WatershedEvents

BEATTY / MCLANE CREEK CONFLUENCE

A long overdue and much needed visit to Mclane Creek Natural Area, and the Mclane/Beatty Creek confluence this afternoon. There wasn't much moving at the beaver pond - if you are familiar with Kitty's landscape paintings you'll recognize the big snag right away. It was fairly quiet along the boardwalks covering sensitive areas (below) as well.

The fall colors this year seem particularly strong to me, given the terrible heat and limited amounts of rain we had in early to mid summer. I'm thrilled with it all, and feel tremendously lucky to be living in such a wonderful area.

The confluence lies on dry ground just outside the extreme southwest boundary of the nature trail itself. A short walk through the woods puts you at the base of a very large, multi-trunk, western red cedar - the confluence lies directly below the group.

In the photo above, Beatty Creek comes in from the lower left and merges (about dead center of the shot) with Mclane, which flows left-to-right through the top half of the photo. There is not much in the way of running water in Mclane Creek right now, and only soggy gravel and soggier leaves in Beatty.

Salmon won't begin plowing upstream until the rain gives both creeks a good first flush. The coho will be first, probably sometime in the first or second week of November. In all likelihood the chum won't be able to venture into Beatty Creek's main channel until sometime just before Thanksgiving, when there will be (hopefully) an inch or two of water passing over the log jam currently blocking most of the channel. Chum can't go airborne like coho, so rapids without side channels create total blockades. Last year's strongest flows though the natural notch shown below were deep enough to allow large numbers of the great beasts to fight their way into the deeper water on the other side. (The viewpoint shown here is roughly 180 from the one above, and looks straight upstream from the confluence itself)

Several solid and potentially productive pulses of Pacific moisture are headed this way in the next few days, and we've had a fair amount of rain already this month. I'm hopeful it will be a good year for the runs in both creeks - a couple years ago Beatty was bone dry until mid-December, well after the chum run had come and gone. Not a single fish made it into the creek in time to spawn. 

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PS - HOW LUCKY AM I?

A hard left turn at the base of this towering mass of second-growth, big-leaf maple takes you back to the pond at the heart of the reserve; but a hard-right puts you on the trail back to my house, about a half-mile away as the crow flies. I am truly blessed, thanks to the foresight and ongoing efforts of a large number of people who, for many years have put their give-a-damn where their mouths are. Thank you, one and all.

RIP BUDDY 01/10/2008 - 05/10/2021

Around 2:40PM last Tuesday, our beloved Sheltie gave up the ghost. His great heart finally failed him. Kitty and I raised him from a tiny pup - we are both pretty lost right now without him. As it is in such events, we will ultimately move on - but we shall never forget him, and he will always be missed.

HIKING TO MULESHOE - AN UPDATE

In my imagination, I am writing this from Site #6, Muleshoe Campground. It is an unseasonably warm afternoon in mid-May - low to mid-80s - and I've just returned to camp from an area on the northwestern slope of Sutton Mountain - "Cougar Creek," I call it, and it's probably my most favorite place in all of Oregon. In reality, it is late January here in Olympia, temperature in the low 30s and raining. Get me outtta here!!!
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Back in October I set out “walking” from Olympia to Muleshoe Campground on the John Day River in Oregon. According to Google Maps, that’s a distance of 289 miles. The idea, was I’d track my daily mileage statistics as recorded on my Apple watch while I went about the serious business of recovering as much as possible from a couple strokes I suffered in August.

When I began this imaginary hike, I couldn't physically walk more than a quarter mile; my Apple watch, in its own mysterious way put my total energy output for an average day at under a full mile. I calculated it would probably be late May before I (virtually) rolled into the campground. But I’ve made a game out of staying active as much as possible, and it's brought me back fast. I've closed in on the campground at a somewhat faster rate than I ever anticipated, and  by the end of the day today I’ll have covered (according to my watch) more than 290 miles! That works out to an average of close to 3 miles a day. For all intents and purposes, I have arrived. 

It’ll be at least a couple more months before I can actually head for a real campground anywhere, and I'm still not in great shape; so, I think I’ll continue the virtual-hiking routine and see where it lands me by April 1^st. That’s a couple months out, and I’m going to make the south campground at Steens Mountain my next virtual destination. That’s only an additional 217 miles, so I should be “there” by the end of February -- or maybe even earlier, if I can get that daily energy consumpton average up from 3 to 4 miles per day. 

