Proposal: Gorton Creek Accessible Trail

Emerald Falls on the proposed Gorton Creek Accessible Trail

The Mount Hood National Park Campaign proposes a major expansion of the trail system in the Columbia Gorge and around Mount Hood, including more opportunities for elderly, disabled and young families to experience nature. After all, hiking is the most basic form of active recreation, and should be available to all of us — especially as our region continues to grow and urbanize.

Proposed Gorton Creek Accessible Trail

Accessible trails are designed to provide access for everyone, and these facilities will be in growing demand as our country continues to age. By 2030, nearly a third of our population will be over the age of 55, and accessible trails will be in demand as never before.

In the spirit of providing accessible trails, this proposed new trail at Gorton Creek would allow for easy access to streamside vistas and photogenic Emerald Falls. This section of trail would bring visitors through a lush forest of Douglas fir, bigleaf maple and red alder.

Autumn on Gorton Creek as viewed from the proposed location of an accessible viewpoint

Gorton Creek becomes increasingly prominent as the trail draws near the stream and the sound of rushing water fills the air. Just below the proposed viewpoint of Emerald Falls and rushing Gorton Creek, there is a large gravel beach at a bend in the stream that could even provide the potential for universal access to the stream, itself — a first in the region.

The accessible portion of the new trail would largely follow an existing boot path that, in turn, follows a very old roadbed still shown on USGS maps. Thus, the gentle grade that would meet accessible trail design requirements. The dashed yellow line on the map, below, shows where the roadbed segment could be improved to provide universal access to a streamside overlook just below Emerald Falls.

Proposed Gorton Creek Family Trail

Family trails are designed to allow young children on foot, in backpacks or in strollers to have their first nature experience, and hopefully begin a lifetime of active recreation in nature.

The second part of the proposed Gorton Creek Trail would be designed for young families, with a short, easy grade leading to a viewing platform below Gorton Creek Falls. The falls is a towering 120 foot plunge set against a magnificent wall of columnar basalt, and would provide an exciting destination for budding young hikers. This section of proposed trail is shown in red on the map, above.

The family trail portion of this project would a couple of important objectives. First, it would provide a new hiking option for families with beginning hikers, with easy access from Portland and the potential to camp at Wyeth Campground as part of the adventure. Such trails are in surprisingly short supply in the Gorge, and therefore often crowded when families are most likely to visit, depriving them of a quality nature experience.

Second, this segment of the trail would combine with the lower, accessible segment to allow for extended family outings — grandparents enjoying the lower streamside viewpoint as young children and parents hike the short family spur to the main falls viewpoint, for example, with the extended family camping or picnicking at the Wyeth Campground.

Gorton Creek Restoration

While this proposal would meet growing needs for accessible trails in the region, it would remedy an escalating problem at Gorton Creek: the secret is out on Gorton Creek Falls, and waterfall enthusiasts are wreaking havoc on the trail-less canyon section above Emerald Falls as they scramble to reach the main falls, upstream. The damage to the canyon slopes (see photos, below) and stream bed is particularly worrisome given the important role the stream has as fish habitat.

Gorton Creek Falls is no longer a well-kept secret. Each summer, more visitors are pushing cross-country through the upper canyon, leaving damaged slopes and trampled vegetation in their wake

Finally, trail construction could also allow for the washed-out waterworks at Emerald Falls (see photo, below) to be permanently relocated within the trail corridor, and less prone to the periodic failures that plague the current streamside alignment. The water pipeline is currently in a precarious condition, and would greatly benefit from a trail project happening in this canyon sooner than later.

The washed out water supply line for Wyeth Campground hangs from cables anchored to stakes below Emerald Falls

To visit Gorton Creek, drive east of Cascade Locks to the Wyeth exit, turn right, then turn right again on the old highway that parallels I-84. Watch for the Wyeth Campground on the left, just before a bridge over Gorton Creek. If the campground gate is closed, park to the side, and walk through the campground to the well-marked trailhead at the south end — otherwise, you can drive to the trailhead.

To reach Emerald Falls, follow the formal trail 0.1 miles to a junction with Trail No. 400, where it crosses Gorton Creek on an impressive footbridge that kids will want to explore. Continue straight, past the bridge and Trail 400, following the obvious footpath up the east side of the stream canyon for another 0.4 miles. Watch your step around Emerald Falls, as the water works erosion has left abrupt holes and weakened stream banks. Do the canyon a favor, and don’t scramble upstream to Gorton Creek — wait for a trail to be built, instead!

(Editors Note: Trail No. 408 already carries the name “Gorton Creek Trail”, but never comes close to the creek, traversing high above the canyon rim on the shoulder of Nick Eaton Ridge. This trail eventually climbs to the summit of Green Point Mountain — and thus, might be better named the “Green Point Mountain Trail” should a new trail along Gorton Creek become a reality, if not before)

New Maps of Mount Hood and the Gorge

Mount Hood and the Columbia River Gorge were in fine company earlier this year when the National Geographic Society released a pair of new maps in their Trails Illustrated series covering both areas. This map series is generally limited to national parks, so the few outstanding areas outside the National Park System (NPS) included in the set read like a who’s who of places that should be made into national parks or recreation areas.

For locals already familiar with these areas, the new maps feature surprisingly accurate, up-to-date information on trails, campgrounds, forest roads and — most impressively — the many new and expanded wilderness areas that were legislated this year with the new Mount Hood wilderness bill. This information, alone, makes them a worthy addition to your map collection.

As with any National Geographic map, the cartography is lush, and containes a wealth of details. One example are Bureau of Land Management (BLM) and Oregon State Forest (OSF) lands that are helpfully mapped where they abut national forest boundaries. But most importantly, the new maps show numbered forest trails on a backdrop of contour lines an relief shading, making for an excellent trip planning tool or handy map for the field.

The Mount Hood map (No. 820) extends from Lost Lake south to the edge of the Mount Jefferson Wilderness, and from Table Rock on the west to the Warm Springs reservation on the east. New, expanded boundaries for the Mount Hood, Badger Creek, Bull of the Woods and Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness Areas are shown, and are interesting to study for those who have only seen the new wilderness legislation on cryptic web maps.

This detail of the Cloud Cap area includes a note about the washed-out Eliot Branch crossing on the Timberline Trail

The Mount Hood map also includes the newly created Clackamas and Roaring River wilderness areas, the new “Mount Hood National Recreation Area” (a new designation adjacent to Badger Creek Wilderness) and the various new additions to the Wild and Scenic River system. Map blurbs provide travel information, area history and surprisingly detailed specifics on each of the wilderness areas that will be valuable to visitors exploring the area.

The Columbia Gorge map (No. 821) extends from Troutdale east all the way to the Deschutes River, encompassing the entire Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area. The map also extends from Lost Lake on the south well into the Gifford Pinchot country north of the river, incorporating a good portion of the Indian Heaven Wilderness and all of the Silver Star Mountain backcountry.

Like the Mount Hood map, the Gorge map includes trail and travel information, map blurbs with travel information, area history, details on popular destinations within the Gorge and depicts the new wilderness boundaries resulting from the recent Mount Hood wilderness legislation.

