is interesting. The first year of data gathered on the Colorado Plateau, for example, showed the use of pits did the best.

Though there wasn’t a lot of growth at the RestoreNet site we visited, we did see a few different lupine species in one plot, one of which is part of the cool species seed mix (Lupine sparsiflora or Coulter’s lupine). Mary said she would return in a week to conduct the spring plant monitoring, collecting data at all four sites.

Dry Winter

With an overall drier winter, the lack of plant emergence in the RestorNet site wasn’t necessarily surprising. The plots are not watered, so just like in a normal situation, the plants are relying on the weather for water.

Thus in addition to the plots, a rain gauge is set up on-site. The rain gauge was a simple plastic gauge holding an inch of water in the center with the ability to collect water beyond this capacity. Adele took a measurement that day and recorded it for the site: “0.57 inches.” “We have had rain here,” said Mary pointedly, so hopefully in a week, the plots will be in bloom.

Adele measuring precipitation using a rain gauge

Desert “Old Growth”

After visiting the RestoreNet site, Mary, Adele, and I took a right onto a trail heading toward Granite Mountain. The path was lined with cactuses, including Buckhorn Cholla and, of course, Saguaro.

I was especially enchanted by the Saguaro cactuses that stood proudly around us. There were so many of different sizes and shapes; many had several arms, the older Saguaro had cavities, and a few were in various states of decay. It reminded me a bit of the old-growth forests of Oregon and I asked Mary to talk more about the significance of Saguaro to the Sonoran Desert ecosystem.

Habitat

Saguaros provide excellent habitat for a variety of animals: from Gilded Flicker and Gila Woodpecker who build their homes in its flesh, to Owls and Martins who take advantage of empty cavities. Bats consume the pollen and nectar of the saguaro blossoms and many species eat the moisture-rich fruits of Saguaro in the summer months. A decaying saguaro reveals its internal woody skeleton; this becomes home for other desert species, including insects, snakes, and rodents.

When other sources become scarce, home animals rely on Saguaro for a freshwater source. The Saguaro’s pleated stems allow for expansion and contraction depending on the state of hydration. By feeding off the flesh of the Saguaro, animals like pack rats and mule deer take advantage of the Saguaro’s adaptation to drought.

Saguaro Life

The life of a Saguaro is long and requires certain conditions for success. According to Mary, Saguaros rely on nurse plants for successful germination. Without this protection, their chances of survival are slim.

The Saguaro also takes a long time to grow to their natural height of 35-40 feet over their up to 200-year life spans. Signs posted at the park state that “At age 40, a saguaro is only 3 feet tall.” Arms don’t appear until around 75 to 80 years according to Mary. It is no wonder that Saguaro is a protected species in Arizona.

Young saguaro surviving next to a nurse plant

Notice and Wonder

As we continued up the trail, Mary, Adele, and I continued to observe and identify the plants around us. I asked what else we might notice and wonder about in the Sonoran desert.

“This is the green time of year,” said Mary. “It can be greener, but it is greener than it has been.”

Adele pointed out the small size of the flowers and leaves in the desert. One key way to appreciate the Sonoran Desert is “taking time to see the variety in what others might go by,” Adele suggested. You have to stop and take notice.

So that is what we did.

We saw fairy dusters with their pink and red blooms; Palo Verde trees with their bright green stems and mistletoe growing in their branches. We saw baby Saguaro and old saguaro pods littering the desert floor; ocotillo with their stiff, spindly branches fanning up toward the sky; and many other unidentified blossoms on the desert floor.

Chuparosa brings color to the desert with it’s bright red blooms.

Burning Questions

As we continued our way along, making our loopback toward the parking lot, the conversation shifted back to the priorities of Parsons Field Institute. It was at this point that we noticed several large plots of non-native grasses along the trail.

“Typically in a non-infested area, you would have a lot of space between plants,” explained Mary, but “invasive grasses take over those spaces.”

However, this is only the beginning of the problem. Besides outcompeting many other native plants, invasive grasses “turn brown and catch fire.”

“The Sonoran Desert ecosystem is “not adapted to burn at that intensity and it allows the fire to spread,” said Mary. She added: “The problem is that it is a positive feedback loop,” Essentially, this means that fires promote more fires, as plants adapted to fire like the non-native grasses return following a fire in full force, while others, like Saguaro, take a long time to recover. The result: many areas of the Sonoran desert are shifting toward grassland habitat.

This is “a massive threat to the Sonoran Desert,” Mary stated grimly. Managing the problem is a challenge as well. With a seed bank already established in the park, removal by volunteers is possible, but a constant battle.

Climate Change

Shifts in climate change is another area of focus for Parsons Field Institute, but it is hard to say what the long-term impacts of climate change will be. The main focus at the moment is monitoring in order to gather long-term data sets. With the help of over 500 volunteers, Parson’s has been able to monitor butterflies, bats, birds, arthropods, and plant phenology.

Stewards

The sun had sunk lower in the sky, and the large granite boulders that lined the trail were casting long shadows, as we neared the end of our hike.

However, before parting ways, I asked Mary and Adele to tell me more about volunteer opportunities at the conservancy.

According to Mary and Adele, people are involved in the Conservancy in many different ways. Some Stewards learn about the park through educational experiences. Other Stewards participate in research or volunteer restoration hours. Whatever their involvement, the goal is still the same—connection.

Sometimes the connection is deep. Adele told me of instances where people whose experience as a Steward has “shaped their retirement.” While Mary spoke of Stewards that were so deeply involved in science projects, that they consequently were listed as authors on publications.

A big part of the Steward program is “getting people to have a relationship with the land,” said Adele, and there are a lot of different ways that can happen.

No Place Like Home

After parting ways with Mary and Adele, I wandered the trails of the Preserve for a bit longer on my own—opening up my eyes, ears, and nose to the sights, sounds, and smells of the desert. I pondered the outstretched arms of the saguaro and marveled at the rounded rocks that lay jumbled across the landscape.

I spent several more days exploring the Sonoran Desert acquainting myself with its various moods and rhythms.

Adele had mentioned during our hike how my blog post was providing “an outsider perspective.” I can appreciate that.

But, at the same time, when I think about the bold desert sunsets and the moonlit nights, or of early morning bird song and the afternoon drying heat—I don’t feel like an outsider. I feel like I belong —in the wild Sonoran Desert.

Mary Fastiggi is the Parsons Field Institute Coordinator for the McDowell Sonoran Preserve. She has a B.A. in Environmental Studies and History from the University of Michigan and an M.S. from Arizona State University in Sustainability.

Adele Dietrich holds an MBA from Alaska Pacific University, is a Certified Fundraising Executive (CFRE) and holds the Chartered Advisor in Philanthropy (CAP) designation. Her goal is to connect individuals with their philanthropic passion.

Hike Back in Time at Petrified Forest National Park

Scenery while hiking cross-country through the Flattops.

For me, trying to understand geological time is a bit like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. It takes some serious reshaping before the pieces start to fall into place.

When I met up with Dorenda and Matt Walters, my hiking guides at Petrified Forest National Park, little did I know, just how much mental craftwork I was in for—225 million years’ worth! That is how much life history exists in the park—a seriously mind-boggling sum.

A Long, Long, Long Time Ago

Before setting out on our hike, Dorenda and Matt Walters arranged for a tour of the park’s museum collections. Matt Smith, curator and paleontologist, led us on this venture.

To start, Matt Smith shared a “mental-gymnastic” he uses to try and get his mind around the 225-million-year history:

“T. rex died 66 million years ago,” he explained. “His oldest cousin lived during the Triassic in (what is now) the Petrified Forest 220-225 million years ago. We are looking at more time between T. rex and the oldest dinosaur and T. rex and us. T. rex is closer to the iPad than its earliest ancestor.”

This is the timeframe we are working with—almost four times the amount of time it takes to go from dinosaurs to humans. So, as you can imagine, back then, the Earth was a completely different place.

“This planet was on the other side of the galaxy,” described Matt Smith. The continents were united into one supercontinent—Pangea. It was the dawn of the dinosaurs. Mammals were just getting started. And flowering plants had not even shown up yet.

In other words, it was a long, long, long time ago.

The Box

After his brief introduction to time, Matt Smith led us into the Museum Demonstration Lab, or “the box,” as he called it—a small white room with windows and desks facing outside that allows visitors to glimpse in the “behind the scenes work” paleontologists do at Petrified Forest.

“Fossils are our jam,” said Matt Smith, before introducing us to the room’s current occupants—a metoposaur skull and a phytosaur skull. Each sat on separate desks facing the window, cradled inside their plaster jackets.

Metoposaur

The metoposaur’s fossil skull was roughly triangular and flat or, as Matt Smith put it, “shaped like a toilet seat.”

Overall, metoposaurs were large amphibians, “up to 10 feet” in length, with rough textured skin similar to the bone underneath, and a body plan like a modern-day crocodile, only stouter.

As carnivorous feeders, metoposaurs would sit on river bottoms, “open up their mouths like a bass and feed off whatever came into their mouth,” said Matt Smith.

He pointed to a deeper trench hidden in the texturing of the fossil. He explained how this trench was part of a lateral line system, like fish have. This system would have allowed metoposaurs to sense their prey, even in the murkiest of waters by detecting changes in pressure or electrical pulses.

Metoposaurs were “common everywhere up until the end of the Triassic,” said Matt Smith

Matt Smith standing next to the metoposaur skull in “the box.”

Phytosaur

The phytosaur skull had an even more unusual shape. It looked a bit like an alligator but with a very long snout, and nostrils toward the back of the head, instead of the front.

Phytosaurs were huge, maybe “25-30 feet long,” with long tails and sharp teeth; again, with the body plan of a crocodile. “They were fish eating specialists,” said Matt Smith, “Crocodile-like 80 million years before crocs.”

He went on, “They don’t have common ancestry (with crocodiles) … these guys turned ‘crocodile’ by stretching out their premaxilla.” Crocodiles, on the other hand, stretch out everything in the snout. That is why a phytosaur has nostrils at the back of the head and crocodiles the front.

Crocodiles and phytosaurs are an example of convergent evolution—similar environments, resulting in similar structures on totally separate locations and timelines. When a body plan works, it works!

The phytosaurs are one of several archosaurs that are found at Petrified Forest. Phytosaurs are not dinosaurs and exist on a separate branch of the archosaur family tree. They are a group of reptiles that includes dinosaurs as well as modern birds and crocodiles. Phytosaurs are one of many Triassic archosaurs found in the park. The only two living archosaur groups are crocodilians and birds.

Matt Smith with the phytosaur skull in “the box.”

A Curved Femur

After our visit to “the box,” Matt Smith brought us into the collection rooms. Lined with metal cabinets, the collection room contains hundreds of catalogued artifacts and specimens found in the park.

The first set of specimens Matt Smith introduced us to were fossils from an azendohsaurid reptile.

“This animal wasn’t known in North America,” Matt Smith explained, until 2014 when a weird vertebra, discovered in a loan return, piqued the interest of park staff. Before long, a fossil site filled with azendohsaur fossils was discovered, and 40 different field jackets with specimens were collected.

Now, all these specimens stood in front of us—organized and packed into a short metal cabinet with wheels. Matt Smith pulled open the first drawer. Dozens of tiny femora (upper leg bones), broken from the weight of time, lay arranged in small, labeled boxes.

Matt Smith pointed to one of these fossils with a slight bend in it. “This curve is due to natural disease like rickets,” he remarked.

Other drawers contained other parts. All put together,the azendohsaur was about the size of a medium dog “with a long neck and sprawling leg posture,” described Matt Smith.

Azendohsaurid reptile fossils in a drawer.

Modern Dinosaurs

Next Matt Smith directed our attention to a much larger metal cabinet. “Birds. We have a lot of birds,” he exclaimed as he opened the cabinet and pulled out a drawer. And there they were lined up in a row—dozens of taxidermy birds, from the Northern Flicker to Common Ravens. Matt Smith picked up one of the specimens, a Saw-whet owl—a bird never-before-seen at the park. That is until it was found recently on park grounds, having died of unknown causes.

Now you might be wondering, “why save a bunch of dead birds anyway?”

Well, museum collections are like information investment accounts. The value of the specimens when first catalogued might seem small, but over time, with changes in technology and new scientific questions, a greater value is realized.

As Matt Smith put it, pointing to the tray of birds, “Hopefully, these will help answer questions in the future.”

In addition to modern-day bird specimens, a 220-million-year-old dinosaur fossil was found in the park—the ancestor to modern-day birds. “We have had dinosaurs here longer than anywhere else in North America,” Matt Smith stated. “And we have proof.”

People

Closing the bird specimen cabinet, Matt Smith directed us to another similar non-descript case.

Inside was a collection of pottery arranged carefully on pull out trays. The vessels were a variety of shapes and colors, each one carefully decorated.

“People have also been walking around the forest for a long time,” said Matt Smiht. Though not as staggering as the dynasty of archosaur life, human history in the park goes back 13,000 years.

And they are still around today. There are “37 tribes on the land,” he states, referring to the number of tribes that are affiliated with the parklands.

Among the artifacts in the collection were examples of Adamana Brown-style pottery, a form of pottery dating back to around 250 BCE. These early brown and gray ceramic pieces date back to a time when pit house villages sprung up and seasonal farming was a focus.

Later, from 650-950 CE the ceramics changed from plain brown and gray to decorative black-on-white designs and corrugated pieces, a style associated with pueblo development. Then from 950 to 1300 CE ceramics diversified even more, with black-on-red and polychrome examples showing up in the Petrified Forest archeological records.

Many of these forms stood on attention against the stark gray industrial cabinetry.

A Legacy

Matt Smith pointed out a piece that was yellow and brown—a Hopi-style ceramic. “This one is probably 400 to 500 years old,” He said, “fired at a slightly higher temperature,” than the black and white pieces.

He went on to explain how this style of pottery was almost completely lost. He pointed to another piece from the 1960s by Fannie Nampeyo—“the last one who knew how to pot in this style.” Fanny Nampeyo learned from her mother before her, also called Nampeyo, who revitalized the ancient Hopi style in the 1890s. Without the Nampeyo legacy it is possible the Hopi pottery tradition would have been lost.

Turkey Feet or Lung Fish

Before Matt Smith shut the cabinet, a small piece of corrugated pottery caught my eye. Decorated with simple lines that resembled chicken feet, I asked Matt Smith to tell me more about it.

“This is cool to me,” enthused Matt Smith referring to the markings. “One archeologist thought they were turkey feet” he said, but the number of talons does not add up.

“It is not a common design element,” Matt Smith said, while he doubled back to another cabinet behind us and began rummaging around, so “I have my own theory.” He pulled out a small fossil that looked a bit like webbed feet— “lungfish teeth,” Matt Smith exclaimed. He went onto explain how lungfish teeth are common Triassic fossils found in the park and have often been found associated with prehistoric structures.

Could these mystery markings be paying homage to lungfish teeth fossils? We just don’t know.

Type Cabinet

We had been at it about 30 minutes, when Matt Smith took us to the creme de la crème of the museum collection—”the type cabinet.”

“In natural science, you have got holotypes, explained Matt Smith. “They are the sample—skin, skeleton, genetic material, fossil—that was used to describe a new species. They are the archetype of that animal.” Every other specimen found must be measured against existing holotypes in order to determine if a species is new or not.

Holotypes

Matt Smith showed us a few of the holotypes housed in their museum collections. “some are pretty miserable, said Matt Smith, “a single tooth or claw” might define an entire species. One holotype that Matt showed us was Vancleavea campi, a species of reptile that may have lived more than 11 million years during the Triassic. “Covered with armor… it isn’t related to anything alive today…” said Matt Smith—it was essentially “bulletproof.”

Of course, the challenge with modern-day holotypes is often ethically obtaining a specimen in the first place, especially when the species is rare. To get around this, people often must be creative and very patient. For example, Matt Smith told me about how scientists found a new species of iguana on the Galapagos Islands about 10 years ago. In order to obtain the holotype, they had to find a living iguana that they felt would work, put an RFID chip in it, and sit back and wait for nature to take its course. I believe they are still waiting to this day.

A drawer of holotypes, including Vancleavea campi.

Mussels

Matt Smith also showed us a diversity of Triassic freshwater mussels holotypes. Modern freshwater mussels are “more diverse than anywhere else in the world in North America,” said Matt Smith. But they are in trouble. “These are going extinct faster than any other group of animals in the U.S.,” Matt Smith explained, despite the fact that they are “evil geniuses” according to Matt Smith, able to disperse their young by smuggling a ride on migrating fish.

Plants

Matt Smith also showed us some plant fossils, among them fossil trees. There are “14 species of trees in the park,” according to Matt Smith. However, despite their abundance working with plant fossils is difficult. “Plants never die in one place… they die in parts,” said Matt Smith. You aren’t going to find a complete plant body like you might for an animal. Thus, a plant holotype requires some closer examination. The tree holotypes Matt Smith showed us during our tour were thin sectioned specimens, in order to see the grain of the wood.