 

 

SPAWNED OUT

Today it's almost impossible to see any trace of the 2020 Chum Run in Beatty Creek. I scoured the log jambs and nearby bushes searching for a carcass or two, or even a shred of skin, or a jaw bone. Nothing. The last two major rain-rivers blew up the creek and the resultant torrents carried it all away to Mud Bay. However, of you dig into the mud below the gravel an inch or two, an aroma rises that immediately brings to the mind the final days of the run. They are hard days for the salmon, and their death agony is a hard thing to observe. But I spend as much time beside the creek as I can so that I may serve as a kind of witness to the strangeness and the beauty of their existence, as well as the seemingly cruel end to their lives. I never fail to be struck by the powerful and strange beauty of the "Inevitable" as the fish pass from this state of being to the next. It is instructive. And while I never weep, I am always moved.

From time to time I've tried to capture a moment of all this - an image that conveys a bit of the quiet, inevitable passage of these great and valiant fish. Below are a few of those attempts.

Please don't try to tell me these water warriors are not valiant; don't explain to me their comings and goings in the frequently mechanical, materialistic terms that are so often used to explain aspects of nature. It is Nature flowing between the banks of Beatty Creek - Nature and the Great Mystery of Being. 

A FLUSH ON BEATTY CREEK

Record rain to begin the New Year - 2.26" fell at the Olympia airport on the 2nd of January, 2021, the day I started working on this post. Our backyard rain gauge showed more than 6" for the week (12/28/20 - 01/02/2021). I plot rain totals sporadically, and by the time I got to the gauge Saturday, it had long since been filled to overflowing. I decided to visit Beatty Creek and see what it was up to.

I headed for the place I've come to call The Bend. It's a great place to study basic stream dynamics. All but the creek's uppermost reaches flow over land once entirely covered in the deep glacial till deposits left behind by the comings and goings of the Puget Lobe of the Fraser Glaciation. The till lies upon large deposits of weathered basalts mostly visible only in the uppermost portions of the watershed. The creek’s headwaters are not far from the Puget Lobe’s terminal moraine, which means it lies in one of the first regions of Puget Sound to be reclaimed by vegetation after the last Ice Age. That was somewhere around 12,000 to 15,000 BPA (source references dependent). The area’s lowland soils consist of a shallow top layer of sands, gravel and decaying detritus lying over a deeper layer of semi-consolidated sands and gravels which covers a deep and highly compacted layer of gravel and sand – “hard pan” it’s called and for good reason. Over the millennia the creek has meandered across these lowlands more or less at will. Maps based on older surveys suggest the reaches I study have migrated over a hundred yards east of their current location.  

Stream flow reaches the Bend after passing through a relatively long and straight reach. For the area I'm discussing, total elevation change is not extreme - about an 80 foot drop over a half channel-mile of terrain. But the flow is still packed with a substantial portion of the energy it gained as it tumbled out of its headwaters area 3 miles and 1200 feet higher in elevation. It's also loaded with suspended solids - rocks, gravels, sands - that add to the abrasive actionof the flow. The weight of the atmosphere and the pull of gravity keeps that powerhouse from literally exploding when it slams into the 90^. angle at The Bend; instead, it boils its way through the curve and continues downstream - checked but not broken and regathering power and material as it flows. As tumultuous as the surface looks, the real action is taking place in the water body below – the cutting, grinding and plucking actions taking place along the steeper portions of the bank are fierce and relentless.  

Artifacts of this continuous process are abundant in the area. For example, in the photo above, the downed tree stretching left to right across the frame was upright and a good foot from the edge of the channel when I first came to this place in 2014. It's been down and in the channel since the fall of 2016. The Bend itself – its hard-left turn – was not quite so pronounced, and the gravel bar directly behind the upright snag (right-center) was not as well developed.

Flow events at The Bend are also impacted by changes in the channel immediately downstream. The large debris pile shown below (right of center in the photo) has split the stream, creating a good sized bar in the middle. This blockage actually dams the flow enough to raise the water level upstream, which increases the height and breadth of the cutting action taking place in what you might call the stream’s elbow. These kinds of obstructions come and go and are constantly changing shape and characteristics. They are crucial to the continued good health of fast flowing streams such as this one. How long they last can vary from hours to decades, many factors dependent. Right now this formation promotes rather than hinders salmon spawning; but other such piles of debris have totally prevented any fish from this year’s chum run making it to these upstream areas. 