This except from the new Roaring River Wilderness shows the new boundaries in green, and the new Wild and Scenic River designation for the South Fork Roaring River

Both maps are printed on waterproof paper for use in the field, and measure approximately 4.25″ x 9.25″ folded, fitting neatly into a coat pocket or backpack. Both are at a scale of 1:75,000, which is a bit small for some hikers, but has the advantage of being a great travel planning map – or just a nice way to explore those new wilderness areas from the comfort of your traveling armchair. Each map retails for about $12 directly from National Geographic or from online book sellers.

Tiny Timberline Survivors

Bright yellow Sulphur Flower carpet the slopes below Palmer Glacier in August

During the peak of summer in the high country around Mount Hood, hikers flock to the lush mountain meadows in places like Paradise Park, Cairn Basin, Elk Cove and Elk Meadows to take in the huge drifts of waist-deep wildflowers. Along the way, they usually pass through the cinder slopes and glacial moraines that seem barren in comparison, but in fact are home to some of the toughest survivors of the wildflower community.

These diminutive flowers are incredibly rugged, resilient plants that somehow manage to persist in the harshest of alpine environments, cheerfully blooming each August during a snow-free growing season that spans only three or four months. Most are perennials, persisting from summer to summer, despite a thick snow pack for much of the year.

Their tiny size is but one of their adaptations to the extreme conditions that exist above the tree line. Most also feature long taproots that anchor them deep in the loose mountain soil, and thick, leathery leaves that help conserve water while maximizing photosynthesis during the very short growing season.

There are a number of tough species in this community of survivors, but the following are seven that are among the most common and interesting, and worth getting to know. These plants were all photographed on the same August evening, high on the south slopes of Mount Hood.

Creeping Penstemon (Penstemon davidsonii)

Creeping Penstemon
This tiny flower grows just six inches tall, though its woody stems are almost shrub-like, and allow the plants to form carpets several feet across, usually on the protected side of a boulder. The oval, evergreen leaves are small and leathery, and also seem almost shrub-like, resembling tiny rhododendron leaves. The flowers can range in hue from lavender to nearly pink, and bloom in short spikes in early and mid-summer.

Desert Parsley (Lomatium martindalei)

Desert Parsley
This little plant (also called Few-Fruited Desert Parsley) also grows in loose sand or pumice at the tree line, and is anchored by a large taproot that can up to a foot long. The thick roots of wild parsleys were collected by Native Americans as a food. Desert Parsley is most notable for its graceful, fernlike leaves, but also sports bright yellow blossoms in mid-summer. The plant is rarely more than four or five inches high.

Low Mountain Lupine (Lupinus lepidus)

Low Mountain Lupine
This wonderfully tiny lupine is an obvious cousin to its many tall relatives, except that it grows no more than three or four inches tall. The tiny leaflets resemble the large, palmate leaves of larger lupines, except that they are the size of a button. The leaves are also covered in soft, silvery velvet that further helps the plants conserve water. The plants are anchored by a long taproot, like most alpine dwarfs. Their blossoms are globe-shaped, like a clover, though clearly related to the tall flower spikes of their larger cousins. Low Mountain Lupine blooms from early August through early September.

Partridge Foot (Luetkea pectinata)

Partridge Foot
This delicate plant can form an extensive groundcover below timberline, but also blankets moist spots in the harsh country above the tree line, especially where melting snow trickles in small streams across rocky slopes. Partridge Foot is only a few inches tall, with creamy white flower spikes reaching 3-4 inches in mid-summer. The common name comes from the shape if its leaves, which apparently resemble a bird’s foot.

Pussypaws (Spraguea umbellate)

Pussypaws
This tiny wildflower also has a self-evident common name, owing to the soft, fleshy, paw-shaped leaves that help the plant store moisture in its harsh habitat. In mid-summer, Pussypaws are covered with tufts of pom-pom flowers that open white, then fade to rose-pink. These little plants are no more than two inches high, with flower stems reaching three or four inches. It thrives in nearly soil-less pumice, and has an amazing taproot that can be as long as ten feet!

Spreading Phlox (Phlox diffusa)

Spreading Phlox
Easily the lowest alpine flower, Spreading Phlox grow in a mat just 1-3 inches high, with their stunny explosion of cheery blossoms literally covering the plants in early August. The button-like flowers range from white to blue, with all shades of pink and violet between. Like its alpine neighbors, Spreading Phlox is deeply rooted, and thus well adapted to the dry, loose pumice and sandy slopes that it thrives in.

Suphur Flower (Erigonum umbellatum)

Sulphur Flower
Also known as Sulphur Buckwheat, this is a tough survivor that lives in the least hospitable reaches of the alpine environment. This plant has silvery leaves covered with tiny hairs that help conserve moisture, allowing the plants to grow in what seem to be impossible habitats — from cracks between rocks and in loose scrabble on moraines. The flowers can range from cream to yellow, and light up slopes in early summer, before fading to a rosy hue. The top photo in this post shows a colony of Sulpher Flower on Mount Hood’s dry south slopes.

How to See Them
These timberline survivors can be seen all around Mount Hood, and on some of the higher surrounding peaks, too, such as Lookout Mountain and the high spots in the Columbia Gorge that reach above the tree line.

An easy way to see these plants up close is to explore the trails around Timberline Lodge. Several paved footpaths circle the lodge, and head up the mountain from the back of the lodge. You can follow one all the way to Silcox Hut, which is located far above the tree line, but still features many of these tiny flowers along the way.

Another option from Timberline is to follow the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) south from the lodge, crossing the glacial headwaters of the Salmon River then to an impressive overlook of the White River canyon. This section of the PCT is lined with these tiny alpine survivors. Visit these trails in early August, and you’re guaranteed to see them in bloom.

Indian Salmon Harvest

1930s painting of Indians fishing at Celilo Falls, as they had for thousands of years prior to white settlement of the Oregon Country.

In recent years, conservationists have lined up against a proposed Indian Casino in the Columbia Gorge, and with good reason. While the project would certainly benefit the people of the Warm Springs tribe, it would also have unacceptable environmental effects on the Gorge (A better solution is to simply locate the casino in Portland, which is the obvious force driving the Cascade Locks location – separate article to follow).

But if you are a like-minded conservationist, you have an alternative for supporting the Native American economy that doesn’t involve slot machines. Simply pack a large cooler on your next visit to the Gorge, and stop by one of several roadside salmon markets, where Indians from the Gorge tribes sell fresh, “over the bank” chinook, coho, steelhead, sockeye, walleye and shad.

1930s rendering of Indian fisherman working the narrows below Celilo Falls

A surprisingly small number of urbanites who visit the Gorge support these fishermen, possibly because they don’t understand the fishery. But if you have never had fresh salmon, you will be pleasantly surprised at the difference in flavor between the tribal fisheries and the fish-farm salmon that your local supermarket is likely selling as “fresh” (dyed pink to disguise its origin, since fish farms produce a gray meat in salmon).

The tribes also sell the finest smoked salmon available, anywhere — after all, they have had thousands of years to perfect the smoking process, and smoked salmon can be eaten plain, as a snack or with hors d’oeuvres, or used in salads, pasta, casseroles or other cooked dishes. Fresh and smoked salmon freezes well, so buying during the fall harvest, in particular, can provide for a full winter of salmon in your diet. This is an excellent option when fish isn’t available at the roadside markets, and helps the tribes sustain their economy over the winter months, as well.