The type cabinet looked pretty similar to others we had seen with the exception that it was on wheels. Why? In the case of an emergency, wheels provide a quick getaway. “77 species would be lost if we didn’t have this,” stated Matt Smith.

What’s the Point?

And on that note, Matt Smith took us around the corner to the back of the collection room we were in. We walked past some furniture built by the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) in the 1930s—another layer of human history at the park—and over to a final cabinet filled with artifacts.

The final cabinet we visited that day was filled with small clear packages of artifacts, each filed in equally small boxes. Shells from the Gulf of Mexico, pipestone from Wyoming, obsidian from Flagstaff, turquoise from New Mexico and, of course, petrified wood—each artifact shaped by human hands– telling the story of human migration and technological change in the area.

Matt Smith pulled out several points and talked about their various uses. Like the pottery, Petrified Forest National Park hold a record of points/tools dating back 13,000 years from “Clovis through Folsom, basket maker, and Puebloan.”

Matt Smith described a place in the park, a playa, where some points and a lot of chunks of material (lithic scatter) have been found. “There are petrified wood deposits… and a little rise,” said Matt Smith. The playa would have been filled with water 13,000 years ago, so it would have been the perfect place to both hunt and make points for hunting.

One of many points Matt Smith showed the group.

The Lab

The final stop on our whirl-wind tour was the paleontology lab, so we stepped outside and made our way across the park campus. Before long, Matt Smith ushered us into another non-descript building.

“So, this is the Prep Lab,” Matt Smith exclaimed. “Most of what we do in here is paleontology… we do basic conservation work for non-paleontological stuff… but we do the whole shebang for fossils–from the grave to the cradle.”

Gumby and Reynaldo

Looking around the room, it looked a lot like any other well-lit lab space, but with a couple rather large fossils sitting out in their plaster casts on lab benches.

“This is Gumby, a phytosaur skull,” said Matt Smith. The fossil was in disrepair—the back end of Gumby lay in a plaster jacket in two pieces. Apparently, Gumby got its name because it is bendy, but also likes to break; so, after two or three breaks, the staff decided to create a mold of it. Matt Smith told me that the plan is to use casts from Gumby and several other individuals to create a replica of a phytosaur skull for display. He showed me a partial cast of a phytosaur jaw made from two fossils cobbled together.

“And here is Reynaldo,” said Matt Smith, “he’s a big sexy beast.” Collected in 2016, Reynaldo has been an on again off again project for several years now— “probably three or four hundred hours” put into preparing the fossil, said Matt Smith but now “it is really close.” With a little more reconstruction of the face—and lots of glue and plastic—the staff hopes to get him stabilized soon.

The Small Stuff

As Matt Smith grumbled a bit about the frustrating nature of larger pieces like Reynaldo and Gumby, he directed the group toward the back corner and another shiny metal cabinet.

“My heart lies more with stuff like this,” said Matt Smith as he pulled out a drawer and pulled out a small vial with a tiny fossil inside. “All these tiny little fossils to me are a lot more fascinating…

I can prep them out in a day or two, and I can store a lot of them, and it’s just way more rewarding if you ask me,” he explained.

Origin of Lizards

In order to study the small fossils, they are sent to another lab for a Micro-CT. This sort of imaging is like a regular CT scan, only more intense and the scan machine is much smaller, fitting on a desktop. The Micro-CT can get finer detail with micron-size slices of images captured. The information from the Micro-CT can then be used to print a blown-up plastic version of the fossil using a 3D printer.

Matt Smith held up an example of a 3D printed jaw of a reptile that had been enlarged from just 1 cm long to at least 10x its original size.

Matt Smith pointed to a ridge running along the skull. “You can see things like the tunnel running through there…” he said. This type of detail is brought out through the printing process.

It also turns out the 3D printed jaw that Matt Smith was holding was from a Tuatara. Now found only in New Zealand, these creatures were common during the Triassic and beyond. They are like lizards, but with less flexible jaws and fused teeth that allow them to chomp down on and chew their prey.

Finding Triassic Tuatara-like fossils in the park provides a useful link to the origins of lizards. “Lizards replace them,” explained Matt Smith, “It was like this ecological arms race.” Two reptile groups pitted against each other for survival.

When you walk through the park today, all you see are lizards, but “they are here now because of this struggle that occurred 220 million years ago,” said Matt Smith.

And with that, Matt Smith shooed us out to enjoy the rest of our day. We were just getting started.

Heading Back in Time

With my brain crammed full of information, it was finally time to head out into the park. We said our goodbyes to Matt Smith the paleontologist, and Dorenda, Matt Walters, and I, hopped in our cars to begin the 28-mile drive through Petrified National Forest Park.

Heading south, we drove past the Painted Desert and pulled off for a quick stop at the Blue Mesa Member of the Park to look at some petrified wood.

“The youngest part is 209 million year ago, up where we first started,” explained Dorenda, “in the Painted Desert with the red badlands.”

Now we were looking out at 217-million-year-old badlands of greys, blues, and greens. With puffy white clouds dancing across the otherwise expansive bright blue sky and casting shadows, the view was breathtaking.

Keystone Arch

Hidden amongst the bentonite clay hills, were petrified logs of various sizes and shape—each also uniquely colored.

“The theme of this park is erosion, erosion, erosion,” said Dorenda, as Matt Walters led us out into the colorful environment. It is through the action of water and wind that the petrified logs that the park is famous for are revealed over time.

Matt and Dorenda stopped in front of one of these logs that arched its way from one side of a small gully to another.

“This is a really special petrified log,” explained Dorenda, “this one is called Keystone Arch.” Aptly named—the single log was several pieces—held together by touch points between each piece. It was beautiful, but temporary structure. The process of erosion, already acting day-by-day to bring the arch down.

Distinct Species

I asked Dorenda and Matt Walters if they knew what species of tree Keystone Arch was made from. They told me there was no way of knowing without looking at the cellular structure. Most of the tree species, with a few exceptions, are too difficult to identify without this level of detail. “There were over 1,000 species,” explained Dorenda.

Of course, some are more commonly found in certain locations. The north end of the park is called “the Black Forest,” for example, and the petrified wood there tends to be darker in color because of differences in fossilization.

“It is just like forests today,” said Matt, “different trees in different areas.”

Petrification

Scattered around the base of Keystone Arch were several pieces of petrified wood of various sizes and colors. This, of course, begs the question: “Why is there so much petrified wood in the park?”

Dorenda explained that during the Triassic Period the Petrified Forest would have been on a large supercontinent called Pangea, very tropical, and very wet—with many freshwater streams, swamps, and lakes—and of course lots of trees, some over 200 feet tall.

This combination of trees and water meant that many trees after death were toppled, as streams undercut their banks. These dead trees, often stripped of branches and bark, might then be transported downstream, collect in areas where water slows, and become buried in sediments where decay is inhibited.

“This area would have been a converging of waterways, and just a big damming of logs,” explained Dorenda.

A piece of colorful petrified wood found near keystone arch.

Colored Stone

Blues, reds, oranges, yellows, purples, and blacks—a palette of colors can be seen in each petrified log. The colors develop in the log next in the petrification process as mineral-rich groundwater travels through the logs.

The petrified wood is mostly quartz minerals or silicon dioxide. For this reason, “you need silica for petrification,” said Dorenda. In other words, you need volcanic material. Since there is not much of a history of volcanism in the area, much of the material was blown in from the west during the Triassic.

“Silica adheres to organic cells,” Dorenda went on, so as the silica-rich water percolates down into the earth and reaches a buried log, it enters the wood and stops. The silica alters the wood into opal, replicating its features, and eventually transforming the wood into crystalline quartz over millions of years.

And the colors? “As the silica solution goes through the earth it picks up minerals,” Dorenda explained. Pure quartz is colorless. It is minerals like iron oxide or manganese that are responsible for the kaleidoscope of colors present in the stone. According to Dorenda, iron oxides can create colors from yellow to red, even purple depending on the level of oxidation. Manganese creates dark woods from purple to jet black.

Some of the logs found in the Petrified Forest look a lot more like wood than stone. These logs, Dorenda explained, would have started to decay early on–creating inorganic cells that the silica dioxide won’t adhere to—resulting in weaker, lighter permineralized logs.

Matt and Dorenda had me hold a piece of each type of log in my hands so I could feel the difference in weight. Both felt heavy like stone, but the agatized stone was a bit heavier. “One cubic foot of agatized wood weights 160 lbs,” said Matt.

At this point, Dorenda, Matt, and I navigated our way through the badlands and back to our cars to continue our journey through geological time.

Pieces of permineralized wood scattered on the ground.

The Flattops

I followed Matt and Dorenda further south into the park, before reaching a small pullout adjacent to “The Flattops.” Here we met up with fossil preparator and paleontologist, Diana Boudreau, for the main event—a hike into the badlands.

After some quick hellos and grabbing our gear, we got moving right away.

I looked out onto the unmarked terrain. Like our earlier stop, there were flat topped mesas and rolling hills—only this time in shades of grey and red brown. Despite the similar feel of an alien landscape, this section of the park marks a different time frame from our early stop at Blue Mesa—moving us forward in time to about 213 million years ago.

“The Blue Mesa region is mostly composed of the Sonsela Member. Here, we see the Flattops Beds of the Petrified Forest Member sitting just on top of Sonsela,” remarked Diana as we descended from the road into the backcountry.

Older than Dinosaurs

Making our way cross-country, with Matt in the lead, I asked Diana to tell me more about the park’s geology.

“So, the whole park is Late Triassic in age,” Diana began, and represents a range of time from 208 to 228 million years. “That is most of what is exposed here.”

Most of the fossils found in the park are not dinosaur—a common misconception–she added. Instead, they are from a much older, larger group of reptiles called archosaurs. Distinguishable by differences in ankle and hip bones, archosaurs are the Triassic ancestors of many later lineages, including birds, crocodiles, and dinosaurs.

Geological Members

With the main fossil bearing members including the Blue Mesa, Sonsela, and Petrified Forest members, Diana continued. Each member is distinct from the others based on certain traits, like depositional environment.

“We will be crisscrossing between Sonsela and Petrified Forest,” Diana remarked—moving between 216-million-year-old deposits of cross-bedded sandstone and 213-million-year-old mudstones and sandstones. Our footsteps dancing back and forth through time.

Cryptobiotic Soils

Matt set the pace, while Dorenda, Diana, and I followed closely behind. Watching our footsteps along the way. One of the first lessons for backcountry travel is to watch your step. Not only are there hazards to look out for, but crypotobiotic soils to protect.

A cryptobiotic soil is a dark soil crust that is formed by a suite of organisms, like fungi, lichen, bacteria, and algae, over long periods of time. These organisms are “the first biologic that grows in a sandy, arid environment,” explained Dorenda and they build up the soil in such a way that it benefits plant life and prevents soil erosion.

However, one misstep and 50 years of microbial work can be completely dismantled. Dorenda and Matt pointed out some cryptobiotic soil growing near a plant. It looked a bit like moss growing on a rock, but darker.

All the wiser, we side stepped the growing mat and continued on our way.

Human “Footprints”

As we hiked, our footprints marked our path across the desert—a path that would later be washed away with the next rainfall. However, these were not the only signs of human presence during our walk.

Not too long after finding the cryptobiotic soil, we passed by a couple of pottery sherds —archeological artifacts of human habitation hundreds of years old—the first of many.

One of the first pottery sherds we passed during our hike.

A while later, we came across a surveying “benchmark”—a point of reference for mapping. The date on the patinated copper surface read 1921—100 years prior to our hike across the desert; placed by the U.S. General Land Office Survey before USGS existed. One-hundred years ago the park was newly established and the first phytosaur fossil found in the area was being described.

These were early human “footprints”—impressions of a past that exists in clues and signs.

A survey marker, or benchmark from 1921.

Geology

For Diana, Matt, Dorenda, and I time passed quickly—both literally and figuratively—as we walked over the undulating hills.

At one point, Diana stopped abruptly. “This is a nice vantage point to talk about the geology here,” she remarked.

Looking out to our left was a steep, eroding cliffside with horizontal bands of varying shades of brown. Diana directed our attention toward these bands. “This view shows a lot of the different flattops beds,” she said pointing.

Diana then went on to describe each layer as a numbered unit starting with a section of sandstone at the top, followed by alternating layers of mudstone and sandstone. She explained how each deposit would have been laid down by a braided stream system—with sandy material deposited in the stream bed and more silty/muddy material along the banks.

The units we were looking at represented a time spanning about 1 million years from 213 to 212 million-years-ago. Starting with Petrified Forest Member Flattops beds at the top and the more rounded Sonsela Member at the base of the cliff. Each layer was thick, indicating a water rich environment over the 1 million years, but would have differed in the type of watery environment and the organisms that lived in that place at the time.

Diana pointing out the geological units.

Petrified Peat

As we continued hiking atop the Sonsela hills, Diana and I chatted, while Matt and Diana led the way, eventually stopping near what looked to me like a short fence made of solid rock—a line of stone stuck out of the ground vertically.

“This area here is what we called silcrete,” said Dorenda. “Remember when we talked about the petrified wood and we talked about those giant logs? And how as the water took its toll the branches and bark and everything would be gone?” she asked me.

Well, according to Dorenda, silcrete is the result. Waterways collect all the partially decomposed wood bits in one place where they undergo the same process as the logs and are petrified. “It is kind of like petrified peat,” Dorenda stated.

Standing on End

Of course, usually, silcrete is laid down in horizontal layers. The silcrete here was vertical. Making the spot a bit of a geological mystery, as there is no sign of faulting that might normally turn rock on end.

“It is theorized that there was some sort of pressure that pushed it up through the sandstone, filling in the gaps,” Dorenda told us.

“You will find silcrete through the whole park,” said Matt, but vertical layers like this “can only be found in two places.”

Petrified peat, or silcrete, creating a vertical “fence.”

Wandering the Wilderness

After ample time spent taking pictures of the silcrete anomaly, the four of us continued our hike under blue, cloud-spotted skies.

With Matt Leading the way, Dorenda, Diana and I hung back and discussed a variety of topics from career choices to canyoneering, before the conversation shifted to the preservation of natural and ecological resources.

The Petrified Forest National Park was one of the first National Parks to have land set aside as designated wilderness in 1970. Wilderness is the highest form of protection public lands receive—restricting access to those on foot and limiting human impact.

However, the Petrified Forest is unique in that it offers hikers and backpackers the opportunity to explore outside of a designated trail. In fact, it is encouraged, as there are no major trail systems in the park.

Of course, “leave no trace” principles still apply and often require extra consideration, especially in a place like Petrified Forest where archaeological artifacts and fossils are abundant. Even taking pictures requires special consideration to preserve the location of unique places that might draw crowds that may end up impacting the park negatively. Dorenda and Diana both expressed concerns about protecting artifacts and other special place locations. “It’s a weird line,” said Dorenda, but an important one, not only for the resources being protected but often the safety of visitors to public lands as well.

Matt leading the way, leaving nothing but footprints.

An Eye

By this time, we were at least a couple of miles into the wilderness and the road where we started was a distant memory. Lost in the vastness of the wilderness (but not really lost thanks to our guide Matt), I asked Dorenda and Matt if they had any advice for those visiting the park, or any other natural place, for the first time.

Dorenda spoke first. “Take the time to see the micro and macro view,” she said. “Do a 360,” she suggested. She told me that she tends to keep her eyes to the ground. It takes deliberate effort to stop and look around. But taking in both views will help you better appreciate all aspects of the park.

In addition, “I think you develop an eye for things,” she went on. Whatever you are looking for, whether it’s fossils, petroglyphs, or something else, if you learn what to look for you get better at finding it. Look for contrasts, different colors, textures, and size and that will help you

A Guide

Matt had a different take. “It is all being passed down,” responded Matt. Learning about a place from others that know a lot more than you do can really help enrich your experience.

“We had two mentors. They taught us a ton because they had to teach us the hikes,” he continued. “We were like kids in a candy store because we were learning so much.”

Taking it further, Matt recommends sharing what you learn. “The key this for us is to pass it onto people,” he remarked.

Having spent more than half the day with Dorenda and Matt, I was able to see this key in action. And let me tell you, they are well practiced.

Candy store, Matt? More like Wonka’s Chocolate Factory!

Matt and Dorenda Walters leading the way.

Finding Fossils

One thing to know about Matt, is that when he slows down on a hike, it is time to look around.

It was getting near lunch time, and we had picked up the pace in an effort to make it to a lunch spot Matt and Dorenda suggested, so when Matt stopped abruptly, we knew there must be something interesting nearby.