Below, a recently fallen tree just a few yards downstream is beginning to trap debris between it’s trunk and the water. I suspect it won’t have much impact on stream flow until it breaks in half, or until the bank supporting one end or the other erode enough to put it directly in the water. That could take several decades.

 

SPAWNED OUT

The 2020 chum run on Betty Creek is fast coming to a close. Only a few very late arrivals are still trying to push their way upstream - the rest are either dead or in their last throes. I'm not sure how productive it's been. I've only been watching this stream since April of 2014, so this is just my 7th year of witnessing the spawning cycle. It's certainly been way better than last, when not a single fish made it into Beatty Creek. The rains came very late that time around, and the creek didn't begin carrying water until the first week in December. This year's November rainfall was close to record breaking, and the creeks are running good and strong as a result. So it goes with the ephemeral streams in which the chum are born - at the end of their days there's not always access to the place of their origin.

If the volume of rotten carcasses at this spot were a reliable indicator, I'd be tempted to conclude it was a bountiful event. But I know for a fact that an as-of-yet undetermined obstacle just a short way upstream from here completely obstructed fish passage beyond the 150 foot elevation level this year. Accordingly, the body-count found here owes its relatively high count to the fact that a good many chum never made it to the places upstream where they otherwise might have chosen to die.    

Another factor possibly attributing to the absence of spawning chum further upstream may be the water level itself. It seems quite low, given the relatively solid amount of rainfall we've experienced this last month. I'm suspicious of the water-table - I can't be positive about this, but my gut tells me it's dropped considerably in the last couple years. Development upstream, as well as logging in the Capital Forest itself may be a factor. I'll leave the determination of such factors to those who may possess some instrumentation, and maybe more reliable data - I have neither. 

When I first began witnessing the annual spawning process, contemplating their ravaged carcasses used to make me a little sad. I'm over that, and now I simply study the dying and deterioration process for insights into how it replenishes and revitalizes the system. My admiration for the salmon maintains, however - what a fabulous creature. One of the most effective predators in the entire ecosystem.

CHUM RUN 2020

(double click for a better view)

The chum have been working their way up Beatty Creek for the better part of the month. At the moment they are only to be found at around the 150' level of the creek, well below the elevation where I've most often observed them. This summer, when I walked down stream from The Bend (my favorite observation site, and only a quarter of a mile up stream from where they are today) I came across a pretty massive blockage with a deep splash pool on the downstream side. I'm guessing that it was high enough and solid enough to keep this year's chum from going any further upstream.

There's no overland route to that spot with public access, and I don't want to wade the stream until I'm sure the little ones have hatched and headed back downstream towards Mud Bay and the Sound. But come mid-May, well after the youngsters have departed the stream, I'll wade downstream from The Bend until I reach the spot where the run met its end. And if a blockage is indeed responsible for the problem, I'll petition the HOA for permission (and maybe some help) clearing it.

A post-script here: Beatty Creek is a tiny body of water. In many places it is narrow enough to jump over, and in others it's so shallow you can tiptoe across without getting your ankles wet. This makes it possible to get close enough to the chum to actually touch them - not someting I've ever done, nor would ever recommend. Late In the run the exhausted fish tend to ignore most intrusions - they are too tired by then to either flee or fight. But until then, it doesn't take much to distract them from the main task at hand. Out of respect for this, I always approach the creek as cautiously as possible, and always avoid places along the bank where serious redd preparation is taking place.

It is not unusal for me to actually crawl the last few feet through the brush to the water's edge, especially when trying to get top-water photos like the one above. This time round I lost track of where I was and ended up with my elbows right at stream's edge. I lay there for a good fifteen minutes, my heavy coat and the knees of my jeans soaking up stream water the entire time. A stench only rivaled by the uncleaned floor of a busy fish market hung about me for the entire walk home from the creek... a very small price to pay.