The Nez Perce, Umatilla, Warm Springs and Yakama tribes have had permanent rights to harvest salmon from the Columbia River under a series of 1854-55 treaties with the United States Government. While these treaties have been subject to much litigation — and questionable “compensation” agreements allowed for destruction of Celilo Falls in the 1950s — the tribes manage the fisheries today in cooperation with the state governments of Oregon and Washington through the Columbia River Inter-tribal Fisheries Commission. The focus of the Fisheries Commission is on habitat recovery and sustainable fishing practices, and ensuring that this ancient tradition isn’t lost.

Indians fishing Celilo Falls with dip nets in the early 1900s, prior to construction of dams at Bonneville and The Dalles.

On a recent stop at the Cascade Locks market, beneath Bridge of the Gods, a young Indian in his teens asked me “if I knew any stories about Lewis & Clark”. I looked down at my faded t-shirt, commemorating the Lewis & Clark expedition, realizing why he had asked the question.

I responded with a few anecdotes from the expedition — how the Indians at Celilo had introduced the explorers to salmon, and in doing so, probably saved their lives. I also mentioned that the early white explorers unknowingly brought diseases with them that erased much of the native population, even before the huge waves of white settlers followed in the 1840s. To his apparent surprise, I also talked about the Corps of Discovery being the first true democracy in the United States, with an Indian woman (Sacajawea) and a black man (York) given equal voice at major turning points in the mission.

Upon that, he reached out, shook my hand, and said “thanks, man. I love to hear those stories.” But we both knew he was really testing my knowledge – and my respect for his native culture – to see if I was just another ignorant tourist in a Lewis & Clark t-shirt. I walked away with a bag of smoked salmon fillets and thinking what a complicated world it still is for young Native Americans.

You can learn more about the Indian Fishing Harvest at this official website, including the history of Indian fishing in the Columbia, where to find roadside stands, and how to buy fish from roadside vendors. Often, there are several vendors at a site, so if you plan to buy a few packages of fish, make your way from stand to stand, so that you support each of the vendors.

Off-Highway Vehicles

Fresh jeep tracks carve into the soft cinder summit of Red Hill, one of the areas the Forest Service would like to turn into a dirt bike playground.

To get a handle on the off-highway vehicles (OHV) that are tearing up our public lands, the Mount Hood National Forest (MHNF) has embarked on a plan to concentrate them in just a few areas, presumably to reduce “conflicts” with other forest visitors.

The OHVs consist of 4-wheel ATVs, dirt bikes and 4×4 jeeps and trucks, and make up just one percent of the visitors to the forest. Their destructive, noisy, polluting quality make these vehicles a menace in the forest, whether on roads or off.

Unfortunately, the easy and most obvious solution (simply ban the vehicles!) is not politically available to the Forest Service under their convoluted “multiple use” mission. Instead, the MHNF will attempt to sacrifice a few places, as if any part of the forest should be sacrificed to an activity so senseless and destructive.

The unique geology on the summit of Red Hill, shown above and below, provides a good example of why OHVs should not be tolerated in our forests. The delicate cinder cone provides a unique view of Mount Hood, but also has the misfortune of being within reach of a logging spur. OHVs have pushed through the remaining forest to the summit of Red Hill, thoughtlessly digging ruts into the surface for the sake of a few minutes of joy-riding.

Another view of Red Hill's summit showing the criss-crossing ruts left by thoughtless OHVers.

Similar damage can be found in sensitive areas throughout the Mount Hood National Forest, wherever logging spurs provide easy access for the OHVers. The Forest Service proposals would not only designate several areas for permanent abuse by OHVS, but also propose building new trail networks for OHV play areas.

Red Hill is one of many areas that has the misfortune of falling inside one of the Forest Service “study” areas for the OHV proposal — in this case, the area is called Bear Creek. But looking at the MHNF map of the proposal, you would be hard pressed to know what is really at stake (see excerpt, below).

Cryptic map of the Bear Creek area used by the Forest Service to propose OHV playgrounds

The dashed purple lines on this map show the maze of proposed dirt bike trails, but where is this? Sadly, the missing features on this map that might otherwise orient hikers familiar with the area are Red Hill, Perry Lake and the Old Vista Ridge Trail. The trail, itself, is proposed to be converted to an OHV path, and the tangle of motorcycle routes spread across the north slope of the ridge.

Look at another map of the same Bear Creek study area (below) and you begin to see the features that are at risk.

A topographic map reveals the true features and terrain at risk from the Bear Creek OHV proposal, including Red Hill, the Old Vista Ridge Trail, Owl Point and Perry Lake.

In recent years, volunteers have largely restored the Old Vista Ridge Trail, once again bringing hikers to the spectacular beargrass meadows and huckleberry fields that sprawl along the ridges around Red Hill and Owl Point, and the many stunning view of Mount Hood, towering to the south. This is a first step in bringing needed advocates to the area, and who might take a stand against the OHV idea.

Another new development since the Forest Service hatched this plan was the passage of the Lewis and Clark Mount Hood Wilderness bill. Several areas adjacent to the OHV proposals were set aside, including here at Red Hill, where the Mount Hood Wilderness was expanded to follow the Old Vista Ridge Trail, touching the OHV proposal for Bear Creek.

While it is frustrating that we must fight to save places like Red Hill and Owl Point from something as senseless as the proposed OHV plan, it is equally important to make your thoughts known. The places on the study list were selected by the Forest Service, in part, because they lack the advocates that more popular quiet recreation spots enjoy.

The view from Owl Point, along the Old Vista Ridge Trail -- proposed as a motorcycle track in the OHV plan.

So, if you are a friend of any of the study areas, weigh in with your thoughts while the MHNF comment period is open, though October 28. The best place to learn about the OHV proposal is over here, on the Bark website. Bark has posted all of the relevant documents, and provide background on what has become a fairly confusing, complex process.

Bark has been following the issue closely for nearly three years, and helped ensure that Alternative 4 in the plan. This option has the least impact of the “build” alternatives, and excludes the Red Hill and Old Vista Ridge areas. Instead, OHVs would be focused in two areas located south of Mount Hood known as McCubbins Gulch and LaDee Flat. Alternative 4 is the pragmatic alternative that the Mount Hood National Park Campaign will endorse as a lesser of evils.

You may also contact the Forest Service directly with your comments:

Jennie O’Connor Card
Mt. Hood National Forest
6780 Highway 35
Parkdale, Oregon 97041
(541) 352-6002 ext. 634

Dry Creek Ponds: Orphaned Gems

Dry Creek flows into a series of lush ponds just south of I-84.

Just inside the city limits of Cascade Locks — and just outside the protection of the Columbia Gorge National Scenic area — lie a series of beautiful ponds and an adjacent group natural springs so pure that a national bottled water corporation is considering a new plant here. The ponds, themselves, are posted with real estate signs advertising dream home sites in this pretty location, albeit within earshot of noisy I-84.