Diana spotted it right away—a fossil! Laying on the dry desert floor was a small fossil of a bone, about the size and length of a snickers bar. It had a crackled texture and was broken in one place.

“I think it is a phytosaur rib,” said Matt.

Diana looked closely and agreed that “it was the right size for a phytosaur.” Definitely a long bone—either “a process from the vertebra or could be a rib,” she said.

She picked it up and we looked closely at the fossil, pointing out the cellular structure visible in fossil bones before laying it back down.

I tried to imagine a large reptile sitting in a swamp waiting for its prey, but it only made me think of my own lunch waiting ahead of me.

A long bone fossil found during the hike.

Keep Looking

Continuing along we saw several more artifacts laying on the desert floor—including a piece of a corrugated pot and another fragment of a vessel with a small hole in it.

Before long we had reached our lunch site, but we weren’t “allowed” to eat just yet. Matt said that I would need to “earn my keep first,” as there was another artifact nearby and it was my job to spot it.

After several painful minutes of trying to spot what I thought would be pottery or a fossil, Matt guided my eyes to a faint figure inscribed onto a dark colored rock—a rock I had been staring at for a good three minutes, at least.

Petroglyphs

The petroglyph in front of me was the impression of an animal of some sort—carved into the dark desert varnish growing on a rock. The image was faded—the result of time passed—as the bacterial growth responsible for the varnish was starting to repopulate the etched-out areas.

“These are probably over 1000 years old,” said Matt regarding the petroglyph.

Looking closely at the rock you could see small dimples formed the petroglyph impression. Matt explained that the petroglyphs would have been chiseled into the rock, probably using a tool made from petrified wood and a hammer stone.

Having “earned by keep,” we found some other stones to sit on and enjoyed a leisurely lunch basking in the warm desert sun.

Artifact Delights

After lunch, things really got moving, as we drew closer to a larger archaeological site in the area.

Diana spotted a small unionid bivalve shell, or mussel, from one of the many species common in the area.

Matt Walters also led us past a vertebra fossil and a collection of other fossilized bone fragments, as well as several fragments of broken pottery, before reaching the piece de resistance—the site of several ancient Puebloan pit houses.

The mussel shell Diana found during the hike.

As Matt, Dorenda, Diana, and I neared what I later learned was a pit house village, we started seeing more pottery fragments, as well as several other archeological artifacts.

The pottery was of various colors and textures and used a variety of design elements—there were white and black pieces, fragments of grayware and corrugated pieces, as well as some decorative edges and unique shapes. Dorenda explained how some of the pottery would have been traded into the region, while other pieces were likely made by the local people.

Flakes from arrowhead and other tool-making also scattered the ground in colorful abundance. It was fun to pick out some favorite pieces to admire before moving to the next.

One of many pottery shards found during the hike.

`Flake of petrified wood found during our hike.

Pit House Village

The density of the pieces continued to increase as we neared a few mounds of rocky earth—we had arrived at the pit houses. Matt Walters estimated that there were probably three dwellings in the area. And what a view! I guess the old adage “location, location, location…” is more ancient than I thought.

The pit houses themselves would have been built by stacking rock vertically and digging down into the earth. Then a roof would be fashioned out of whatever materials were available. There would have been a garden of squash, beans, and corn in the area and probably some storage pits as well. Though the pit houses were permanent dwellings, they were often only used seasonally.

Looking down on the pit house site. What a view!

Pit House Treasures

The areas around the pit house ruins contained many more archaeological treasures. Dorenda showed me a rounded stone, about the size of a human hand. “It’s a hammerstone,” she said. “You can tell it has been used because it has chips in it.” The stone was heavy in my hands.

We also saw several large grindstones comprised of a large flat stone, called a metate, and a smooth stone with a shape suitable for grinding. The metate was ground down and smoother with use.

We also saw several unique pottery pieces, some so fragile that we avoided picking them up, including a small piece that had a handle and looked a bit like a ladle.

One of several metate found during our hike.

Weather or Not

After visiting the pit houses, we slowly curved our way back toward the cars. There were still plenty of artifacts to see, including several intact arrowheads and many more flakes of petrified wood. Matt Walters led us around to all the fascinating finds as we hiked.

We passed by another petroglyph site, before heading into a canyon between two flat topped Mesas. Though dry as a bone at the time, Matt and Dorenda told Diana and I how once they had found the canyon impassable from flood waters. “This was a roaring river,” said Dorenda. Though rain might not be frequent in the area, flash floods do occur.

The lasting influence of rain could also be seen on the canyon walls—gullys and rills marked the paths of past water events. There were also large holes at the base of some of the hillsides, created by the movement of water along paths inside the Earth that widened over time.

Looking up, the hills wore sandstone caps—created by the weathering of the softer mudstone below. Giving the place an overall hoodoo-like quality.

Sandstone caps on top of softer mudstone.

The CCC

We continued to follow the dry riverbed into the canyon. Large jumbles of rocks lined our path most of the way.As I considered these large fallen stones, Matt Walters slowed his pace again. Sitting amongst the rocks was a long piece of wood.

Matt Walters inquired— “Who had a big impact on the park?” He asked.

“The CCC,” he said, after some deliberation.

According to Matt Walters, the Civilian Conservation Corps were in the park from July 1934 to 1938. The long piece of wood was an artifact of that time. “The CCC had a flagstone quarry,” Matt explained, “we think this is part of the quarry.”

In addition to the quarry, the CCC built the Painted Desert Inn and dug a 16-mile irrigation system in one years’ time. With current regulations and protection for archeological and paleontological resources stricter, it took three years to replace that same waterline in 2016. Matt Walters chuckled at the irony.

My Own Eyes

Just a bit further down the wash, I had my own fun. Hidden amongst the rocks, I made my first solo fossil discovery—another freshwater bivalve shell lay on the ground. I called out to the rest of the group to share in my triumph. Then I took a few pictures of the fossil shell before placing it back on the ground for another to find.

A Few More Petroglyphs

As the sun sunk a bit lower in the sky, we entered the last leg of our journey which brought us to a couple more incredible petroglyph sites.

At one site there were several large stones decorated with at least a dozen figures, ranging from bear claws of various shapes and sizes to what looks like a coyote. Human figures were also displayed on the slab that was probably about as long as I am tall.

Petroglyphs covered several large slabs of rock at this site.

The last petroglyph site was a bit more of mystery. Here a large rock was marked with several dot-arrays, a couple of straight-lined figures, and a set of zig zags as a border. The whole display seemed to be conveying some sort of information, but what?

Matt, Dorenda, Diana, and I all puzzled over it, offering hunches and second guesses as to its meaning, before moving on.

Stone Tree

Just before hitting the road and leaving behind our backcountry adventure, I noticed a lone piece of petrified wood sitting quietly on the brown, cracked Earth.

Perhaps I was developing “an eye” for this unique desert environment because I felt drawn to it. So much so that I snapped a quick picture.

A few moments later, after goodbyes and well wishes, I was back in my car, driving the lonely road to my home for the night.

A Snapshot

The picture of the log is the last one that I took that day. Looking at it now, I still feel its call. A call to a time before the dinosaurs—to swamps and rivers hidden in a now desert landscape. To a time where people lived in pit houses and hand-crafted stone tools and beautiful pottery. A call to modern-day adventures and new friends. And finally, a call to return to this place someday in the future—to remember, while discovering the past, all over again.

Dorenda and Matt Walters are long-time volunteers for Petrified Forest National Park, guiding park guests on fabulous cross-country hikes each weekend. Diana Boudreau is a paleontologist and fossil preparator at Petrified Forest National Park. Matt Smith is the long-time museum curator for Petrified Forest National Park.

Hike with a Meteorologist

View from upper Rodney Falls looking down.

The sky was crying out large splattering raindrops quicker than my windshield wipers could sweep them away. Traffic was usual for a Sunday morning in Portland, Oregon, as I headed north on I-205, and eventually into Washington state. My destination: Hamilton Mountain Trailhead. My purpose: to meet up with meteorologist and fair weather hiker, Steve Pierce, for an afternoon hike and interview.

But the rain was hammering and I was beginning to wonder if this thing would happen. Steve had told me straight-out-of-the-gate that he didn’t hike in the rain, so he probably wouldn’t be up for a downpour.

What is up with the Weather?

Weather: atmospheric conditions present at any given time, on any given point on Earth. Such a simple definition for such a complex, life-altering phenomenon. The weather can turn a good day into a bad one, build up our snowpack, exacerbate forest fires, leave us exposed, fearful even. And in my case, possibly defer a hike?

The weather was doing its thing. So I drove and crossed my fingers (figuratively), tracing the path of the Columbia River to my right as I headed east on Highway 14. By the time, I reached the trailhead, conditions weren’t looking much better. By the time Steve pulled up in his little red convertible, we were still in the thick of it.

Windows rolled down and raindrops falling all around, I met Steve Pierce for the first time, sitting side by side in our vehicles. After some quick introductions, he pulled out his phone to check the weather radar. “Another 15 minutes or so and the rain would pass,” Steve told me with confidence.

A Career

The hike was on. We just needed to wait out the rain for a bit. So Steve slid into my car and told me how he got started in the world of weather.

Beginnings

Inspired by events like the 1980 Mount Saint Helens eruptions, from a young age Steve was interested in weather. “I was fascinated with which way the ash clouds were going,” said Steve. When ash fell in the Vancouver-Portland, Steve was only seven but he remembers the experience vividly. In particular, he recalled spending time with his brother sliding around on their bikes on a slurry of ash and water that felt akin to snowfall. Coupled with a couple of major snowfall events earlier that same year, the appeal of meteorology hung heavy in Steve’s young mind, like (dare I say) rain in a cloud-ready to fall.

Self Taught

Throughout his youth, Steve studied the weather on his own. He read every book he could get his hands on, including every meteorology book at his local library. Later, when the internet was a thing his studies continued.

Early on he also tried his hand at forecasting. In 5th grade, he started writing a weekly weather forecast for his elementary school’s parent bulletin. At home, Steve would broadcast the weather from the family fireplace hearth through his Mr. Microphone. He also had a weather station and was a devoted weather spotter for Channel 8. By 9th grade, he found himself on the cover of the regional paper (The Columbian) in an article titled: “Teens Career Forecast is Clear.”

You’re Hired

Fast forward to 2014, after attending Mt. Hood Community College (1994) and Washington State University, Vancouver (2001), a family, a prior communications career, and“fever” for investing in real estate, Steve finds himself at a crossroad in his life. At this point, Steve is an active member and President of the Oregon Chapter of the American Meteorological Society (AMS), but otherwise had made his career outside of meteorology, when he gets “the call.” It was local news anchor, Jeff Gianola, who remembered him from 20 years prior, when Steve was a college intern, with a job opportunity: Meteorologist for KOIN 6 News. Steve is instructed to: “get on a suit and come to the station” if he is interested in this rare opportunity. Adorned in basically the only formal suit Steve owned at the time, he goes into the station for a mock-up weather forecast. He is hired on the spot!

Time to Hit the Trail

This brings us to today. Steve and I had been talking for several minutes in the car at this point so that the windows were fogged up and the air a bit warm and humid. The rain, on the other hand, had finally stopped. I suggested that we hit the trail.

The Hike

Trailhead: Hamilton Mountain Trailhead
Distance: approximately 2.5 miles round trip to Rodney Falls
Elevation Gain: approx. 450 feet elevation gain
Details: The trail to Rodney Falls is an easy out and back hike. Those that want more of an adventure may continue to the top of Hamilton Mountain for a total of 7+ miles and 2100+ feet elevation gain . There is ample parking at the trailhead and restroom facilities available. Parking requires a WA Discover Pass.

Basic Science

Steve and I started our hike with a couple of photos before making our way up the forested trail. The sun was coming out and the only water falling around us was from the surrounding vegetation.

“See I promised it was going to be good,” Steve smiled.

As we moved at a quick pace, I asked Steve to tell me about what it takes to understand the weather. What does it take to forecast the weather? He said two things: 1) basic science and 2) interpreting computer models.

“Anyone can be a weather enthusiast,” replied Steve, “but sort of where-the-rubber-meets-the-road is really understanding meteorology on a scientific level. How are weather patterns created? How do they evolve?”

He went on with an example. “We live in a part of the country where the Columbia River Gorge is huge in determining our weather. Without the Gorge, we would rarely get snow in Portland.” He explained that the Cascade mountains create a barrier that separates the cold, dry continental air mass that sits over the continent during the winter. The Gorge is a gap in that barrier. “The gap is how we tap into that cold air.”

And this is where we get into some of the basic science of meteorology. Cold air is dense and tends to sink, and warm air rises and expands. Air also moves from low to high pressure.

So, if we look at the science, it makes sense that in the winter, the cold air from the east would be more than happy to rush through the Columbia River Gorge following the pressure gradient, on its way to the relatively warmer ocean. Then, if there is some moisture on top of that, bring on the snow!

Computer Models

In addition to knowing the basic science, “interpreting computer weather models” is essential to meteorology, especially in modern times.

Computer weather models take observations from weather stations and weather satellites and assimilate them into a 3-D grid. They then use mathematical equations that describe the physics of atmospheric variables, like pressure, temperature, wind, and moisture, to make predictions about future atmospheric conditions. Thus, weather models depend on both the equations used and the observation. The better both of these play together the more accurate the forecast.

Steve shared that the models he prefers are a set found at the University of Washington, developed by “long-standing atmospheric science professor, Dr. Cliff Mass.” NOAA also has some high-resolution models too.

Computer models have truly revolutionized weather forecasting, making accurate forecasting possible. This is the “leading-edge technology” we are talking about. Available to all, these models make forecasting the weather a breeze (pun intended) compared to the past. The Labor Day winds and forest fires, for example, were forecasted to the hour by weather models.

Again, most of these models are available for those who are interested.

Why Weather?

And who isn’t interested?

The weather has always been kind of a big deal—affecting our past, present, and future.

As Steve puts it, “Weather affects everybody. It affects your everyday life, your job if you work outside—agriculture, for instance.” The weather today can also affect the future.

For example, the amount of winter snow in the Pacific Northwest, predicts future water supply in the region. All that snow that dumped down in the valley and mountains a few weeks ago wasn’t just weather for now, but water for later. We even saw remnants of the snowfall during our hike along the trail.

“I just saw the latest snowpack for Mt. Hood,” said Steve, “and we are at 100-110% of normal.” And that is good news for the upcoming summer water needs across the Pacific Northwest.

A Tale of Two Clouds

The forested trail continued into a short clearing where I could feel the sun warming my skin. In his cavalier way, Steve noted this change in weather. He had promised it would be nice.

To the right, there was a bit of a view out toward the river and a basalt cliffside, but my attention was drawn to the clouds overhead. I asked Steve, “What kind of clouds are these?”

“These are cumulous,” replied Steve.

Clouds are a personal favorite of mine. And growing up in Oregon, there never seems to be a shortage of clouds to look up at. So of course, I needed to know more, so I asked Steve to elaborate.

As he explained it, there are many types of clouds, but two of them are the most interesting to him: cumulus and stratus.

Cumulus

Cumulus clouds, like much of what we saw during our hike, are convective. What does that mean? It means that the droplets of moisture that make up the cloud are heated up by the surface of the Earth and rise up. Just like a pot of boiling water, cumulus clouds “puff-up” as they rise, like bubbles breaking the surface. Cumulus clouds are also a sign of an unstable atmosphere and that severe weather may be on its way.

Stratus

Stratus clouds on the other hand are low to the ground. Unlike cumulus clouds, stratus clouds are stable and flood in from coastal areas in thick layers of moisture.

According to Steve, “Stratus are unique to the west coast.” During the summers, the air above the ocean is colder and denser than inland. This colder air can be held at bay during the day, but by 6 p.m., as Steve puts it, “mother nature’s air conditioning kicks in,” and the cooler coastal air drifts inland through gaps in the coast range, including the Columbia River Gorge. Oftentimes, this cool onshore flow will also bring in stratus clouds, filling-in the valley overnight.

Viewpoint with some “dissipating” cumulus clouds

Clashing Air

While cumulus clouds continued to drift east through the Gorge, Steve and I continued our hike in the same direction, leaving the cloudy peek-a-boo view behind.

Moving swiftly up the trail now, my mind was racing, as I attempted to assimilate all that was being said. One word stuck in my mind: “unstable.” Steve had thrown this word around a bit. If today was “a bit unstable,” as Steve suggested, what does that mean? So, of course, I asked.

“An unstable air mass, simply put, is very buoyant air,” Steve replied. “Unstable air is usually what follows a cold front. And a front is the clash of two air masses, warm air ahead and cold air behind.” The clash between the cold and warm air builds up clouds as the colder, denser air mass replaces the warmer, less dense air mass, resulting in cooling and condensing of water droplets that form clouds and can produce rain.

A Big Difference

Steve further explained that the bigger the difference in temperature between the air masses, the more unstable the air mass can become. And the greater the instability, the bigger the potential for convective storms.

In the Pacific Northwest, the biggest storms tend to occur in the spring as there is more heating of the Earth by the Sun, creating more frequent and larger temperature differences between air masses and in between the different layers of the lower atmosphere, say below 25,000ft.

Extreme Weather

However, despite the Pacific Northwest’s reputation for weather in the form of rain, we do not have the extreme weather that you might see, in say, the midwest.

In the midwest, supercell thunderstorms develop and spin up tornadoes because of the clash between cold continental air from Canada and warm air from the Gulf of Mexico. In the Pacific Northwest, this sort of instability just doesn’t happen often. The differences in temperatures over the Pacific Ocean land are just not that significant. As Steve put it: “We just have relatively cold” air.

Cold to the Core

Instead, the Pacific Northwest’s version of a twister is a much calmer cousin—the cold-core funnel cloud. A cold-core funnel (while also sounding like a new exercise routine) is the Pacific Northwest version of a tornado. Simply put, it is a vertical “rotating” column of air in the atmosphere that is especially cold, unstable, and almost always trails just behind the recent passage of a cold front.

“After a front has passed, we typically have westerly flow at the upper level of the atmosphere, and a southerly or southwesterly flow up the Willamette Valley”, Steve explained. “Just enough wind sheer between the two, along with geographic enhancements in the valley, and you can spin up a horizontal column of unstable air and then turn that column vertical due to the wind sheer present.” Hence, a tornado.

If these cold-core funnel clouds touch down, though rare, they can cause EF-0 or EF-1 tornado damage.

In fact, according to Steve, the deadliest tornado west of the Rockies hit Vancouver, WA on April 5, 1972. Rated as an EF-3 (F-3 back then) tornado, winds were 165-210 miles per hour. Six people died that day in Vancouver when a supermarket and bowling alley roof collapsed. The roof and walls of near-by Peter S. Ogden Elementary School were also damaged.

Large Bodies of Water

However, deadly storms are anomalies in the Pacific Northwest. “We don’t really have that kind of volatile weather,” explained Steve, “because we have the Ocean.” The Pacific Ocean, as is the case with any large body of water, is slow to heat up and slow to cool down, making it an excellent moderator of climate.

In the summer, when the inland starts to heat up, the Ocean lags behind. In the winter, temperatures drop inland, but the Ocean retains its heat. The result is cooler summers on the coast and warmer winters.

The moderating effect keeps Portland and other Willamette Valley temperatures from reaching extremes as well. Hiking in the Gorge, even in early March, is pleasant and cool, but not too cold (at least relatively), all thanks to the Ocean to the west.

Weather Patterns

One of the first things Steve talked about when I asked him about his interest in meteorology was the importance of weather patterns.

Here is what he said:

“What I am most passionate about with meteorology is I know things happen in cycles. In other words, when we saw the big snow event coming just a few weeks ago, I thought back to previous events where I knew this happened in the past… I remembered I have seen this pattern before. Weather is a set of different patterns that come and go.”

In Oregon, typical patterns of weather result in a climate that is warm and dry in the summer and cool and wet in the winter, and overall pretty moderate. But, on the other hand, we can also predict deviations from the norm, like the winter storm Steve explained earlier.

Much too Hot

Another example of these patterns of predictable deviations occurs in the summer.

Typically during the summer in Oregon, there is a ridge of high pressure over the ocean that blocks storms between June and October, while prevailing winds from the northwest, carry cooler ocean air onshore as a high-pressure system spins clockwise in the northern hemisphere. This is the norm.

However, there are also usually a few days of 90+ degree days, where things don’t cool down. In Oregon, you can expect a couple of brushes with high-temperature days in the summer—it’s a pattern. This occurs when a low-pressure system from the Southwestern United States creates a thermal heat trough that moves into western Oregon. This turns the airflow counterclockwise, directing the winds offshore toward the coast. Not only that, but the downslope flow of air of the Cascade mountains results in “compressional heating,” a thermodynamic process that heats up the Willamette Valley of Oregon even more.

A Numbers Guy

Now one thing that became pretty obvious early on is that Steve is a numbers guy. He is self-professed “good with numbers” and bad with names. I am not great at either so I was impressed how easily he rattled off dates when I can barely remember my own kids’ birthdays.

“Hottest temperature in Portland: 107^oF on August 10th, 1981,” Steve rattled off as we marched along. “Coldest temperature in Portland: -3^oF on February 2^nd 1950.”

After tip-toeing our way through a mud patch, he went on:

“Average temperature in Portland is about 53^oF… about the same temperature as the Pacific Ocean… It balances out.”

Superlatives

Steve continued with the superlatives:

Wettest months: November & December (a near “tie” at 5.60” and 5.40” respectively).
Most active weather (thunderstorms): March through May
Foggiest month: October
Biggest change in temperatures: Also October. “With an average range of high’s from 71^oF on the 1st to 58 ^oF on the last day of the month.”
Best Month: October (in Steve’s opinion, due to the change of season and falling of leaves)

Chasing Waterfalls

As Steve and I waxed poetic about the beauty of fall foliage in the Pacific Northwest, the rushing sound of water filled our senses. We were nearing the base of the middle of Rodney Falls located on Hardey Creek. Here, we decided to stop the interview for a bit to check out this fun natural feature.

Steve and I first took an upper trail to the left to get a close view of one of the tiers of the multi-tiered waterfall, before heading down to the base of the fall where you cross over Hardey Creek to continue the hike. With so much snow and rainfall recently, nature’s tap was on full blast and the falls were spectacular.

A Cliffside View

Just beyond the falls, Steve and I continued our hike a few hundred feet up to a viewpoint looking out at the Columbia River Gorge. From here you could see the north-facing wall of the canyon rising up on the Oregon side of the Gorge, still covered in snow.

Looking out at the basalt rock cliffs, Steve and I shifted our discussion toward the landscape. (Literally, as we faced the canyon wall.)

“Geographic features have an effect on weather patterns,” Steve said. The Gorge plays a part in shaping weather patterns in the valley. The Pacific Ocean moderates temperatures all along the western margin of the country and beyond.

View of the Columbia River Gorge just above Rodney Falls on the trail

Rain Shadow

There are many geographic features that influence the weather in any location, but one that is particularly important to the Pacific Northwest is our mountain ranges. The Coast Range and the Cascade Range both run north-to-south in the region, creating barriers for winds and weather.

Mountain ranges, like those in Oregon, create what is called a rain shadow—a dry landmass on the opposite side of the mountains from which the air is flowing. As cool, moisture-rich air from the coast travels up each mountain range’s western flanks (also known as the windward side), the air cools and moisture condenses forming clouds and precipitation. Once the air makes it to the eastside (also known as the leeward side), the air has been wrung out like a sponge. As the air descends further it also heats up and evaporation increases.

In Oregon, this means that it gets drier as you head east across the state. According to Steve, the coast averages 60 inches of precipitation, Portland 37, and Bend less than 10.

This also means that in the east you experience a very different ecology than in the west. Instead of the shaded, wet Douglas-fir forest, we were hiking through, hiking the east would take you through open, dry shrub-steppe habitat, or perhaps a Ponderosa Pine forest. Hiking in the east means applying a lot more sunscreen and packing more water.

Sunrise & Sunset

After sufficient time at the viewpoint, Steve and I decided it was time to turn around and head back. And as the sun was setting on our time together, I couldn’t help but ask Steve about literal sunsets—can we use the weather to predict the best sunrises and sunsets?

Yes you can!

“The first thing I would do is look at satellite imagery,” said Steve, “…nothing coming off the coast is a good sign.” If there is a ridge of high pressure over us that shuts down the onshore flow that equals a good sunrise or sunset.

Steve also recommended winter, as the best time to see sunsets. “The atmosphere is more mixed up,” he explained, “so you get really clear air.”

He also warned that sunrises can be more tricky though because of the morning stratus clouds that move off the coast and through the valley at night. These clouds can put a damper on a good sunrise. Of course, when in doubt you can always head east. The clouds can’t make it inland that far.

The Road Home

After Steve and I finished our hike, I climbed back into my car and began the long drive home west through “the Gorge” and south into “the Valley.”

On my way home the pleasant weather turned from partly cloudy to stormy in what felt like an instant. Hail fell from the cumulus clouds overhead and I am pretty sure I saw a flash of lightning off in the distance. Steve was also stuck in Washougal, WA. by a torrential downpour, thunder, and lightning.

The stormy weather was short-lived, however; and as I pulled into my neighborhood the sun was setting, turning the clouds a soft shade of pink. Seeing the painted sky brought me a sense of calm following the chaos of the weather-filled day. I thought, “How very appropriate; this is what it is like to hike with a meteorologist.”

Steve Pierce is a part-time meteorologist at KOIN 6 News based in Portland, Oregon. He grew up in Vancouver, WA where he first developed a passion for weather. Steve studied Television Production at Mount Hood Community College and Business and Communications from Washington State University, Vancouver. He is also the President of the Oregon Chapter of the American Meteorological Society since 2012.

Hike with a Lichenologist

One of many cyanolichen found near the creek during the hike.

Equally unassuming and complex—lichen often go undeservedly unnoticed. Open your eyes to these delightful organisms, and an entire world unfolds before you. And here’s a shock, this world has been there all along hiding in plain sight. On the branch of a tree, or on the ground, or attached to a rock—lichen are everywhere.

Heck, spend enough time in the “world of lichen,” and they may even change your life. At least that is what happened to lichenologist Joseph (Joe) R D Meglio, whom I met on a cold, wet morning in January to hike and talk lichen.

The Hike

Trailhead: Baker Creek Trailhead, McDonald Forest (Corvallis, OR)
Distance: varies
Elevation Gain: varies
Details: This is one of many trailhead in the McDonald Forest, which offers a variety of hiking options on trails and logging roads. Limited parking is available.

Joe’s Story

Our hike began as we walked across a bridge and onto a wooded logging road, with cold pelts of mixed snow and rain falling on our heads and shoulders. Joe and I slogged up the gravel path making small talk along the way.

After a few minute’s time, I asked: “Why lichen? How did you end up here— with a career in lichen?”

Here is Joe’s story:

The Early Years

Despite being fascinated with living things from a young age, and an early interest in fungi and lichen, Joe didn’t become a lichenologist straight out of high school. He went to college for a term, and as he put it, “I flunked out.”

College “wasn’t an expectation in my family,” explained Joe. So it wasn’t a big deal when Joe dropped his academic pursuits, opting instead to learn a trade. Joe worked as a mechanic for a few years, and later as a high rigger for a logging company.

Epiphany

Then one day while on a break from rigging up cables, Joe found himself amongst the branches of a Douglas-fir tree in the Mckenzie River Valley. Looking around, he noticed two contrasting worlds—a clearcut landscape in the distance, a product of the logging industry of which he was a part, juxtaposed against the miraculous biodiversity of lichen dripping off the trees in the surrounding forest. He knew at that moment he needed a change.

Joe immediately climbed down from his perch and told his boss—“I don’t want to do this anymore. I am leaving.”

And he did. Right then and there.

A Whole New World

Not long after, Joe enrolled at the local community college and eventually made his way to Oregon State University to work with lichenologist extraordinaire, Bruce McCune.

Joe still works in the McCune lab on lichen taxonomy, and contracts with the U.S. Forest Service on Lichen related projects. He even married a lichenologist, whom we met up with later in the hike. So, yeah, Joe is really into lichen.

Pairing up

As we followed the road uphill, we continued to chat about Joe’s work and lichen-filled life. Then I asked him the all-important question, “What exactly is a lichen?”

Joe explained, “Lichen are composite organisms” containing a mycobiont (fungal component) and photobiont (photosynthetic partner) or two. The most common photobiont is green algae, followed by cyanobacteria. A tripartite lichen will contain both, like Lobaria pulmonaria (sometimes referred to as lung lichen), commonly found in lowland to mid-elevation forests of the Pacific Northwest.

Whatever the pairing, a “symbiotic” relationship, or cooperation, exists between the bionts. The photobiont provides food for the fungus due to its ability to photosynthesize. While the mycobiont provides shelter for the photosynthetic partner.

Pairing up also means physiological, chemical, and reproductive changes from the original forms of the individual bionts. Nearly nothing of the individual remains.

Hello Lichen

At this point, Joe stopped at the side of the road, grabbed a tree branch, and pulled it down to eye-level. It was time to take a look.

Joe began to point out all the different lichen species. “Stuff like this usnea is a chlorolichen,” he said pointing out a light green, stringy-looking lichen, “and this leafy species, Platismatia glauca is also a chlorolichen,” he continued.

On just a single branch, Joe pointed out at least a handful of different species— each with a unique color, shape, and form.

Several species of lichen growing on one tree branch.

Growth Forms

Which begs the question— how does one even begin to keep all the different lichen straight? I asked Joe to provide some beginner tips.

One way to start to narrow things down, Joe explained, is by becoming familiar with the different growth forms lichen exhibit. There are three basic growth forms for lichen: fruticose (shrubby), foliose (leafy), and crustose (crust). Most species will exhibit only one growth form, and even within a genus, species typically share forms. Though there are exceptions.

When it comes to fruticose and foliose lichen (aka macrolichen), the bodies (or thalli) are organized internally into layers. Joe demonstrated this stratification by plucking up a Platismatia stenophylla species (a foliose lichen) off the ground and showing me how its ventral cortex (top side) and dorsal cortex (bottom side) differed. Sandwiched in-between, the photobionts are housed, just below the upper cortex amongst the loosely packed hyphae that make up the medulla.

In tripartite lichen, additional structures are needed, called cephalodia. Often wart-like in appearance, cephalodia create an anaerobic environment that cyanobacteria require “to fix atmospheric nitrogen, an important part of the forest ecosystem nitrogen cycle.”

Identifying Features

Of course, growth form will only get you so far when it comes to identifying lichen. Other characteristics that are helpful include the size, shape, and color of the thallus (the main body of the lichen) and lobes (branches), as well as the shape, position, and color of reproductive structures. There are also many specialized features, like cilia and pores (and the cephalodia mentioned earlier), that can help one distinguish between species and genera.

One of my personal favorites is that of the Usnea genus. Usnea has an inner cortex that when you pull on it, stretches like an elastic band. But beware, the band easily breaks.

This One is Not Like the Others

However, according to Joe, even members of the same species can exhibit a great deal of variability depending on the environment in which they reside.

He picked up a Platismatia from the trail and pointed to its frilly edges. Joe explained lichen will often exhibit “extreme dimorphism,” with fringed edges, dieback, and red spots, for example.

Even normal seasonal changes and variability in light exposure will alter the appearance of lichen thalli. Exposure to light often darkens the color, while shaded individuals may appear pale.

Plastismatia species with “frilly edges”

Cryptic Organisms

However, even lichen that superficially appear to be the same species, may vary substantially in other ways. As Joe described it—within the same fungal genus you might find individuals with different secondary chemistry, or an entirely different genome than you might expect. Lichen “are very variable, very adaptable,” Joe stated. “The closer you get the more you discover.”

In fact, looking into the less obvious differences between lichen is a big part of Joe’s work. By looking really close and comparing the genomes of different lichens that appear similar, he can parse out different species and determine who is related to whom.

A Closer Look

Currently, he is working on reevaluating the Sticta genus, a group of lichen that are distinguished by having cyphellae, “little windows,” usually found on the bottom of the lichen. Through his work, Joe has found that what was thought to be one species, Sticta fuliginosa s. l., is really three distinct species with different traits. “One has these really interesting lobules that are digitate,” for example.

We took a closer look at one of the new Sticta species Joe is describing—a small brown, unassuming lichen—with the proposed name: Sticta gretae sp. nov. Using a hand lens, Joe showed me the little white dots on its lower cortex, its cyphellae.

*“a brown, unassuming lichen” soon to be named Sticta gretae* sp. nov.

Biodiversity of Lichen

Walking along the trail it was not difficult to find lichen. Hanging from a branch or trunk of a tree, attached to a rock, or growing on the forest floor—no matter where we looked, there was plenty of lichen to look at.

Lichen are adapted to nearly every habitat on Earth, providing a symphony of biodiversity and plenty of eye candy. With our temperate rainforest and a diversity of habitats, it is no wonder that the Pacific Northwest is “the center for diversity for fungi in North America.” According to Joe, “there are approximately 580 genera and over 1400 species” of lichen in the region—a biodiversity hotspot.

Every Niche

However, every lichen species present in the Pacific Northwest isn’t going to be found in every location. Each lichen species is specialized for a particular niche, a particular home, and a way of life in the environment.

Joe pointed out a Peltigera species growing on the forest floor. “These are terricolous,” he said, “their medium is soil.” He went on to explain how each terricolous species needs specific soil chemistry, a certain acidity.