The ponds underscore one of the dilemmas facing natural sites in the Columbia Gorge that happen to fall within the designated “urban areas” that are excluded from scenic area protection. Most of the Gorge towns are too small to have the fiscal means to protect these orphaned gems, even if they wanted to. Meanwhile, the non-profit organizations and federal agencies involved in land acquisition focus exclusively outside these urban areas. The result is a surprising number of natural features that face great risk of development, with no clear path for protection.

Dry Creek is better known for its waterfall, about a mile upstream from the ponds.

In the case of the Dry Creek Ponds, much of the land is already up for sale, and the real question is whether some sort of public purchase could intervene, and save the ponds from development. The ponds are not entirely pristine: a frontage road along I-84 borders one of the ponds, and there are a few homes tucked into the forest near the ponds. But the ponds are largely undeveloped, and surely worth more to the public as protected natural areas than to a few as exclusive home sites.

One option for protecting the ponds is the federal acquisition program operated by the Forest Service to consolidate lands within the scenic area. Their guidelines focus outside the urban areas, but a case could easily be made to cross those boundaries when natural sites are adjacent to surrounding public land. This is the case for the Dry Creek ponds, which not only abut the scenic area, but also the federal Oxbow fish hatchery.

Dry Creek ponds are located outside the protection of both the National Scenic Area boundary and the nearby Oxbow fish hatchery.

A second option for protection are the private agencies involved in land acquisition within the scenic area. These organizations typically turn most of their acquisitions over to the federal government for long-management, so in the case of the Dry Creek Ponds, it would still be important to find a way for federal acquisitions to exist inside the urban areas.

A third option is for local governments to step up to the challenge, and create a municipal park or natural area for its local citizenry. In this case, the City of Cascade Locks is the local government in question, and like most of the small cities in the Gorge, is financially strapped. So a hybrid approach where the federal agencies, or perhaps the non-profits (or both) help the small cities make strategic acquisitions of places like the Dry Creek Ponds.

The ponds are teeming with wildlife, despite the noise of the nearby freeway.

One of the truisms about sudden growth in small communities like Cascade Locks is that the civic awareness of threats to natural areas usually comes too late in the development boom. After years of slow growth, Cascade Locks is slowly awakening. So, like other Gorge communities, the town is entering a short window of opportunity for natural area protection that will be fleeting.

The Dry Creek Ponds are worth saving. The ponds are home to waterfowl, beaver and a thriving population of other species in the wetlands and forest that border the ponds. The ponds are unique in having such close proximity to Cascade Locks, and therefore easy access for visitors. This is one of only a few places in the Gorge where it is easy to get very close to a pond ecosystem, and thus could provide a valuable place for learning and wildlife watching.

Wetland birds thrive in tall marshes that border the ponds.

The ponds could also provide a starting point for hikers to head up Dry Creek to the falls — or points beyond along the Pacific Crest Trail, which passes just above the ponds, inside the scenic area.

In the end, the fate of the ponds will be a measure of our collective will to protect the larger Gorge landscape for generations to come, no matter where we’ve drawn lines on maps or how we have divided public land management responsibilities. In this way, the ponds provide an opportunity for local citizens, public land stewards and non-profit environmental advocates to show that our collective vision extends across those artificial boundaries.

Restoring forests, one community at a time

Interior Secretary Ken Salazar set the Pacific Northwest forest recovery effort back on track in July when he reversed the Bureau of Land Management’s (BLM) Western Oregon Plan Revisions (the WOPR, a brilliantly unintentional blunder as acronyms go, as it became known as “The Whopper”). This represented a major step back from scientifically corrupt policies intended to enrich timber corporations at great cost to our public lands.

In this recent opinion piece in The Oregonian, Dominick DellaSala and Randi Spivak respond to Salazar’s move, and provide an excellent framework for how we should move forward to restore our public forests. Their prescription: emphasize needed thinning of the sickly, biologically sterile tree plantations left from the logging heyday of past decades, and embrace the value that our restored forests will have in the global effort to reduce carbon emissions.

The eastside forests spreading out below Lookout Mountain look healthy enough from a distance, but in reality are in dire need of a bold new restoration strategy.

As described in their article, the Siuslaw National Forest has already begun to embrace this new approach, and other public forest managers are beginning to take notice. But a truly comprehensive restoration effort must be more aggressive, and should also focus on stabilizing the forest-based communities that were left to die when the big timber operations pulled out in the 1980s and 90s

Traditional thinning offers a couple of opportunities for local communities: the timber operations involve most of the same logging skills that were once the mainstay of rural Oregon. In addition, the harvested wood from thinning offers not only traditional saw logs for small mills, but also a new economic niche in the smaller woody debris that was once discarded or burned on site in the forests. New uses for small woody debris include engineered wood products and even energy production as biomass.

A closer view of typical second-growth forests near Lookout Mountain reveals a dying, overcrowded ecosystem under great biological stress.

One practical challenge in reaching this new approach will be the scaled-back network of logging roads, since the over-built system constructed in the second half of the 1900s is rapidly crumbling and infeasible to maintain for the long term. One strategy is to tie road decommissioning to forest thinning and restoration efforts, pulling out obsolete roads after forests have been largely restored. Another could be aerial operations, perhaps even balloon logging. Still another could be roadless logging with light equipment or even horses — a practice well established on small, private woodlots in Oregon.

The key to finding this new balance in sustainable forest restoration a role of direct stewardship among the forest communities — to view them as the keepers of the forest, as opposed to the “forest dependent” mindset of the industrial logging era. This means establishing an ongoing relationship between community-based forest management organizations and the federal agencies that govern most of our public forest land. These new organizations could follow the lead of watershed councils and farm bureaus, using formal governance coupled with direct management responsibilities as forest recovery agents.

A bright spot in the restoration of the eastside forests near lookout mountain, this thinned plantation is beginning to resemble a natural forest, with multi-aged stands and a recovering understory.

How would the economics of community-based stewardship work? In a commodity-based model of selling products recovered from thinning, the objective is straightforward — but unlikely to be profitable as a private enterprise.

Instead, the public will likely need to provide some level of subsidy for the restoration work involved, with commodity proceeds offsetting public costs. The advantage of a public subsidy is that it provides an ongoing public interest in the health and viability of the forest communities, themselves, and could help avoid the volatility that private timber harvesting brought to these communities in their first century.

A few stands of late succession ponderosa and Western larch forest still exist on the slopes of Lookout Mountain, providing a glimpse of what a restoration policy must aim for.

But the more interesting idea is to create a long-term financial model for stewardship communities based on carbon sequestration as part of global efforts to reduce carbon emissions. Carbon credits would be sold as offsets to carbon polluters, and providing a permanent incentive to bring the northwest forests back to health.

The credits could be managed as a community trust, or managed through a public-private corporation. Under this paradigm, there would be little incentive to harvest large trees, since they would exist primarily as carbon storage units under the new carbon-based economic framework.

Of course, we also know that big trees and mature forests also provide a much wider array of ecological and social benefits, but these costs have never factored in to the short-term price for raw logs in the old timber harvesting paradigm. As DellaSala and Spivak point out in their article, the Pacific Northwest is uniquely capable of storing carbon in our living forests, and to a degree nearly unmatched in the world. If this potential is given a value, then we may well seen an end to the destruction of our mature forests for saw logs and pulp that could just as easily be manufactured from private plantation materials.