The same is true of species that depend on other substrates for a home. Lobaria oregana (Oregon lung lichen), for example, grows best in mid-elevation middle-aged to old-growth forests west of the Cascades. Conifer trees in these forests provide the perfect habitat for this species.

In addition, cyanolichen and tripartite lichen are limited by water and light requirements. They will “fall out at certain elevations,” explained Joe, as the environment is too harsh and dry. They also tend to be found where more light is present. In contrast, they can often be very abundant in riparian areas, where water and light are readily available

Dispersal, Growth, and Reproduction.

Despite their abundance, lichen still are relatively slow-growing organisms and don’t disperse or reproduce easily.

Though growth is pretty variable. According to Joe, crustose lichen typically grow only a few mm or ½ cm per year. Foliose or fruticose lichen may grow several cm, depending on conditions.

When it comes to reproduction and dispersal things don’t get much easier. Sexual reproduction is one possibility and is performed by the fungi. “A high percentage of our lichenized fungi are Ascomycota,” said Joe, when I asked about lichen reproduction. This sort of fungi produces disc-like fruiting structures called apothecia from which asci (spore-containing cells) can be found and lichen spores (ascospores) are released.

However, sexual reproduction can be challenging for lichenized-fungi that need to not only find a mate but a photobiont. Therefore, asexual reproduction is also common as it has a better chance of success. In the case of asexual reproduction, packaged “dispersal units” are released that contain all the parts of a functioning lichen. Isidia and soredia are the names of these dispersal units, both having some different characters, but function in a similar way. In addition, both isidia and soredia (and patches of soredia called sorelia) are observable, especially with a hand lens, making them also useful for identification.

What’s not to Lichen?

The snow was turning to a chilling rain when Joe and I decided to turn around. Joe’s wife and son were supposed to be meeting up with us soon. It was at this point that I asked Joe the all-important question—why should I care? For all their “good looks,” is there something more a person might appreciate about lichen?

“Lichens really tell you about the health of the ecosystem and the health of you and all the animals and all the plants,” Joe responded. “The more diverse the ecosystem and the healthier you will be…. without these organisms we wouldn’t exist.”

This might seem like an extreme view to some, but our dependence on the natural world (as part of the natural world) is well established. And when it comes to the mysterious world of lichen, the value that they provide is as diverse as the species themselves.

The trail (or road) as we turned to head back down.

Fix it

One of the many benefits of lichen Joe shared with me early in the hike is their “important role in the nitrogen cycle.” The cyanobacteria in cyanolichen (including tripartite lichen) are capable of chemically changing nitrogen gas in the air (N₂) into a form that is biologically available to plants and algae. This process is known as nitrogen fixation. Then as lichen fall to the ground and decompose, the nitrogen stored in their tissues becomes available to other life forms that need it.

In certain environments, this input of nitrogen may prove to be significant. Though more research is needed to better understand the extent of their contribution.

Lichen also plays a role in the hydrological cycle, and other mineral cycles, intercepting and storing water and atmospheric inputs of various nutrients—like with nitrogen, providing a catch basin and distribution system for these inputs.

Food and Fiber

Lichens also provide food and fiber to other living things. Deer, elk, and caribou feed on lichen, depending on it for winter forage. Squirrels, chipmunks, mice, and bats also take advantage of lichen for food and nesting material. Joe specifically mentioned flying squirrels, which rely on the lichen Bryoria sp. for food and nesting material during certain parts of the year. Flying squirrels are a major food staple for Spotted Owls; without lichen, the entire food chain would collapse.

Biological Indicators

Then there is their importance as biological indicators. The presence, and more often the absence, of biological indicator organisms, acts as an alarm system for environmental change. Like a canary in a coal mine, sensitive lichen will die off in areas where there is too much air pollution, while others may move in. Similar responses may occur with changes in precipitation and temperatures. Therefore the species composition in a location can tell you a lot about the health of the ecosystem and the stressors it may be facing.

Understanding lichen community composition and tracking it over time has been another large part of Joe’s work with the Forest Service. With over 3,000 plots scattered throughout forest service land, The National Forest Inventory and Analysis (FIA) Program tracks a plethora of forest-related data, including lichen community data.

Using this data, scientists are able to see which lichen species are present in various climate and air quality conditions. One of the startling patterns that emerged from this research is the changes in species composition as you move toward urban centers. “ A large number of species are dropping out,” said Joe, due to human impacts like poor air quality.

Changing Climate

In addition, Joe hopes that by observing changes in lichen communities, we might also be able to gain a better understanding of climate change. We know that lichens are sensitive to climate conditions, so it is likely that they will respond to climate change, especially in sensitive alpine and subalpine environments.

The arctic is already seeing a decline in lichen species as a result of climate change, so the question is how will this translate into other ecosystems? “Timelines for noticing the rate of change is gradual.” explained Joe, but “we have over 30 years of FIA plot community data” to work with.

Lichens to Know

As we continued our chat about climate change, Joe and I ventured our way back down the hill, eventually reaching a bridged creek crossing and an abundance of cyanolichen.

Joe held up a beautiful, deep brown colored lichen with ridges that ran along the upper cortex that reminded me of a river system and its tributary. Joe told me that the eruptions were soralia, soredia (asexual propogules) yielding structures and that the lichen was a Lobaria anomala (netted lungwort lichen).

Beautiful, bright green Lobaria pulmonaria (lungwort or lettuce lichen) littered the area, coating the bark of Ash and other riparian trees. And long strands of Usnea longissima (beard lichen) draped across the branches like a garland; a species common to the area, but rare globally. We even saw Joe’s “baby”—Sticta gretae sp. nov. growing on a tree branch.

With so many lichen around, I asked Joe for a shortlist of “ones to know” for the region. He suggested the following based on their abundance and distinctiveness: Platismatia glauca (ragged lichen), Parmelia sulcata (wax paper lichen), any Lobarias, and Caldonias. And almost instinctively, he continued to point each beauty in the vicinity out.

Cooperation

At this point, Joe and I caught up with his wife, Elisa and their young son. We were only a few minutes from the trailhead, but we took our time getting back, chatting about life and lichen along the way.

It was fun to watch the happy family together, harmoniously moving through life together as we walked along the trail.

It also reminded me of what interested me in lichen in the first place—the symbiotic relationship. The world of lichen is “rooted” (while not having actual roots) in cooperation; in give-and-take; in shared goals.

This sort of relationship might seem baffling at first—isn’t nature a battlefield? A competition with winners and losers?

Perhaps, or perhaps this view is too narrow. Lichen remind me that cooperation is natural—as natural as a family walking together through a lichen-filled forest.

What do you think? What’s not to lichen?

Joseph R Di Meglio is a Mycologist for MICROTERRA Analytical and Pathology Laboratories llc. and Molecular Lichenologist at Oregon State University. He also contracts with the U.S. Forest Service on lichen related projects. Joe studied mycology and lichenology at Oregon State University.

Hike with an Entomologist

I met up with Chris on a drizzly cold morning in November at the top of Lewisburg Saddle in Corvallis before sunrise. Moisture hung in the air and a veil of darkness shadowed our view into the forest. At this point, you might be thinking—why? What possible purpose might Chris and I have for hitting the trail so early?

The answer is simple—to look for beetles, of course.

The Hike

Trailhead: Lewisburg Saddle Trailhead
Distance: Variable (our hike was probably 2-3 miles)
Elevation Gain: Variable, but plenty of low elevation gain options
Details: Popular trailhead with plenty of parking. Information kiosk at the trailhead. Several trails and logging roads to hike in the area.

A Beetle Guy

An entomologist and curator for Oregon State University insect collection for the last 15 years, Chris is passionate about insects and their taxonomic relationships. In particular, he is a beetle guy. When I asked: why beetles? His reply was simple: self-preservation. Chris started his insect collection at a young age but soon became overwhelmed by the sheer volume of insects on the planet. There are a lot of insects out there numbering in the 100,00s of thousands to millions. So to simplify things he decided just to focus on beetles. Of course with nearly 400,000 known beetle species on the planet, it is easy to see how his passion morphed into a life-long career.

Now, net in one hand and the leash of his pupMaera—an Italian truffle dog he hopes to train to detect beetles—in the other, Chris was ready for the hunt! I, on the other hand, a wide-eyed amateur, had no idea what I was doing.

Chris Marshall ready to catch some rain beetles.

An Enigma

It was 6:30 a.m. and still dark when we entered the forest. Headlamps on, we crunched down a gravel road, working our way deeper into the woods. Ears and eyes open. Our objective: rain beetles.

Rain beetles (Pleocomidae or Pleocoma) are a unique family of beetles that are only known in Oregon, California, and Washington. When first discovered, rain beetles were considered an enigma. “A chimera of characters,” as Chris put it. They didn’t fit into any known groups of beetles. Brown bodied, hairy around the edges, with a dark, flathead and uniquely forked antenna—rain beetles are standouts in the beetle world. So at the time, scientists lumped them into their own family and that is where they still stand today.

In the Dark

Rain beetles’ underground lifestyle only adds to its mystique. Rain beetles spend a majority of their lives underground as larvae, feeding off the young roots of trees and other forest vegetation. They dig deep into the soil’s root zone to forage. A fact discovered when a group of graduate students attempted to unearth the secrets of the rain beetle by digging them up and following their trails. “Six feet, eight feet, even 12 feet down” they had to dig to reach the beetles, said Chris. It was not an easy task with little reward.

Surprisingly, rain beetles live a long time underground before they emerge, and the number of years is strikingly variable. “It appears that they can go through seven to fourteen years before they pupate into an adult,” said Chris. “They need at least seven instars,” or seven developmental stages between molts. Then they might turn into an adult or they might not.

“This is not the standard model you are taught in school,” explained Chris— that the stages are fixed (3-5 molts is typical for winged-insects). However, “It does appear that it is more common than we thought.” Chris told me examples of wood-boring beetles that emerged from antique furniture! Much to the chagrin of the owners, I’m sure.

End of Days

But Chris and I weren’t out at the crack of dawn to dig up grubs! This was the rain beetles’ mating season. We were here to find full-grown adults.

“Usually I hear them before I see them,” said Chris as we scanned the area. “They buzz like a bumblebee.”

Both male and female rain beetles “tunnel up when the soil is wet from rain,” explained Chris. The males take flight to search for a female partner. While the females stay near the hole they dug up, and release pheromones to attract mates. Once they have mated, the female returns to her hole lays her eggs (over a couple weeks) and eventually dies. While the male will most likely be lost to predation within a day or two. Neither have working mouthparts as adults, to their days are numbered.

Strange to think about it, but these are the end of days for these beetles. Seven years under the earth, a whole life. Then a brief passage into the light—a day or two. Then death.

How to (try) and Catch a Beetle

“Males are easy to catch,” Chris explained. They sort of bumble around until they catch a whiff of something attractive. “They are not great fliers,” said Chris. You can scoop them up in a net with little effort.

However, females are much more difficult to find and catch. Females can’t fly and rarely leave their burrow. Instead, we would need to spot a swarm of males if we were to have any hope of seeing a female. “A bunch of males fighting for a female—” typical male behavior in the animal kingdom.

However, dawn was approaching and so far we hadn’t heard or seen one male. Let alone a swarm of them.

A Geographic Mystery

As the day began to grey with pale morning light, we continued our search following the gravel road downslope. Despite our lack of success, our spirits were high and there was still a lot to talk about.

Chris’ research on rain beetles has mainly been focused on understanding their geographic range—where they are and how they got there.

“The species can only expand its range at the speed at which larvae can move around,” explained Chris—which is not very fast. And they are also limited by barriers, like rivers and mountain ranges. So the question is: “How did they become distributed on the west coast? This is the heart of my interest,” said Chris.

Islands of Beetles

Our “trail” lined with great rain beetle habitat

Chris has been deeply involved in collecting and studying the genetics of different populations of rain beetles in order to begin to piece together their story.

“Historically they were one big species,” said Chris. Or at least that is where the evidence seems to suggest so far. As physical barriers have formed and shifted, the “one big species” has been split into many—a process known as vicariance. “They (the beetles) were there first, and the river or mountain range came second,” explained Chris. When considering changes over time in physical geography, “there is a nice pattern,” to the distribution of species of rain beetles.

New Species

Recently, Chris put in the painstaking work of describing a new species of rain beetle on the north side of the Columbia River that separates Oregon and Washington. An impressive accomplishment marked by many challenges. Chris hopes to add the new species to a chapter he is writing on rain beetles for an upcoming edition of a general beetle reference book.

Continuing with this work—Chris is interested in visiting many of the known Oregon populations across the state and getting material. Many of them haven’t been sampled since the 1950s!

Flooded

The population of rain beetles we were searching for is one of many isolated “island” populations found in the Willamette Valley. We were hiking at around 800 to 900 feet above sea level for a reason. Rain beetles are “not found on the Willamette Valley floor, only at higher elevations,” said Chris. Why? Chris’ hypothesis is that the Missoula Floods may have wiped out any lower elevation populations and separated the upper elevation populations from each other.

The Missoula Floods were a series of massive ice-age floods that scoured the landscape of eastern Washington, ripped through the Columbia River Gorge, and carried water and sediment into Oregon’s Willamette Valley as far as Eugene. Water levels in the valley are estimated around 400 feet in Portland and 350 feet in Eugene—plenty high enough to drown out the beetles.

“Did you know they were proposed to be the state insect?” asked Chis. I hadn’t. They lost out to the Oregon Swallowtail—a butterfly. “Not a species, a subspecies,” said Chris. Apparently, colorful, charismatic butterflies are also enough to drown out elusive brown beetles.

Predawn

At this point, the sky had changed from a dark grey to a lighter grey. Still too early to see clearly. “We are not giving up,” exclaimed Chris, “they fly as late as 10 a.m.”

Rain beetles are crepuscular—meaning they are active at dawn or sunset. “Their eyes have cones and sensors that are good at seeing at low light levels,” explained Chris. This is an advantage to the beetles and a disadvantage to the beetles’ predators. “Most vertebrate hunters are nocturnal or diurnal,” said Chris. Meaning they either see really good at night or during the day. Flying at this time means rain beetles are less likely to be eaten before getting a chance to mate.

Flying at this time also means rain beetles are less likely to be seen by us. Wait, I think I saw something buzz by and fly up into the forest. I must be seeing things.

Ghost Beetles

After about 40 minutes of hiking, Chris and I decided to turn around to see if we might catch some beetles on the way back.

Then, before long, we see it! A ghostly creature bumbles by, greyed by the paleness of the day. Chris springs into action but is too late. We see it again, but still no luck. We even try climbing up the steep embankment of the road cut to try and catch one, but the ground is slick and the route is steep. I slide down on feet and hands, turning the palms of my hands a clayey-brown.

Chris assures me. There will be others.

We keep to the area pacing a bit, catching glimpses of “ghost beetles,” before continuing our route upwards in the direction of our cars.

Describing Science

As we walked, Chris shared with me some of his concerns about the direction science is headed. “In the last 50 years, science has been reduced to this experimentalism,” he said. It has become mostly about repeating controlled experiments. Experiments are all well and good, but by limiting our focus we “cut out a hugely important part of science,” Chris said.

“Science has a descriptive component,” he explained, “that is heavily embedded in the exploration and discovery phase.” He went on: “At the end of the day, I am trying to show you that this thing exists. If I can show you one, then you will know.”

This is also why pinned specimens and research museums are so important. “Museum specimens…provide empirical observation. They serve as an archive for scientists to describe the northwest, country, and even the world.” They show us what is out there.

In addition, “tests can be run on specimens,” to determine taxonomic relationships. This is what Chris’ work is all about. Describing new species. “So we can say that this is X and this is Y.”

“There is so much to discover!” he exclaimed. As Chris puts it—descriptive science is “how we know what is on planet Earth.” And—how can we care if we don’t know?

Associations

It was now getting to be much lighter out. We had “seen” several ghostly rain beetles, but were yet to catch one.

Out of the blue, Chris B-lined it toward a cluster of orange fungi on the side of the road—possibly toxic“Jack-o-lantern fungi.” He picked it up and looked under it to see if he could spot any beetles. He explained that many beetles live in and on mushrooms. Many are “fungivores”— consuming mushrooms or other parts of the fungi.

This got Chris reminiscing. “Thought I would study beetle-fungi coevolution,” he said. “But it was tough to get funding.” Then it was ants and beetles. But the fieldwork was hard and he didn’t want to be an “ant biologist.” At the same time, he was fascinated by associations between beetles and other living things. So when he found a relatively abundant beetle was covered with mites— he changed his project again.

“What did you learn?” I asked

“I learned PhDs take a long time,” was Chris’ curt response. “You can quickly bite off more than you can chew. You have to learn to spit some out.” Ultimately, though he completed the project, he didn’t end up getting into the mite-beetle specifics as he had hoped. Does he regret it? Yes and no. “I have a full life of other things I like to do too,” he said. And that is also important.

Orange mushrooms, possibly Jack-o-Lanterns.

How to (finally) Catch a Beetle

Just then, something caught Chris’ eye! One of our ghostly friends came flying down out of the forest. Only, this time Chris was quick to action, swooping his net in a well-choreographed flip of the wrist and he caught it!

Chris pulled the rain beetle from his net and held it out in his hand. “There he is in all his glory,” he said.

I looked down at this scruffy, male beetle with his shiny nearly-black exoskeleton fringed with golden brown fur. He was both glamor and gruff. At least that is my take; granted I am no entomologist.

Chris passed him off for me to hold. But in my hands he squirmed so much that I soon passed him back.

It was a fleeting moment for both of us.

Our first catch! Chris holding a rain beetle.

The Beetles Go On

After catching one, Chris ended up scooping up a couple more rain beetles before we made it back to the trailhead. We walked and talked and caught beetles—Chris sharing funny anecdotes, and thoughts on career paths not taken.

Toward the end of the hike, I asked Chris what else he could tell me about finding beetles. He responded with a litany of places to look: under rocks and logs, in flowers, under driftwood in dunes, on plants, and swimming in water. “There are a ton of different ones,” he said. “A lot are small too,” he explained, and “need a hand lens to see them in detail.”

“We have an incredible native fauna,” said Chris. And to experience it all requires incredible effort—learning habitats, timing, etc. of the beetles. In short, to “be an insect collector,” you need to know your insects.

Individual Style

Chris is all about studying the individual and species levels in biology. He was firm on that point. “I am not an ecologist,” he stated frankly early on in the hike. Not that he doesn’t enjoy ecology, it is just that Chris uses a different scientific lens.

Chris used the example of a tree in a forest to explain his perspective. “An ecologist has to reduce the tree to a primary source of photosynthesis… a carbon sink.” At the same time, a reductionist might see the tree as just a “physiological unit of cells.” This is not complete either.

While both these perspectives are important and valid, they miss another equally important and valid way of studying nature. “Sitting in between those two things. The thing that links those things—the individual and species level.”

“That’s an individual,” said Chris as he pointed to one of the trees in the forest. And that individual comes from a pedigree of individuals… That’s the realm of systematics and taxonomists.”

Caught

Chris extended his thinking to human societies as well. If we are “so focused on how the bigger system works,” he argued “what does one persons life matter?”

As a systems thinker myself, I often think a lot about big picture ideas, so I was refreshed by Chris’ ideas. To consider the individual—whether it be a human or another life form—makes a lot of sense.

Every human, tree, or beetle has its own unique biology and its own unique life history. And as helpful as it can be to see the forest through the trees—generalizing can also be a dangerous game. You lose out on important details. Diversity is lost. Judgments and decisions are made without all the information. And that has the potential to be catastrophic.

By the end of our hike, Chris had caught three beetles. But I caught something as well, perhaps even more valuable—a fresh perspective.

Dr. Chris Marshall is the curator for the Oregon State Arthropod Collection. He earned his bachelor’s degree at Reed College before studying entomology as a graduate student at Cornell University.

Hike with a Land Conservationist

In my experience, relationships with places are not all that different from relationships with people. You have to spend time with a place to get to know it. Ask it questions. Become familiar with its moods and seasons. Learn what makes it tick. Before long, an intimacy may develop and you may even find yourself saying the L-word—love. It takes time. Sure there are those love-at-first-sight moments—but those are fleeting. A deep relationship to the land is more than a few moments on a clifftop view watching the sunset.

When it comes to Whychus Canyon Preserve, few people have a deeper relationship with the land as Sarah Mowry. As a staff member at the Deschutes Land Trust for the last 15 years, Sarah has been with the property since it was first established in 2010, and in 2014 when an additional 480 acres were added. With that in mind, I met Sarah at the Whychus Canyon Preserve trailhead on a cool autumn afternoon to explore the place for the first time.

Sarah Mowry making her way along the trail.

The Hike

Trailhead: Whychus Canyon Preserve Trailhead
Distance: about 4 miles
Elevation Gain: approximately 500 feet
Details: Directions and details are found at the Deschutes Land Trust website.

Welcome to Whychus

Before hitting the trail, Sarah gave me a bit of background on the Whychus Watershed. Whychus Creek is a glacier-fed stream. The creek begins up near the Three Sisters, tears downhill until it reaches Alders Springs and its confluence with the Deschutes River.

Most of the river’s path is marked by deep canyons, but there are some places where the land opens up and meadow habitat is possible. According to Sarah, Whychus Canyon Preserve, the property we were about to explore, has some of the best meadow habitats. These meadows are “biological hotspots,” Sarah explained.

In addition, Whychus Canyon Preserve provides habitat features for Chinook salmon and steelhead, which are being reintroduced into the Deschutes River Basin. “There has been a huge collaborative effort to bring them back led by the Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs and Portland General Electric,” explained Sarah.

The preserve also provides migratory routes for terrestrial species, like deer and elk, as they move down into their winter range. “The habitat connection the Preserve provides to adjacent public land is huge,” said Sarah,. And at 930 acres, the Whychus Canyon Preserve extended the habitat substantially.

Plus, Whychus Canyon Preserve has an extensive trail system with 7 miles of established trail for people to explore.

All this to say, Whychus Canyon Preserve has a lot going for it.

Trailhead kiosk provides background information about Whychus Canyon Preserve

Restore

After several minutes discussing the property, Sarah and I realized we better hit the trail if we were going to finish our hike before sunset. We had decided on a 4-mile loop down to the river and we immediately began our descent.

As we tripped downhill past dried bunchgrass and sagebrush and past juniper and pine, Sarah told me about the Land Trust’s forest restoration work. She explained that when the Land Trust first acquired the property, the forested canyon was thick with small juniper and pine. So in order to restore the land, some of the trees were thinned out by hand.

Restore. Restore is a tricky word. It means to return to its former state. But how far back do you go? Can cutting down trees really be considered restorative?

The short answer is—it depends! Restoration work, as Sarah explained it, all depends on the location, local ecology, and the project goals. For the Whychus Canyon Preserve, cutting down a few trees made sense. It helped with fire protection and opened up the forest for larger pines and junipers while promoting healthier habitat for all sorts of other plants and animals.

Jumpstart

One of the Land Trust’s goals for Whychus Canyon Preserve, is to “restore a natural functioning system,” said Sarah. And, sometimes, a hands off approach won’t get you there. Past hands have already had an impact, so expecting nature to bring it back just isn’t going to happen. Healing the relationship between the land and people requires time and work. “You need to jumpstart the system,” said Sarah, “Give it a leg up so it can get itself back to a healthy place.”

Of course, the way you do so can be tricky. For example, in Whychus Creek at nearby Camp Polk Meadow Preserve, another Land Trust restoration site, the stream was restored by digging out historic channels and adding curves and other features for habitat complexity. Fast forward four years and the Land Trust is working with partners to restore Whychus Creek at Whychus Canyon Preserve using more process-oriented methods. “We are learning things all of the time,” Sarah said, “The kind of restoration work we were doing now has evolved from what we did 10 years ago.”

Canyon Bottom

Before long, Sarah and I had made it down to the bottom of the canyon and the crystal clear waters of Whychus Creek. Trees and shrubs line much of its banks, as it continues cutting its way down deepening the canyon.

“We haven’t done any stream restoration in this part of the Preserve yet,” said Sarah. Eventually, she explained, a detailed plan is currently being created that will lay out everything—stream structure, plantings, habitat features, etc. Thousands of native plants will be brought in to fill in the gaps. And logs—lots and lots of whole trees are needed. “Large woody debris,” as it is often called, provides cover for fish and aids in the development of stream habitat diversity.

Free

As we hiked along the bottomlands, Sarah pointed to areas where strips of land had clearly been raised adjacent to the creek; probably dug by the Army Corps of Engineers with good intent to reduce flooding. Instead, these berms disconnected the stream channel from its floodplain, limiting the ability of Whychus Creek to spread out. Thus giving the creek access to its floodplain will also be an important part of the restoration plan.

However, this doesn’t mean the creek will simply be rechanneled—directed by the will of people. Instead, a process-based restoration is being implemented throughout the Whychus Canyon Preserve. With this sort of plan, the Whychus Creek will be free to find its own path, or paths, as it were.

The Land Trust has already begun using this sort of methodology on the northernmost mile of recent creek restoration efforts at the Preserve. Left to find its own path, Whychus Creek has created several new channels and water is beginning to saturate the surrounding landscape. In fact, some of the pines in the floodplain are dying off because the soils are now too wet to support them. “It’s a little hard to watch,” said Sarah, but it’s all part of the process. Those trees will become homes for other animals as snags or provide cover for fish.”

The newly wet floodplain also meant a different planting plan for the restoration. When you let the creek choose where it will go, you can’t choose where to put the water-loving plants or the plants that prefer dryer conditions, so you plant a little of everything everywhere, explained Sarah.

Berms along Whychus Creek disconnect the stream channel from its floodplain.

Healing

Restoration isn’t hands-off, but all hands on deck. It is work. The land comes with “baggage” from past human relationships—sometimes scars. Restoration is providing the opportunity for renewal, a starting point. Then knowing when to back off and let nature heal itself.

Watching the land heal is a huge perk of Sarah’s 15 years with the trust. “It is awesome because I get to see the positive changes we can make over time.”

Land Trust

Earlier on during our hike, Sarah pointed out several houses built along the rimrock on the opposite side of Whychus Creek from the land trust’s property. Now, as we began to make our ascent back up the canyon, more houses came into view perched above us.

“Development is a challenge to nature,” explained Sarah. “A lot of good habitat is on private land. What can you do when it is covered over?”

That is why land trusts are an important part of the land conservation equation. Land trusts fill in the gaps where public lands can’t by strategically purchasing lands, or establishing land protection agreements called conservation easements, with a focus on the future.

The Deschutes Land Trust was first established in 1995 for this very reason. Central Oregon was developing at a rapid pace and many community members were concerned about the loss of wild areas and vital habitats. So when a well-beloved parcel of land went up for sale and was threatened with development, community members came together, and the Deschutes Land Trust got started, by protecting their first property—the 63 acre Indian Ford Meadow Preserve just outside of Sisters, OR.

Now the Deschutes Land Trust manages over 17,000 acres of land.

View across Whychus Creek where houses line the rimrock.

Easements

Nearly half of the Land Trust’s lands are protected through land protection agreements called conservation easements. Conservation easements are agreements with landowners to protect or restrict certain activities on their private property in perpetuity. Each agreement is unique to the land and the owner.

Why would a landowner want to put an easement on their property? “Most of our landowners have done it because they have a conservation vision,” said Sarah.

View at the Top

The trail steepened as Sarah and I climbed some rock steps, sweating our way to the top of the canyon and a sweeping view looking out over the preserve. Sarah told me that the trail builder that put in the steps we were climbing was all about “the journey instead of the destination.” But I have to admit, the destination, in this case, was sort of the point.

Looking out across the canyon, layers of rim rock were imbued with a golden hue, and stately pine trees mixed with juniper dotted the landscape all the way down to the fall-colored leaves of deciduous trees that lined Whychus Creek. In the distance, you could just make out the meadow that Sarah had talked about earlier. This was one of those moments—a beginning—a connection to the land.

We paused here to take in the scenery and experience the preserve from a different vantage point. Sarah pulled out a map of the area that showed a conceptual rendition of the new stream channels that were forming and reforming as the meadow has been restored with an influx of water. And we talked at some length about restoration monitoring methods and the wonders of lidar imagery.

But the sun was getting lower and we had families to get home to, so we made the difficult decision to continue onward, following the trail along the canyon rim to our cars.

Time for Change

As we walked along patches of old growth juniper and sagebrush steppe, Sarah and I talked about the people in our lives and the changes we have been dealing with lately. We discussed the challenges of having kids in distance learning, changing job responsibilities, and just a general sense of loss that life has taken lately.

One of Sarah’s responsibilities as outreach director is to coordinate events that bring people to the preserves to learn more about it. People need to “learn about a place to care about a place,” Sarah explained. And for the time being, these sorts of events are just not possible.

Renewal

Looking around at the dried out sagebrush and bunchgrass along the path, it is difficult to imagine anything else. But each spring the brown earth is renewed with bright fields of green and colorful spring wildflowers. “Gold stars blanket the floor,” Sarah said in remembrance. The “star” of the show are dime-sized goldfield daisies that bloom in early spring, enveloping the land in a warm yellow profusion of color.

The winter we are facing right now makes it seem like we will never see spring. But barren landscapes can be returned to beauty and function whether through changing season, or, at times, through restoration.

This makes me think, perhaps that is what is really needed—a restoration. To be brought back to an ancient connection with the land, and with the people that inhabit it. We need to turn to one another and turn to the land. Nurture relationships. Listen and learn. It will take work—hard work—and a good deal of patience, but if we can get things moving in the right direction, perhaps nature will kick in and bring us back to something better.

Now that is a change I would love to observe.

Sarah Mowry is the Deschutes Land Trust’s Outreach Director. Sarah has been with the trust for the past 15 years. She has a Bachelor’s Degree in Environmental Studies from Middlebury College and a Masters Degree from the University of Montana.

Hike with a Cell Biologist

View out toward Marys Peak from the top of the hill.

Let’s talk tiny. I mean really tiny. Like, get out your microscope small. I am talking about cells! You know them, you love them—those little bags of gobbledygook filled with smaller stuff still, with names like endoplasmic reticulum, ribosomes and Golgi bodies.

Cells are the building blocks of every living thing on the planet. So despite their size, they are kind of a big deal. So big that on a sunny Thursday afternoon I met up Marc Curtis, a cell biologist from Oregon State University, to talk about the small stuff.

The Hike

Trailhead: Forestry Club Cabin Trailhead at Peavy Arboretum, Corvallis, OR
Distance: 4.8 miles
Elevation Gain: approximately 900 feet
Details: Plenty of parking at the trailhead. Restrooms available at the arboretum, but not at the trailhead. This hike is part of an extensive trail network throughout the McDonald-Dunn Forest, so there are many options to extend or shorten the hike.

Cell Level Thing

We immediately started hiking uphill from the parking lot along a forest road that leads to Oregon State Universities Forestry Club Cabin, before turning onto the tree-lined trail. As we trudged along several steep sections of the trail, Marc told me about his background.

Marc was fascinated by cells from a young age. In high school, his father, a Molecular Biologist at the Wistar Institute in Philadelphia, gave Marc a review article on cells and their role in cancer. Marc was hooked. “That just made sense to me, that cell level thing,” he said. “They grow, divide, they talk to each other, they take on different functions and they build the body.”

As an adult, Marc pursued his interest in cells by studying biochemistry at the University of New Hampshire and getting involved in undergraduate research involving cell signaling in the corpus luteum. Later, he moved onto Oregon State University to study cell death, as a graduate student, and eventually cell mutation as a postdoc.

Grow, Divide, Repeat

Marc has made a career out of thinking about cells, what they do, and how they do it. But cells are so small, invisible to the naked eye. Can we find a way to appreciate cells while on a hike?

A good start is to pay attention to plants. This is where Marc has focused most of his career.

Unlike humans, plants typically grow throughout their lives—packing on the inches at their tips, as long as conditions allow. Plant growth occurs in the roots and the shoots—where apical meristematic tissue composed of undifferentiated cells grow and divide. Meristematic tissue is also found in the buds and the nodes, the “joints” of a plant. Many different plant tissues and organs can arise from these growth regions, including leaves and flowers.

Marc pointed out the shoot apical meristem on one of the plants we saw along the trail. “It is in there,” he said, directing my eyes to the place where the leaf meets the stem. “That is where you have the undifferentiated cells—the fountain of youth—where new uncommitted cells come from.”

Marc explained that when these cells divide, they build up from the bottom layer and will eventually differentiate and become tissue, so the cells at the tips can maintain their undifferentiated status.

Meristematic tissue is found where you see branching on this plant.

Time for a Change of Pace

However, this doesn’t mean these cells remain unaltered throughout the life of the plant. Because apical meristem divides so prolifically, mutations can accumulate in the meristematic tissue. Marc studied the process of mutation using meristematic tissue as a postdoc. Mutations are “mistakes” in DNA—a cell’s molecular instruction book—that arise during the replication process or from environmental factors, like UV light.

Marc was interested in how plant cells are able to bypass mutation so they can continue to grow and divide. Turns out that plant cells are pretty good at this. By maintaining a low level of fidelity during the replication process, cells in the apical meristem can continue their work of supplying the rest of the plant a lifetime supply of—well—cells! This also means there can be 100s of genetic variants in the meristem of one individual plant that can potentially give rise to unique growth forms. Though it seems like this is fairly rare.