The concept of community-based stewardship in carrying out forest restoration is attainable, as evidenced by the many successful public-private partnerships that exist today. But it’s unclear if the Forest Service and BLM bureaucracies are flexible or willing enough to embrace the idea.

Instead, a new conservation-based form of administration may be needed — broader than the National Park Service in scope, but borrowing from the Park Service ethic of conservation and sustainability. The Cascade Forest Preserve, perhaps, extending from the Sierras to the Canadian border? Given the grave implications of climate change, it is impossible to think too big or boldly as we search for a way forward.

The Mount Hood Lily

Second only to our towering Pacific rhododendron (Rhododendron macrophylum) in pure spectacle, the striking white trumpets of the Mount Hood lily are unforgettable. These handsome lilies often grow to more than six feet in height with as many as 20 flowers, each up to 8 inches in length. Never heard of the Mount Hood lily? That’s probably because you know this as the Washington lily (Lilium washingtonianum Kellogg), though it is also widely known as the Cascade lily and Mount Hood lily. A slightly variant race of the species in Northern California is commonly called the Shasta lily.

But the rather generic name of “Washington lily” is made more confusing by the simple fact that this beautiful plant doesn’t even grow in the state of Washington. Its northern extent is the area around Mount Hood, and its range extends down the Cascades and into the California Sierras. But thankfully, it turns out that the lily wasn’t named for the State of Washington, at all. Instead, the naming pre-dates Washington statehood.

In fact, botanist Albert Kellogg named this regal flower for Martha Washington, wife of our first president, when he first described the species in 1859. The spectacular, aromatic plants were soon collected for gardens and picked by forest visitors, locally decimating the population by the 1950s. Today, they have made a comeback, and are relatively common across their range, especially around Mount Hood.

Martha Washington and a Nineteenth Century rendering of our western lily named in her honor

Like most lilies, the Mount Hood Lily is a perennial that grows from a bulb, and thus the ease in collecting the species for commercial use. Native Americans also collected the bulbs as a food source. The plant grows in open woodlands and forest openings, often in surprisingly dry conditions.

In addition to multiplying their bulbs over time, the plants produce up to 200 seeds in the capsules that follow each flower. While digging the bulbs is strongly discouraged, collecting the seeds to grow in home gardens is a responsible, sustainable means of propagating the plants. Collected seeds of the native species, as well as many hybrids, are also available from specialized retailers.

So, in the spirit of provincialism, I propose that we rename this plant, simply because of the confusion over the name — after all, Kellogg named the plant in the year in which Oregon became a state, so he was likely unaware that another state in the Northwest would be named for George Washington.

There’s also the fact our first First Lady already has the aristocratic series of Martha Washington Geraniums (Pelargonium domesticum) named in her honor, and thus adding the Mount Hood lily is a mere asterisk in comparative prominence. Besides, Martha Washington has already had three postage stamps, two early dollar bills, several U.S. Mint commemorative coins and the only U.S. naval ship — the U.S.S. Lady Washington — to be named for a first lady.

As a modest and proper woman in the tradition of her time, surely she would cringe at this embarrassment of honors? And as the chief overseer of the Mount Vernon plantation and a gardener herself, surely Martha Washington would be the first to agree that the Mount Hood lily is a far superior name, both in descriptiveness and clarity?

This leads us to another simple compromise: when she tended to troops at General Washington’s side in the desperate struggle at Valley Forge, Martha Washington became known as Lady Washington, and a true heroine in her time. So, perhaps the Lady Washington lily would be a proper solution to our naming dilemma?

Where the heck is Tamarack Rock?

You won’t find Tamarack Rock on any maps, though this rugged knoll is hidden in plain sight — just off the Surveyors Ridge Road (FR 17) on the east side of Mount Hood. The rock didn’t get much respect during the logging heyday of the late 1900s, with gravel spur roads wrapping almost entirely around the rock, and big ponderosa trees felled from its gentle southern flank.

But through all the destruction that reigned here, a lone Western larch tree survived in a most unlikely spot, among the huge boulders near the crest. The tree is among the most magnificent of its kind in the area, a massive, gnarled, determined old sentinel that has managed to dodge lightning strikes and fires, as well as chainsaws.

Mount Hood at dusk from Tamarack Rock

The view from the rock is glorious, with the broad northeastern face of Mount Hood towering over waves of forest ridges, and the tiny farms and orchards of the Upper Hood River Valley, spread far below. The forested Mill Creek Buttes complete the scene, to the east. The scenery is so sweeping that it’s easy to forget the maze of logging roads and clearcuts all around. In this way, Tamarack Rock survives, surprisingly intact.

A birds-eye view of Tamarack Rock

I had passed the rock countless times over the years, always promising myself that I’d explore this postage-stamp wilderness someday. This spring, I finally made good on the promise, and explored the landmark from all sides. Trail riders and hikers are already familiar with the rugged west face of the rock, where it towers above the popular Surveyors Ridge Trail. From this angle, the rock has a “face”, which in turn led to a spirited discussion among the PortlandHikers.org community on just what to call the rock — if it didn’t already have a name.

A quick survey of those familiar with the area didn’t reveal a local name for the rock, so I posted a survey on PortlandHikers.org to poll a few options. When the votes were counted, the uncanny resemblance of the “face” to a certain Hollywood film director won the day, and it appeared that this landmark might become “Hitchcock Rock” to recreationists. Fortunately, the story didn’t end there, though it led to some creative photo interpretations (see below).

This is where the PortlandHikers.org discussion sent me back to the rock, because it was unclear from my early photos whether the ancient tree near the crest was living, dying or dead — or simply a larch in dormant winter phase, sans needles. My second visit a few weeks later revealed a fresh burst of new needles covering the old giant, and redirected the naming discussion to the tree in question.

Given the proximity of Larch Mountain (and other features) using the larch as namesake, the PortlandHikers.org consensus was to fudge a bit by using the “tamarack” name, instead. This is botanically incorrect, but as we learned in our debate on the subject, a good portion of the west actually uses the name “tamarack” to describe Western larch, and it had a nice ring to it, besides: Tamarack Rock!

I wasn't the first to the top, and surely won't be the last..!

On this follow-up visit to the rock, I also discovered a long history of visitors, beginning with a geocache box tucked into an inconspicuous hiding spot. The journal inside listed a visitor earlier the same day, remarking on a “large coyote” seen near the rock. Other visitors simply commented on the impressive views.

Not far from the geochache were a couple of homemade memorials, honoring Adam J. Dietz Sr. (1917-1997) and Alfred West (1910-1998). Clearly, these two gentlemen had some connection with the rock, but for now, I can only assume they worked or hunted in the forest, and might have been local to the area. But their presence further cemented the idea of a more respectful name for the rock, no matter the Hitchcockian resemblance.

The rustic Adam J. Dietz Sr. Memorial on Tamarack Rock

Yet the human history of Tamarack Rock seems to go back even further, and perhaps by millennia: a few yards from the aluminum Alfred West memorial cross, there are at least two, and possibly three Native American ceremonial pits. One is quite obvious, a second somewhat compromised and a third barely visible. The pits are located in full view of the mountain, and mimic similar pits in the area, including this subject of an earlier post.