In any event, growth is cellular! So when you see new leaves and flowers emerge in the spring, or look up to the tippy-top of a tree, or notice a new growth pattern in a familiar species—think tiny! Think— grow, divide, repeat! The leaves, flowers, and new growth each year are the result of the microscopic world of cellular division!

Looking up at the tippy-top of some trees on the trail.

Beauty in Death

In autumn, cells take a turn for the morbid. As Marc and I made our way further up the trail, leaves crunching underfoot, I asked him to explain how cells were involved in the spectacular displays of fall foliage observed during this time of year.

The process is called autumn senescence—which essentially means a slow, seasonal death. Cells that make up the leaves of deciduous trees start to shut down in the fall in response to changes in daylight hours and temperature. In order to conserve resources, cells “break down chlorophyll and other components,” Marc explained, “leaving carotenoids and other pigments exposed.” Hence, the bright oranges, yellows, and purples. This organized way of dying, allows plants to hold onto difficult to obtain nutrients, like nitrogen, so that later in the spring they can begin to” grow, divide, repeat” once again.

Bigleaf Maple autumn color (a.k.a. dead/dying cells)

Dead Tissue Eater

However, cells don’t always die in a blaze of colorful glory. Cell death may also be an adaptive defense. Earlier in the hike, Marc talked about his PhD work on a plant that when attacked by a toxic fungus would respond by activating cell death. This might seem like a bad idea at first glance, but by killing off the tissue where the fungi attacked, the plant was able to stave off further damage and prevent the fungus from eating it. You see, this particular fungi was a biotroph, meaning it only consumes living tissue. Dead tissue was entirely unappealing.

Unfortunately, Marc’s tale has a sad ending. Another fungus came along—a necrotroph, or dead tissue eater—that was able to mimic the biotrophic fungi’s toxin, triggering cell death in the plant. Only in this case, the dead tissue was very appetizing to the fungi. It is a dog eat dog cellular world out there!

Gall-y

Eventually, Marc and I made it to the top of the Powder House Trail, where the vegetation changed from the Douglas-fir and Big Leaf Maple trees we had spent most of our hike walking through, to a hilltop prairie of grasses and Oaks. Walking amidst the oak trees reminded me of the dozens of oak galls my kiddos and I had spotted amongst the fall foliage on another recent hike in the area. I asked Marc about these odd growths.

Though he didn’t know a lot of details, Marc did recall that the growth was the result of a parasitic “gall wasp.” The gall wasp will lay its eggs on an oak leaf or twig, usually in the spring. Then, when these eggs hatch into larvae, they release biochemicals that “brainwash” the cells of the leaf or twig into forming a gall. The gall—a growth filled with nutritive cells—envelops the larvae as it forms, protecting and feeding it while it pupates.

Upon further research, I found that gall shape and structure are unique to each parasite, even between individuals of the same species. And that the growth pattern of galls are so different from normal leaf or branch tissue growth, that “they have been described as new plant organs” with a unique chemical signature. Though it seems there is still more research needed to understand exactly how the larvae control cell growth and division, galls are an impressive example of what I like to call “zombie biology.”

Green Islands

In discussing galls, Marc was reminded of another parasitic relationship that can be observed in the fall—green islands. Green islands are spots on a leaf that will remain green even as the rest of the leaf begins to undergo senescence. Marc explained—the green spots are the result of a fungal infection. “The fungus produces plant hormones called cytokinin which delays senescence.” This keeps the chlorophyll—the green stuff involved in photosynthesis—from breaking down. Hence the green. This also means the plant’s food factory stays open for business, providing the fungus a continuous supply of sugar. Needless to say, this is a pretty sweet deal for the fungi.

Wax on, Wax off

As Marc and I meandered along the trail looking for green islands (later we found a few examples), Marc pointed toward a gnarled and twisted tree trunk with peeling red bark straight ahead—a Madrone!

A personal favorite of Marc’s I walked up to get a closer look. I felt one of the thick, smooth leaves. “What is going on here?” I asked. “Why do Madrone’s have waxy leaves?” It must be something cellular I thought.

I was right! “Waxes are secreted by the epidermal cells through the endomembrane system,” Marc replied. The endomembrane system is the machinery in a cell that packages and transports certain molecules, like wax, into the extracellular world. Marc explained, The Golgi probably synthesizes the wax. It is then gathered in vesicles. These vesicles transport the wax to the outer cellular membrane. Here they fuse with the membrane and dump the wax out into the cell wall. And voila—waxy leaves!

Human bone-building also uses the endomembrane system, Marc shared. Though in this case, the bone cells are spewing out collagen protein—the number one ingredient for bones. Think about it! Our skeletons are made from cells throwing up all day. A fun fact Marc likes to share with his students.

Evolution

Eventually, Marc and I made our descent back towards our cars. On our way down the trail, we chatted about topics ranging from teaching on zoom to plant podcasts.

Marc was also on the lookout for a liverwort he had been able to identify recently and wanted to see if he could find it again. In addition to several botany courses, Marc also teaches an evolution course at OSU. So with ancient plants on the brain, biological evolution naturally came up as we hiked along.

Innovation

Like most things, if you haven’t caught on yet, evolution is very much a cellular process. Mutations that occur in reproductive cells, gametes, provide new genetic variation to a population. Meiosis, the development of reproductive cells, does the same by mixing and matching genes so each gamete is unique.

Of course, there is much more to evolution by natural selection than genetic variation. When passing by a Douglas-fir tree, Marc shared with me his thoughts on the subject. “Bark,” he said, “has a high surface area with all the cracks and creases.” When bark like this evolved it provided opportunities for many other species to evolve on it. “Innovation opens the door for more innovation,” Marc explained. He used the analogy of the internet boom. Once the internet got started it provided opportunities for online retail, social media, etc. One new idea brought about many more ideas. Life is similar—a new biological innovation can open up ecological space for new species to emerge.

Listen to a Liverwort

Toward the end of our hike, Marc finally found his liverwort. He pointed out how the “leaf” structure and arrangement was different from that of a moss or any other plant. A difference that Marc had only recently developed an eye for, and I had never considered. In fact, I was pretty sure I have been mistaking liverwort for some other group, like a lichen or moss, my entire life.

Marc’s liverwort! Check out those “leaves!”

Back at home, I kept thinking about Marc’s liverwort and his thoughts on innovation. And maybe because the world seems so divided, or perhaps it is a personal crisis of faith in mankind, but I can’t help but feel like there is some sort of deeper message here.

Throughout our hike, the concept of curiosity being essential to scientific work kept coming up. But I think it goes beyond science. We all need to be curious. Open our eyes to the liverworts of the world—not lump them together with lichen or a moss—assuming they are all the same. We need an evolution of the mind! And just like the bark of a tree, innovative ideas will open the mind to more innovative ideas.

Cells are amazing in their simple mantra—grow, divide, repeat. But it is mutation, change, or innovation—that keeps things moving forward— evolving.

So, let “new variations” or ideas sink in and become part of your mental framework. If nothing else, you may finally learn to identify a liverwort.

Marc Curtis is an instructor at Oregon State University in the Department of Botany and Plant Pathology. Marc has a Bachelor’s degree from the University of New Hampshire in Biochemistry and PhD from Oregon State University where he studied mutation in plant cells.

Hike with a Wildlife Biologist at Finley National Wildlife Refuge

Looking out at the restored Oak Savannah on the Mill Hill Trail.

When Euro-American settlers arrived in the Willamette Valley of Oregon in the mid-nineteenth century, they encountered a landscape far different from what you see there today. Historical accounts describe open fields of tall grasses and wildflowers with a few oak trees interspersed. A biodiverse paradise for songbirds, butterflies, and other species that rely on an open system. Maintained by the indigenous people, the Kalapuya, for centuries—the expansive landscape must have been appealing to many early settlers as well.

Flash forward to modern times—and the Willamette Valley is now a complex of agricultural fields and urban and suburban environs. Most of Oregon’s major population centers, like Portland and Eugene, as well as the state capital, Salem, are in the Willamette Valley. Currently, more Oregonians live and work in the Willamette Valley than in any other part of the state and over 170 crops are grown there. Development has completely altered the landscape. Only about 1% of the Oak Savanna habitat that was once prominent in the area remains. Wetlands, riparian areas, and oak woodlands have all suffered major losses in the Willamette Valley.

A Few Hold Outs

However, there are still a few holdouts and a lot of effort to maintain and restore what remains of these important habitats. One of the holdouts is Finley National Wildlife Refuge, just a few miles south of Corvallis, OR. And one of the people putting forth the effort to maintain and restore is Nate Richardson, a wildlife biologist for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS).

I met up with Nate at Finely to hike the Mill Hill Loop and chat about Willamette Valley habitats and the challenges of maintaining and restoring them.

The Hike

Trailhead: Mill Hill Trailhead (or Refuge Headquarters)
Distance: approximately 3 miles
Elevation Gain: 300 feet
Details: This is an easy hike. Most people park at the overlook for the display pond. You can also start at headquarters where there is ample parking. However, when this was written, the lot was closed to visitors. There are bathroom facilities within the refuge.

Into the Woods

Nate and I started out on the trail hiking through oak woodlands. Nate pointed out the structure of the forest. There were a lot of smaller, younger oak trees with a few larger oaks and an understory of shrubs—typical of this habitat type. Oak woodland is a priority habitat in Oregon and provides for many species of concern in Oregon, such as the acorn woodpecker and white-breasted nuthatch. Though we didn’t see any during our hike, the Mill Hill Loop is an excellent spot to look for woodpeckers, said Nate.

A Tale of Two Trees

However, despite the many functioning aspects of the oak woodland we were hiking through, it didn’t take long before we spotted one of its biggest threats—conifers. Nate explained how Douglas-fir trees grow much quicker than Oregon’s oak species, like the Oregon white oak. Because of this difference, when Douglas-fir inundate an oak woodland, they tend to outcompete the oak by shading them out.

As we continued down the trail, we could see several examples of Douglas-fir trees in direct competition with the oak. We even saw a few dead oaks as a result.

A Douglas-fir tree in competition with an Oregon white oak.

Managing with Fire

In the past, conifer and shrub species were kept in check by the indigenous people of the Willamette Valley—the Kalapuya. For hundreds of years, the Kalapuya used fire to maintain the open habitats of the Willamette Valley for forage and hunting. Without fire, woody species have encroached further and further into the foothills of the Willamette Valley, such that much of the oak habitats, especially upland prairie, has been all but eliminated.

Mixed Up

As we hiked, further along, the suite of species gradually changed from oak to a mixed forest, to one dominated by conifers. With a much denser overstory of Douglas-fir, our path became almost completely shaded, and oak became non-existent. Instead, big leaf maple made up the deciduous canopy with many shade-loving (or at least shade-tolerant) plants in the understory. Sword fern and snowberry were two species I spotted.

In general, conifer forests like the one we were hiking through are very common in Oregon and becoming more common in the Willamette Valley. But that doesn’t mean they don’t have value. Mixed/conifer forests provide habitat for many species, such as black-tailed deer and Swainson’s thrush. Nate told me that even Grey Jay (a species I usually associate with higher-elevation conifer forests) will occupy the site in the winter.

A Douglas-fir forest with big leaf maples and sword fern.

Everyone Likes Ducks

At one point, the dense trees opened up and a brightly lit clearing of grasses and willows came into view through the thicket. A wetland! Wetlands are areas that tend to retain moisture for a large part of the year. These soggy bottomlands also provide critical habitat for many species, like wood ducks and beavers that frequent the area. Wetlands are also a target habitat for restoration and protection, as many have been drained for other uses.

Though Nate works for USFWS, he spends most of his time working on restoration projects that are on private lands; many of which are wetland projects. “People like ducks,” said Nate, so they tend to be the focus of these projects. In fact, Finley was originally established to provide nesting habitat for waterfowl. In this case, the Dusky Canada Goose lost a great deal of habitat from land subsidence following an earthquake. Of course, now the refuge takes a multi-species approach to management, focusing on restoring habitat for many species. Coincidentally, even if a wetland is established in the name of duck, many more species will benefit, including humans. Wetlands provide tons of ecosystem services! Wetlands are amazing water regulators and filters, for example.

Pure Gold

Then, at long last, we arrived! An upland prairie! One of Nate’s favorite habitats in the refuge. According to Nate, upland prairie habitat is really important to many species of concern in Oregon, like the Oregon Vesper Sparrow and the Streaked Horned Lark. Plant species like Kincaid’s Lupine, Nelson’s Checkermallow, Bradshaw’s Lomatium, and Willamette Daisy, are also rare but can be seen here. Plus oak savanna habitat is typically the only place in Oregon’s Willamette Valley you are likely to find the state bird—the Western Meadowlark.

Dominated by grasses, like Roemer’s Fescue, and herbaceous wildflowers, like Oregon sunshine, oak savanna is a colorful Smörgåsbord in early spring. The diversity of grasses and forbs in oak savanna habitat also attracts a diversity of insects, which in turn attracts a lot of birds. Essentially, the entire system is driven by the right mix of native prairie vegetation.

The view looking out at the restored oak savanna.

Time and Money

However, when it comes to restoration, getting that right mix can be a huge undertaking. Nate explained that the open prairie we were looking at used to be a lot of douglas-fir trees and hardly any grasses. It took a lot of work, time, and expense to bring it back to a near-native state. Cutting down trees, mowing, and burning, as well as replanting native species, are all part of the restoration process. A process that doesn’t really have an end, as continued mowing, burning and plantings are often needed to maintain the habitat. For example, golden paintbrush, a plant that was once extirpated from the state, needs regular burning to be maintained. Also, as a hemiparasitic species, golden paintbrush benefits from associations with other native species, like Oregon sunshine.

Visit this spot in spring to see golden paintbrush in bloom, along with a whole host of other wildflower species.

Is it enough?

As you can see, restoration work can get pretty complicated. Research into understanding what species do best, and in what conditions, is another important component of restoration work. However, there is also the question of just how much to restore. Do you want an oak savanna that is 90% native, or will 60% do? Nate talked about the challenges around this sort of decision-making. If you can get an ecosystem 60% restored for a lot less cost and effort, maybe that is enough to restore the ecological function of the prairie. And if that is the case, shouldn’t we stop there? He didn’t have an answer. Nor do I. But these are important considerations for any restoration and/or management plant. When do we let nature do its thing?

Connect the Dots

Another perhaps even bigger challenge when you are trying to restore an ecosystem that is about 99% lost is connectivity. Nate explained—Many species need large tracts of land and the ability to migrate between and through the landscape in order to obtain desirable population densities. Population density is simply the number of individuals in a population that live in a given area. “Song birds really need it,” said Nate, “small places are great, but song birds need more.” When there is a large enough tract of land that is not segmented, the densities of birds, like the Western Meadowlark, are substantially increased.

The question is how do we create connectivity? We don’t want the “traditional corridor of trees,” said. Though there is no simple answer, Nate does hope to improve conditions where he can. As mentioned earlier, a lot of the restoration work Nate does is off the refuge property, often in locations adjacent to a refuge. Helping landowners establish habitat on their property can expand the land area that supports species. Then, as Nate described, others see what is happening and want to get involved “and things spiderweb out.”

A Rare Sight

One of the rarest habitats on the refuge (and in Oregon) is the wet prairie. Due to their location, Occurring in lowlands, especially floodplains, many wet prairies have been converted to agricultural land. Wet prairies are also different from upland prairies as they retain water for a portion of the year making them ideal for plants that like to occasionally get their feet wet. Water-tolerant grasses, like tufted hair grass, sedges, and wildflowers dominate wet prairies. Unfortunately, the wet prairie is also rare on the Mill Hill Loop—we didn’t see any.

According to Nate, you have to go to the Prairie Overlook to see wet prairie habitat. Besides being wet prairie, the land adjacent to the overlook is designated a Research Natural Area, set aside for education and research. It is also really special because it is one of the few places in the Willamette Valley that was never tilled.

Looking out at the wet prairie from the Prairie Overlook.

Important Matters

As we finished the loop and made our way back to park headquarters, I asked Nate why people should care about protecting and restoring wildlife habitat. For Nate, it is all about awe—only in these places can you see a rare blue butterfly or hear a woodpecker cackle, or watch ten thousand geese take flight off the marsh. Experiences like these can inspire people to care about and appreciate the ecosystems around them.

Awe and Inspiration

We were nearing the golden hour as Nate and I parted ways both to our respective homes. But before I left, I pulled over at the Prairie Overlook to take a peek at the wet prairie Nate had mentioned earlier. With my mood light and the sun setting low in the sky over an expansive golden landscape, I really did feel a sense of awe and appreciation. It is amazing what a little bit of nature (and science) can do for the human spirit.