Finding all this human history in gathering twilight on that brisk spring evening was exhilarating, to say the least. It was yet another reminder that we are all just passing through, and how we treat this land will be our only real legacy. Tamarack Rock has clearly been admired and loved for generations, and how fortunate we are that the even the era of road building and forest destruction didn’t destroy this unique place.

In another century, there’s a good chance the old larch tree will still live, clinging to this rock, long after we’re gone. If the old tree does survive, it will be a pretty good measure of our collective will to leave the Mount Hood country in better shape than we found it. It will also reflect our human capacity to honor places like this simply because of their spiritual significance to those who came before us.

I think we’re up to that challenge.

New Glaciers on Mount Hood?

It seems implausible, but climate change may be creating new glaciers on Mount Hood — but not in the usual way that glaciers are created. A close look at the retreating White River Glacier on the sunny south flank of Mount Hood reveals two stranded arms that are now separate glacier. As marked by (1) and (2) on the photo, above, a pair of truncated mini-glaciers have been cut off from the main flow of the White River Glacier by a previously hidden moraine that is now being exposed by the rapidly retreating ice.

Until fairly recently in geologic time, the White River Glacier extended far beyond its current extent, flowing down the rugged canyon shown in the photo for several miles to a terminus far beyond where Highway 35 now crosses the glacial outwash plain. But the glacier is retreating rapidly, destabilizing the canyon and changing its shape as it shrinks.

A closer look at two mini-glaciers on Mount Hood

A closer look at the two mini-glaciers reveals why a glacier is different from a static field of ice. Glaciers flow under their own weight, sending waves of ice sliding downward as more snow is added, above. Huge cracks known as crevasses form at stress points in the river of ice, and these are a defining feature in identifying a glacier. Both of these sheets of ice have crevasses, and thus are moving glaciers.

A look at the topographic map shows how the extent of the White River Glacier has changed as recently as the 1960s, when the map was surveyed. The mini-glacier marked as (1) was clearly an arm of the White River Glacier until very recently, but surprisingly, the second mini-glacier (2) appears to already have separated from the main glacier before the surveys were done — though it is clearly a truncated lobe of the main glacier, as well.

Another defining feature for this pair of mini-glaciers is that the emerging moraine that divides them from the main glacier also divides their outflow. They feed a separate branch of the White River from the main stem – another argument for recognizing these glaciers as discrete, perhaps?

It is logical to assume that these little glaciers are doomed by the same forces of climate change that created them, but there is a twist that just might keep them flowing — and perhaps thriving — as a result of climate change. While scientists believe that snow levels will rise in the Cascades over the next century, they also believe that precipitation will increase.

That could mean that in the highest elevation areas where winter precipitation still falls mainly as snow could actually see glaciers grow in depth, but perhaps not in length, since freezing levels would be higher. Therefore, if these mini-glaciers are high enough on the mountain, they may well survive, or possibly even grow, thanks to increased snowfall at this elevation.

If these glaciers are new, and independent of the White River Glacier, they deserve some respect, since all known glaciers in Oregon have been formally named. And that brings us to a bit of history surrounding this flank of the mountain. For here, on the upper slopes above these little glaciers, the first attempts on Mount Hood’s summit were made by early white settlers.

A close-up view of the mini-glaciers reveals classic crevasses

The first man in this story is Thomas Jefferson Dryer, the colorful publisher of the Weekly Oregonian in the mid-1800s (pictured below, on the left). Dryer claims to have been the first white man to climb the mountain, in August 1854. Dryer’s description of the climb makes it clear that he did not reach the true summit, though he may well have reached the top of the Steel Cliffs, only a few hundred feet below the summit — and an amazing achievement for the day.

Dryer complicated his case by embellishing the story with outrageous exaggerations — being able to see Mount Shasta (not possible) and peaks in the Rockies (definitely not possible), and his climbing companion bleeding form his skin from the extreme altitude (not very likely). But Dryer was also the first white man to climb Mount St. Helens, so his story must be taken with some degree of faith.

Dryer’s account wasn’t challenged until three years later, when one of his employees, Henry Lewis Pittock, made the first documented ascent of Mount Hood on August 6, 1857. The Pittock party made the climb along what is now the traditional southern route, skirting the west edge of the White River Glacier, and climbing through the crater. When Pittock’s party made claim to being the “first” to summit the mountain, it set off a dispute with Dryer over the veracity of his own account that continues to this day.

Thomas Jefferson Dryer (left) and Henry Lewis PIttock

In 1861, Dryer was tapped to serve in the Lincoln administration, and turned the Weekly Oregonian over to Pittock, to whom he owed a significant debt in the form of back pay. Pittock, in turn, converted the weekly into a daily and was soon publishing the predominant newspaper in the region, today’s daily Oregonian.

Pittock is now recognized as the first white man to summit Mount Hood, but like Dryer, doesn’t have a landmark in his name to record his place in history (though Portlanders are quite familiar with the iconic mansion he built atop the West Hills).

So I offer a modest proposal: honor both men for their historic climbs, with the western mini-glacier (1) named for Pittock, representing his more westerly approach, and the eastern mini-glacier named for Dryer, who may have even walked on this ice sheet in his own attempt at the summit. Both men deserve to be remembered for their part in Mount Hood’s history, and these little glaciers deserve some respect, too.

Between a rock and a hard place…

Sometime in the past couple of years, a refrigerator-sized piece of basalt split from the cliffs above Horsetail Falls, tumbled across two switchbacks on Gorge Trail 400, and landed perfectly on a third, forming a handy bench that only Mother Nature could design – or did she?

The convenient boulder that recently appeared on Trail 400, above Horsetail Falls - the work of man or nature?

Rocks like this are constantly breaking loose from the walls of the gorge, usually far from the view or earshot of hikers. Through the relentless effects of water, and cycles of freeze and thaw during the winter months, bits and pieces of the stacked layers of basalt eventually break free, and join the enormous piles of talus that have accumulated beneath the cliffs over the millennia.

The new bench-boulder above Horsetail Falls is a bit chunkier than most, but tiny when compared to the house-sized boulders that are known to break loose on occasion. One infamous event near Wahclella Falls in the late 1960s was massive enough to send an entire subdivision of house-sized boulders into Tanner Creek, temporarily forming a small lake in the aftermath.

Looking down at the new boulder, the view is a bit more menacing, with a big bite taken out of the solid rock wall in the foreground, and a trail of debris, below.

Assuming that the big rock did land in the middle of the trail, there are a couple of miracles that suggest divine placement. First, the boulder missed the adjacent wall, though it took a sizeable bite out of a retaining wall further uphill (see photo, above). Second, the boulder managed to land parallel to the path, and just far enough from the rock wall to allow hikers to easily slip between… a rock and a hard place!

It’s possible that trail crews could have jimmied this massive stone into its convenient position, but unlikely. Just one cubic foot of solid basalt weighs in at a staggering 188 lbs, which means that this fridge-sized weighs at least 12,000 pounds — more than six tons!

Perfect for a trailside respite, the big rock bench is already a favorite of hikers

A more unnerving thought is the possibility of hikers actually witnessing nature at work, here, given the popularity of this well-traveled path nearly year-round. But, even with the scores of hikers walking by, there are plenty of quiet spells during the winter season, when this stone most likely made its move — and there’s also the dark of night.

However the big rock arrived, it has already become a popular stopping point for newbie hikers, puffing their way up the trail from Horsetail Falls, in search of Ponytail Falls. In this way, the big rock might just be Mother Nature’s way of tempting her most impatient species to stop and relax, if only for a moment.

Tunnel Point Wayside

The sprawling vista into the Gorge from Tunnel Point Wayside

Mostly lost in the noise of Interstate-84, the tiny Tunnel Point Wayside is a forgotten bit of ground that deserves a little more respect. This spot is named for the railroad tunnel that cuts through the lower buttress of Chanticleer Point, to the south. In the early days of Highway 30 construction in the Gorge, the wayside at Tunnel Point was designed as a scenic turnout for visitors. From here, the first big view of the Gorge spreads out, with Crown Point and Vista House framing the scene.

Today, freeway barricades prohibit access to the wayside for eastbound travelers entering the Gorge, and the turnout is an afterthought for most westbound travelers, since the Gorge view is behind them. The wayside has thus devolved into a huge, paved layover spot for semi-trucks — a sad epitaph for what should (and could) be a premier gateway viewpoint in the Gorge.

Tunnel Point has two U.S.G.S. benchmarks and a ship beacon bolted to its tiny, rocky cape. Beyond the sterile steel guardrail that borders the turnout, basalt cliffs drop 20 feet into the river. These little cliffs are likely remnants of a more noble formation, undoubtedly quarried to help build the modern highway in the Gorge in the 1940s and 50s. But they still give a sense of the natural environment that once existed here, and provide for an interesting shoreline along the river.

This USGS benchmark was placed in 1956, likely in conjunction with modern highway construction in the Gorge.

Look closely at these rocky mini-bluffs and you’ll see cliff-dwelling Gorge plants making a home, while red alder and Douglas fir are colonizing the rocky shoreline on both sides of Tunnel Point. Nature is making a valiant attempt to restore this spot, even if we humans are lagging in the effort.

How could the Tunnel Point Wayside be restored? For starters, the massive expanse of asphalt could be redesigned to restore green areas, with landscaping, trees, picnic tables, restrooms and perhaps a travel information center. After all, this spot is as much a gateway to the Portland metropolitan area as to the Gorge, given that access is limited to westbound travelers.

Next, a series of walking paths could be added along the little bluffs, providing a place for travelers to stretch their legs, and learn a bit about the Gorge. A wooden Oregon History sign is already mounted in the parking area, and could be restored to become part of an improved interpretive display and walking path system.

Wasted space: the vast, barren turnout at Tunnel Point.

These improvements would provide for a welcome refuge for travelers arriving in the Portland region from points east, but what about travelers entering the Gorge from the west? Providing access to eastbound visitors would be a tall order, requiring some sort of overpass or tunnel to deliver visitors from the opposite side of the highway. The cost, logistics and visual impacts probably make this infeasible, unfortunately.

But for now, improving the wayside for westbound traffic would be a big step in the right direction. Since the wayside is within the highway right-of-way, improvements could be built by the Oregon Department of Transportation (ODOT) with highway funds, in conjunction with Oregon Parks and Recreation. Tunnel Point Wayside deserves this new lease on life, and travelers in the Gorge deserve to enjoy this unique perspective of the river and Gorge.

Postscript: after writing this article a few months ago, I ran across a “generic” roadside pullout design in the 2005 I-84 Design Strategy — a joint ODOT, U.S. Forest Service, Federal Highway Administration and Columbia Gorge Commission planning document that lays out the framework for future improvements to the highway within the Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area.

The schematic looks tailor-made for the Tunnel Point Wayside, and in this design, reclaims much of the parking area as a park with riverside loop trail. Though hard to see in this scaled-down version, the plan calls for just ten parking spots, with trucks obviously barred from entering (the truck stops in Troutdale are only a few miles further, after all). Most interesting are bio-swales on both sides of the pullout, draining the parking area and adding more green screening from the highway. A glimpse of what might be, perhaps?

Arrowleaf Balsamroot

Balsamroot blankets the Dalles Mountain nature preserve in spring; Mount Hood rises from the clouds on the horizon, above the Columbia River and the town of The Dalles

In late spring across the arid mountain west, sunny slopes and open Ponderosa forests explode with bright yellow drifts off Arrowleaf balsamroot (Balsamorhiza sagittata), the native sunflower of the western states. These handsome plants are especially abundant along the dry east slope of the Cascades, where they are also known as Oregon sunflower.

The name “Arrowleaf” describes the large, felted leaves of this plant — though in size they are closer to a spade than an arrowhead, often as much as a foot in length. “Balsamroot” refers to the fist-sized, branched taproot that anchors these plants in their typically windswept, harsh environment. The roots have a strong, pine-scented (or “balsam”) sap. These oversized roots not only draw moisture from deep in the arid soils in which Arrowleaf balsamroot grow, but also allow the plants to easily survive fires.

A typical balsamroot in spring, nearing peak bloom

The flowers are actually complex collection of individual blossoms that give the illusion of a single, large flower head. The outer ring of “petals” emerge from dozens of individual florets, each producing one enormous petal that combine to form the ring of yellow petals. A close look at the developing flower head (below) shows these emerging super-petals as a fringe of green tips.

Honeybee on a balsamroot

Native Americans used almost all parts of these plants for food. Tender shoots and leaves were eaten raw or steamed, and immature flower heads were peeled and eaten. The sunflower-like seeds were eaten dry, or roasted. The roots, which are bitter when raw, were cooked and ground into a meal that was used to make cakes, and dried and powdered to make tea.

The plant was also used for medicinal purposes, with green leaves used to treat burns and the boiled roots used to create a medicinal salve for small wounds. A tea made from the roots was used to treat respiratory ailments. Balsamroot is still used today in organic foods and herbal medicines.

Wildlife also depend on Arrowleaf balsamroot. The plants are tolerant of browsing by deer and elk, and the seeds are important forage for small mammals, such as the Columbia ground squirrel. Wild horses graze on the plants in spring, and are especially fond of the flowers. The plants are also grazed by domestic stock, though they are sensitive overgrazing.

Miles of balsamroot create a brief dusting of bright green and yellow on the desert slopes of the Eastern Gorge each spring

In the right conditions, Arrowleaf balsamroot grow to fill whole mountainsides with their spectacular blooms. As the blooming season of Arrowleaf balsamroot peaks in late April or early May, the Columbia River Gorge provides one of the finer displays anywhere. Blue lupine is a frequent companion plant, providing a painting-perfect complement to the displays.

You can visit some of these spectacular displays by exploring Gorge hiking trails at Dog Mountain, Catherine Creek, Rowena Crest and Dalles Mountain Ranch. Check out the Portland Hikers Field Guide for more information on these destinations.

Scorpions!

At first glance, just a wayward crayfish.. but wait! Is that (gulp!) a scorpion's tail..?