Nate Richardson has worked as a wildlife biologist for the USFWS for 12 years restoring native habitat for the Partners for fish and wildlife program. He got his BS in wildlife science at Oregon State in 2004 focusing on avian conservation and management. In his free time, he enjoys hiking, climbing, fishing, and spending time with his 9-year-old son.

Hike with a Paleontologist

View into the badlands of the Blue Basin at the end of Island in Time Trail.

How would you like to travel back in time?

You might be thinking—sounds like science fiction. And in a way, you would be right. But I am not talking about the sort of time travel involving flux capacitors or DeLorean Time Machines. Rather, the sort that uses dated rocks and hard scientific evidence to unlock the secrets of the Earth.

Yes, I am talking about paleontology— a science dedicated to piecing together stories of the past. Stories of the evolution of a planet; stories of volcanism and climate change; of life adapting to land and to air; of speciation and mass extinctions. Just to name a few.

With this in mind, I met up with Nick, Chief Paleontologist, John Day Fossil Beds National Monument, at the Blue Basin Trailhead in the Sheep Rock Unit of the Park, for a short hike and to listen to some of these stories.

Hang onto your hats kiddos—we are headed back in time!

Nick Famoso next to one of three fossil replicas found on the Island in Time Trail

The Hike

Trailhead: Blue Basin Trailhead
Distance: 1.3 miles
Elevation Gain: about 220 feet
Details: There is ample parking at the trailhead and a pit toilet. Look for signs for the Island in Time Trail. There is also a 3+ miles Blue Basin Overlook trail you can take from the same location.

Rock Records

According to Nick, one of the main reasons why the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument was established was to “preserve and interpret the story of the geological past of the John Day region.” The park represents over 40 million years of time. With the Sheep Rock Unit providing the longest geological record from about 33 million to 7 million years ago.

Nick and I met up to hike the Island in Time Trail, which takes you into a small section of the Sheep Rock Unit known as the Blue Basin and/or the Turtle Cove assemblage. The fossils found in the Blue Basin represent a relatively small slice of geological time, from 30 to 29 million years ago, but a well-preserved slice. Within this small slice, each layer of ash can be dated to about 10,000 years. As Nick explained—”the ashes are like page numbers” allowing for very precise (geologically speaking) dating of fossils found in the rocks.

Looking down the trail into the badlands.

Condon

Nick and I started down the trail but quickly stopped short. Before going back in time millions of years, we needed to go back just 150 to meet a man named Thomas Condon.

As Nick relayed the story:

Condon was born in Ireland before moving to New York as an older child. He always had an interest in rocks and fossils. He even had a small collection that he brought with him to the states. As an adult, Condon’s fascination grew. Even after becoming a reverend and moving to Oregon, he continued to collect and discuss his fossils.

Eventually, Condon set up his ministry in The Dalles, Oregon where he developed a reputation—spreading, not only his religion, but his passion for geology. His reputation grew to the point that visitors, usually soldiers, that passed through would bring him fossils collected during their travels. Many of these fossils came from the John Day region.

Intrigued by these gifts, in 1865, Condon decided to visit the John Day region himself. A visit that would change his life and the face of paleontology in Oregon forever.

From that point on, Condon traveled and collected fossils all over Oregon, adding to his personal collection along the way. Eventually, Condon would become Oregon’s first state geologist and the first natural history faculty member at the University of Oregon, where his fossils still make up their core collection.

Nick explained that Condon would have specifically visited the Blue Basin. “What Blue Basin is really interesting for is getting directly into the rock layers Condon would have been working with.”

Fossil Land

Following in Condon’s footsteps, Nick and I resumed our hike. But before long something caught his eye.

Nick pointed to a bright white patch of ashy looking material in the rock layers. “When you see pockets like that,” he said, “that are bright white, it is most likely Mount Mazama ash.” Mount Mazama erupted 7,700 years ago, dropping several inches of ash over much of the Pacific Northwest, leaving a massive depression that would eventually become Crater Lake.

I asked Nick, why the Mazama layer could only be seen in this small pocket and not as a continuous layer within the earth’s crust. He explained, in a perfect scenario, Earth material is laid down in even horizontal layers under the action of gravity—what is known as original horizontality. However, most landscapes are not flat, and Earth material doesn’t settle in place. Instead, paleotopography—the shape of the land in the past—shifts material, changing where and how much is deposited across the landscape. For example, you might find an eight-foot ash deposit in one place (perhaps a basin of some sort), while in another place the deposit may be only two feet deep, or not exist at all.

These basic principles also help explain why fossils are only found in certain places on Earth. As the sediments involved in fossil bed formation are also influenced by paleotopography.

Floodplain Deposits

However, the shape of the land is not the only important factor for fossil bed formation. The movement of water and wind is equally important. As agents of erosion and deposition, water and wind influence where sediment accumulates, potentially burying the remains of organisms and creating the conditions for fossil formation.

The fossil beds at Blue Basin formed in a river valley that experienced frequent flooding. With each flood, sediment was deposited on the banks, and in the floodplains of the river, burying animal remains in its wake. Overtime, sandstone, siltstone, claystone, and other sedimentary rocks formed, preserving hard materials, like bone, that would fossilize.

The white layer seen here is probably ash from the Mount Mazama eruption of 7,700 years ago.

Colorful Rocks

Moving deeper down the trail, Nick and I entered an otherworldly basin of pale-colored rock. The walls of the basin, like a layered cake—with each layer a different color and thickness.

Nick explained how each layer formed. Blue-green colored layers are attributed to the mineral celadonite— formed during diagenesis—the conversion of sediment to rock. Brown colored layers are claystones that didn’t undergo a secondary alteration process. Bright white ledges are volcanic tuff —formed from the compaction and cementation of volcanic ash. Embedded in the rock layers were also concretions—compact masses of sedimentary rock that form around a nucleation site, like a bone. Fossils can sometimes be found encased in concretions.

Ultimately, the stratigraphy of rocks helps paleontologists establish boundaries between subunits of rock—each of which represents slightly different environments. In Blue Basin, there are 7 subunits that have been characterized by their geological composition and ashes—B through F with some letters divided further.

Can you see some of the many layers of rock in this exposure?

A Layer of Ignimbrite

Nick also pointed out a thick brown layer of rock that capped a section of the Blue Basin rocks. This layer is visible at various places within the Sheep Rock Unit, as well as other areas in the Park.

The layer is ignimbrite, rock formed by the consolidation of pyroclastics, or as Nick put it—”a fiery cloud of death.” These “death cloud rocks” were the result of eruptions from the Crooked River Caldera—a now extinct supervolcano that once covered several square miles in central Oregon.

Fueled by an early version of the Yellowstone hotspot, The Crooked River Caldera eruptions would have been huge—on a scale far beyond what we have seen in human history. For his dissertation, Nick studied the impacts and recovery of life following ignimbrite eruptions, finding that these sorts of large impacts seemed to have equally large, long term impacts over time. In the case of the Picture Gorge ignimbrite, there is evidence that the landscape changed from more forested to less forested due to the eruptions.

Hidden in the Rocks

According to Nick, stories of change are what make paleontology such an important field of study. Stories about changing climates, mass extinctions, and catastrophic events are all hidden in the rocks. If we pay attention to these stories they can help us gain perspective on issues we face today.

For example, scientists agree that we are in the middle of a sixth mass extinction brought on by human activity. But because it is occurring on a time scale that is outside human experience—thousands to millions of years—we don’t see it. Paleontology can help us understand this discrepancy, giving us the opportunity to respond accordingly.

Collecting Fossils

Nick and I hiked deeper into the badlands of the Blue Basin. Nick said that on any given day, approximately 10 field collections might be extracted from this unit. Considering that the Blue Basin for over 30 years, that is a lot of fossils!

I asked Nick, what exactly constitutes “a collection?” He responded, “Usually something that can be identified to a fairly high level.” For example, identifying a tooth as Mammalian would not constitute a collection. But identifying a tooth is from a rhino, well then you have something! Teeth, bones, seeds, tracks, and/or traces of past life could potentially end up in a collection.

However, no fossil is collected alone. “What is most important is the context,” explained Nick. Gathering material and carefully documenting where a fossil is found is often more important than the fossil itself.

Any specimen found loose, or “in float” is put into a bag with any other material that is found within a three-meter area. Fossils that are found “in situ,” or in the rock, also require detailed documentation of fossil location and position in the rock, as well as other contextual info. Either way, the more contextual information gathered, the better!

Past Life

“Fossils are evidence of past life.” So, what life existed in Oregon’s John Day region about 29 million years ago?

Well first, picture a river valley; open and expansive with rolling hills and dales. The climate would have been dry and cool—suitable for the hardwood forests and open meadows that permeated the landscape at the time.

And as for the animals—there were a lot of them! According to Nick, the diversity of life that once existed in the John Day region was tremendous—with at least 100 different extinct species of vertebrate life has been found in the Turtle Cove assemblage.

Herbivores

Most abundant were herbivores, specifical ruminants like Hypertragulus—a mouse-deer creature—which make up about 47% of fossils collected in the Turtle Cove Member. There were also Oreodonts—large sheep-like and pig-like even-toed ungulates of which there are no modern descendants. As well as one to two species of horse, like Miohippus, a three-toed horse. And, for good measure, large rhinos roamed the valley.

Carnivores

Then there were the carnivores. Though not as abundant, the diversity of carnivores that existed 29 million years ago is impressive. At any given time, there would have been up to ten species of dogs, like Mesocyon, coexisting together by taking on unique roles in the ecosystem.

In contrast, today there is only one living species of dog in the world. The rest have gone extinct as other groups of organisms, like weasels, came onto the scene. Nick said that this evolutionary see-saw is pretty typical of life on the planet. “Depending on what is going on and the evolutionary process,” the pendulum swings and different groups of organisms become more dominant.

Nick was also quick to point out that this doesn’t mean that one group of organisms is better in some way than another. “No animal or plant that is alive today is no more or less evolved than anything else alive today,” said Nick. “Fish used to be the most dominant things,” explained Nick, then reptiles. Mammals and birds came later, but they aren’t more evolved. If you want to get really technical, you might say all vertebrates are really just a bunch of fish—we are all equally evolved from a common fish-like ancestor. Just because some species don’t look much like fish anymore, doesn’t make them better.

A Word On Plant Fossils

There were of course a lot of plants in existence 29 million years ago, but you won’t find a lot of plant fossils in the Turtle Cove collections. Why? Well for one, in general, plant fossils are harder to find. You might get a part of a plant, like some wood or a leaf or root fossil, but rarely the entire plant fossil. This makes it difficult to get down to a species level of identification, explained Nick. More often paleontologists must be content with community-level identification of plants.

In addition, the conditions required for fossil formation is different for different forms of life. In the Blue Basin, the conditions were likely too destructive for plant fossils to really form. Though there are a few leaf and seed fossils found in the area, most plants would have probably washed away or been eaten during the flooding events that laid down so many vertebrate fossils. Old lake beds are often great places to find plant fossils, explained Nick, because the environment is calmer. Plant fossil formation also depends on the acidity of the environment as well.

Replicate

One group of charismatic animals captured in the Turtle Cove rock layers are multiple species of a land tortoise—Stylemys. In fact, you can visit Stylemys on the trail! O.K., well not actual Stylemys, but a replica of a fossilized male.

When we reached the replica, Nick and I stopped to chat.

There is a lot you can learn about an animal from a fossil. For example, in the case of our land tortoise, the plastron—the protective front of a turtle, opposite the shell—can tell you if the turtle is male or female. Nick explained that males have concave plastrons so that when they are mating with a female they do not roll off her. This is true of turtles alive today. Thus this trait has been around a really long time, providing a direct link between the past and present. From an evolutionary standpoint, this makes sense—a trait so vital to reproduction is bound to provide an evolutionary advantage. The survival of the fittest only works if you can “replicate.”

A fossil replica of a land tortoise as displayed on the trail.

Replicate

Nick and I continued down the trail until we reached another fossil replica. This time it was of a sheep-like Oreodont. A browser, the fossil showed pointed canines, used for snapping branches, and a large depression above the cheekbone, indicating huge strong chewing muscles. On the face there were also two other small rounded depressions—one for the eye and the other a scent gland that can be seen in even-toed ungulates today. Though it is unclear what the gland was used for by Oreodonts, one might predict its function was somehow beneficial to the organism—perhaps used in sexual selection.

However, though millions of years ago there were dozen of species of Oreodonts in North American, none exist today. A placard found next to the fossil asks, “An evolutionary success?”

It is really easy to dismiss extinct species. But Oreodonts survived in North American forests for over 30 million years, much longer than most animals alive today. So as we learn about their loss, perhaps there is an even greater lesson to be taken from Oreodont success?

A fossil replica of an Oreodont as displayed on the trail.

Small Things

As Nick and I stood by the Oreodont fossil, he also pointed out a layer of sandstone in front of us. He told me that this layer wasn’t the usual overbank deposits found throughout the basin, but an actual in channel or river deposit.

The great thing about river deposits like this one is that they “produce a lot of smaller fossils…and smaller things tell us a lot more about the environment than bigger things,” said Nick. Because small mammals usually have smaller ranges, they provide information about local conditions. The populations of rodents living in the Blue Basin stayed in the basin and were endemic to the area. Rodent populations in other areas would also be uniquely adapted to their environments.

Some small species can even act as geological time markers and can help paleontologists understand what is happening on a global level. Nick mentioned the Hypertragulus as an example. In the Great Plains, the Hypertragulus went extinct, while persisting several million more years in the west. By tracking differences in populations this way, regional stories unfold as scientists question the discrepancies. It raises the age-old question: Why?

The Species Problem

Before we moved on, Nick also brought up an important paleontological problem—the species problem. In general, scientists define species of genetically similar organisms that can exchange genetics and/or interbreed. But, as Nick put it bluntly, “you can’t exactly put two fossils in a box and see if they make more fossils.”

Therefore, defining a fossil species is complicated. In the past, species were defined based on theoretical ideas, like the likelihood of geographic separation between similar-looking fossil organisms. However, this is not a very reliable way of distinguishing between fossil species. There is a lot of natural variation within populations. Thus, simply finding small differences between two groups of similar organisms does not a species make.

Nick shared an example of the species problem he encountered in his own work. He had looked at the differences between fossils from eight different species of horse. He compared the variation he found between these fossils to the variation found in modern horse and tapir species. The differences were not significant. Nick concluded that eight fossil species of horse were better grouped as two.

The Specialist Problem

Nick and I continued down the trail until we reached a final fossil replica. The replica was of a false saber-toothed cat— a nimravid. Cousins of true cats, nimravids branched out from other carnivores about 16 million years ago.

During the time period associated with the Turtle Cove assemblage, only three or four nimravids coexisted. They varied in size, with false-saber toothed cats the largest of the carnivores overall.

However, despite their size, nimravids were more prone to extinction. You see, nimravids tended to be specialized meat-eaters. Meaning they relying on only certain food sources for survival. In a stable, unchanging environment, this is not particularly problematic. It is actually a good way for species to carve out a role in the web of life.

However, environments change and this is where being a specialist can be a huge disadvantage. It is sort of like the old adage—don’t put all your eggs in one basket. If that basket gets knocked over, no more eggs.

Generalists, like many dogs, on the other hand, tend to do better, as they rely on a varied diet and lifestyle—they have their eggs in many different baskets.

Of course, Nick added, being a bone crusher is one specialization that has been successful. There always seems to be enough bones.

Amphitheater

Eventually, Nick and I reached the very end of the hike—a place known as the amphitheater. Here it is easy to see the many layers of rock. The “pages of time” literally surround you. Nick called out each layer: lower green is unit C, browns unit D, the ledgy layers E1-E3, followed by the Blue Basin Tuff and unit F, with dark Picture Gorge ignimbrite capping it all.

Layers and layers of rock containing fossils of past life, telling a 29 million-year-old story.

The amphitheater is the end of the trail.

Storytelling

As we made our way back out to the trailhead, Nick and I continued to discuss what it is like to be a paleontologist. At one point, I asked him what he liked most about the work. It wasn’t the story making, but the storytelling—the advocating for the fossil resources of the park that he felt was most important.

It is the work of the paleontologist, not only to piece together these stories but also to tell them. As Nick said earlier during our hike: “I tell students all the time that the most important thing, as a scientist, is that you have to be able to communicate what you have done to somebody else. Because if you can’t, what is the point of doing it in the first place?”

I couldn’t agree more, Nick.

Nicholas Famoso (Nick) is the Chief Paleontologist and Museum Curator for John Day Fossil Beds National Monument. Nick got his bachelor’s degree from South Dakota School of Mines and Technology where he studied fossil mammals and marine reptiles. He later went on to earn his Masters and Ph.D. from the University of Oregon in geological and earth sciences.