A couple of years ago, I stopped to do some trail tending on the way down from Tamanawas Falls, on the Cold Spring Creek trail. It was dusk, and I was moving some rocks around to improve the tread in a gravelly area, on a slope just above the rushing creek. I spotted what looked like an oval coin, where I had just turned over a rock. Closer inspection revealed a pair of pincers and a tail, perfectly coiled up and tucked in around an armored body.

I thought it might be a crayfish that had somehow made its way up the slope to the trail. But suddenly, the creature exploded into motion, bolting to the top of a nearby rock at a speed that no crayfish could reach out of water. At that point, the tail was extended, and I realized I was looking at a scorpion!

It was nearly dark, so I quickly set up my tripod, as the scorpion sat motionless for me — apparently agreeable to an unscheduled portrait. The first view (above) was his semi-alert position that he held until I moved the camera closer for a better shot. At that point, he went into what can only be described as a “defensive” posture (below), and I must say that this sent some of my primal neurons into overdrive!

What scorpions do when they've decided their photo-op is over..!

I snapped a couple more shots of this pose before he abruptly raced up the slope — right past my foot, alarmingly — and into the brush. It was exhilarating because I don’t often stumble upon some new creature that I haven’t seen before, and especially one this exotic and seemingly out-of-place. What was a scorpion doing in a lush, mountain canyon along a rushing stream? Aren’t they desert dwellers?

After the trip, I researched scorpions a bit, and learned that they do, indeed, inhabit the Cascades as far north as British Columbia. Though I have yet to positively identify this one, it appears to be Paruroctonus boreus, the Northern Scorpion, or possibly one of the Vaejovis scorpion species native to Oregon. Its body was about 2″ in length, claws roughly an inch long, and the tail around 2″ long.

Oregon State University zoologist Philip Brownell provides helpful background in this article on just how scorpions could survive in a place like Cold Spring canyon, where deep snow covers the ground for months every winter. The key is their unique metabolic ability go into stasis in underground burrows, using little oxygen and requiring little food until conditions on the surface improve. But unlike other hibernating creatures, scorpions can quickly switch from stasis to active hunting in a matter of minutes.

Scorpion Mountain, in the Bull of the Woods country south of Mount Hood, might just have been inspired by the real thing, after all..!

Scorpions are live-bearing, with the female carrying her brood on her back until their first molt, upon which they head off on their own. If you get the creepy-crawlies from the sight of scorpions, I don’t suggest Googling images of a female ferrying her batch of young one around! They’re also nocturnal, so you’re unlikely to ever see one in the Cascades.

And what of the dreaded venom? Well, the Northern Scorpion’s venom is listed as a potentially dangerous neurotoxin for humans by some sources, with swelling and pain at the site of the sting, and possibly other more serious reactions. So it’s pretty clear that these creatures are to be seen, but not handled.

According to the National Geographic article link, above, the toxicity of the venom is inversely proportional to the size of the pincers, since large-clawed scorpions tend to hunt their insect prey with their claws, where small-clawed species are more likely to depend on their venom to immobilize their prey.

The spot where I found my specimen was classic habitat for Northern scorpion, according to several web sources. This species apparently lives on dry, loose riverbank slopes in much of its range. So that means that the entire Cold Spring Creek canyon is prime habitat, not to mention most every other canyon in this part of the Cascades.

So, keep that in mind, next time you’re turning over stones in the woods!

Hood River Mountain Trophy Homes

These fragile slopes on Hood River Mountain -- covered in their spring blanket of yellow balsamroot -- were recently scarred with a driveway to yet another ill-conceived trophy home.

One of the great tragedies of the Columbia River National Scenic Area Act (signed into law on November 17, 1986) was the crude delineation of what should be protected and what should not. The official boundary was eventually determined by pulling in terrain that could be viewed from the river, and from a scenic resources perspective, this was a fair starting point.

But the flaw in this thinking is that nature rarely follows clear boundaries, and some of the most precious lands in the Gorge were excluded by virtue of being hidden from view. It’s times to correct that oversight. It was also automobile-centric, since gorge visitors on foot, bicycle or horseback are likely to visit the high points and overlooks that have a broader viewshed.

This map shows how the scenic area boundary excluded the unique, open slopes of Hood River Mountain shown in the previous photo.

One such area is Hood River Mountain. Hikers flock to the area, though few realize that they’re hiking on private land (despite a sign stating so). Still fewer know that the land they are hiking on has no protection from the Columbia River National Scenic Area, though the Columbia River can be seen below. Without Oregon’s strict statewide planning, this area would be maze of roads and trophy homes by now. Instead, the mountain survives largely intact, in big parcels owned by a Washington timber company.

But not all of Hood River Mountain was spared. The northern extent had already been divided into smaller parcels by the time Oregon’s planning laws were enacted in the 1970s, and today these parcels are in high demand for trophy homes. The dwelling pictured at the top of this article was recently constructed on one such parcel, scarring the mountain forever with a quarter-mile driveway. This gouge across the delicate sloped meadows of arrowleaf balsamroot threatens to destabilize sensitive soils, placing an important ecosystem at risk.

The sprawling meadows on Hood River Mountain are owned by a (so far) benevolent timber company, but are on the wrong side of the scenic area boundary for the purpose of public protection.

This development on the northern tier of Hood River Mountain is a jarring reminder that in the short term, the scenic area boundary must be revisited to identify rare or endangered ecosystems, or other important resources that abut the line. Adjusting the boundary in these areas would open the door to federal protections and public acquisition of these sites over time.

In the long-term, the more difficult question of acquiring and either removing, or re-purposing some of the more egregious trophy homes must be addressed. The Forest Service has rarely crossed this line, largely due to lack of adequate funding for acquisition to begin with. Someday, this will be an important part of the restoration vision of the Mount Hood National Park Campaign. But for now, simply stopping the bleeding is a more pragmatic goal. The Forest Service must receive more funding to accelerate private acquisitions.

Trophy home gate on Hood River Mountain, where high anxiety accompanies country living for these dream-home dwellers.

The State of Oregon and local governments can also help on this front. The state and local jurisdictions could offer a tax incentive for trophy-home owners in high-profile locations to eventually deed these homes to the public for demolition, removal or reuse as a public facility.

In the meantime, the counties that issue permits for rural trophy homes can raise the bar for what they are willing to accept in engineering as geotechnical justifications for these projects. The Forest Service could assist the counties in providing an enhanced permit process, as a strategy for preventing the least sustainable eyesores from slipping through.

Non-profit land advocates are already important partners in addressing both the short and long-term problem. Today, at least three of these organizations have begun to acquire private lands in the Gorge, and are advocating for expanding the scenic area boundaries to encompass more endangered lands. Since the non-profits are not bound by official designations, and could begin working immediately with landowners to acquire land at overlooked places like Hood River Mountain, they offer the potential to work far in advance of the federal bureaucracy.

Each of us can help by supporting the non-profits who do this work. Most prominent are the Trust for Public Lands, Friends of the Columbia Gorge and the Nature Conservancy. You can find contact information for all three in this directory of organizations. Consider joining or simply contributing to one of these groups, and helping protect some of our most unique landscapes so that they may someday be intact or rehabilitated — as part of the Mount Hood National Park vision.