 

WALKING TO MULESHOE

On August 11th I had a "small" stroke and temporarily lost control of most of the muscles on my left side. Luckily, recovery was amazingly fast. Within a matter of hours almost all my fine motor skills had returned, and within 36 hours I was back home, hard at work getting back to pre-stroke condition. Things went well - until August 27th, when I had a second stroke, this one much more serious. Again it was the left side that felt the bulk of the attack. It took almost 72 hours for me to gain enough motor control and balance to head home, and even then I required the use of a walker in order to simply move around the house. 

For a few days it was not clear how many of my pre-stroke abilities might be reoverable. But I was lucky a second time, as no permanent damage apears to have taken place. The difficulties I experienced with speech and fine motor skills in the first couple days are well behind me, and I've made a great deal of physical and mental progress in a surprisingy short period of time - I was discharged from Saint Peters Just under seven weeks ago. I'm up to over a mile walking a day, can operate the riding lawn mower properly (including emptying the bags when they are full), and feel safe eough to drive on back roads with Kitty as copilot. My flute playing is better than ever.

Still, It will be quite some time before I am back to pre-stroke levels of strength, coordination, and stamina. It's the stamina part that may prove to be the most difficult to win back; right now even small efforts can leave me a little winded and wobbly in the knees. Tackling that problem will require a lot of self-discipline and hard work. I'm into my second month of a fairly aggressive physical therapy program supervised by the same specialist who worked with me on my right shoulder a couple years. We were very successful with that therapy, and I expect we'll be equally successful with the task at hand. 

Something I learned the very first time I had physical therapy - in an extremely successful program aimed at sparing me a knee operation - was how much it helps to have a clear objective in mind. That first time around, my goal was to be able to hop from rock to rock along a trail without falling down or breaking an ankle or a leg. That may sound simple enough, but it took over six months and a lot of hard work, a suite of exercises, and buckets of sweat to acheive that goal. 

This time around, I have another simple goal - I want to be able to go tent camping with one or more of my children before I turn 78. That's just a little less than a year from now, and to make that deadline I will need to get my body into a lot better shape. A lot of the work involved will center on walking, and that's where the idea of "Walking to Muleshoe" comes in. 

Muleshoe Campground is a BLM site on the banks of the John Day RIver in Oregon. I've been camping there since the summer of 1996. I like to use it as a sort of home base whenever I visit the Sutton Mountain WIlderness, the Painted Hills, and other attractions in that general area. I'd like to get back there for a few days sometime next summer. It's almost exactl 289 miles from my front door to the tent pad at Space #6 in the park. (I prefer that site above all others, and only three times out of dozens of trips have I ever had to camp in another space.)

I'm fortunate to live in a neighborhood where walking is safe and fun, not to mention very invigorating. There are areas where its possible to walk on soft surfaces - dirt and grass -as well as pavement; and every mile-long walk involves an elevation change of at least 200 feet.There is also a good trail through some beautiful woods that leads into Mclane Creek Natural Area. Beyond that lies a huge network of steep and rugged trails through great stands of conifers. I'll use these resources and others to walk my way back to Muleshoe.

My watch tells me that I put in 3.22 miles today - Only 285.78 miles to go!  

 

THAT RASCAL, "STINKY BOB"

It's hard to get angry at Stinky Bob, even as pernicious as it can be at times. It is such a lovely little plant, and its flower has such a charming little face...but don't be fooled - it is a Class B weed and should be controlled as much as possible. The general idea is to get after it before that pretty face changes into the seed pod. It is pretty easy to get out of the ground after a good rain...but like a lot of nasty weeds, it has the habit of breaking off just above the root line if its feet are well-planted in dried dirt. Below is a shot of pretty much an entire plant, roughly 18"worth of it from tip to tap.

It's proper name is Geranium Robertianum (Syn.Robertiella robertiana), but like many another miscreant, it has many aliases: Death Come Quickly, Red Robin, Storksbill, and Crow Foot. But be careful when you  go after it, especially during this time of the year, because the smaller ones can easily be mistaken for native Pacific Bleeding Heart. The two like the same habitat, and Stinky Bob can completely wipe out a stand of our lovely little native plants in a single season. 

 

CHANNELING SANDY DIEDRICH

My standard creek-crawling kit - waterproof camera bag, black coffee, good gloves, and crackers.

I went down to the creek this afternoon and put in a little sweat-equity pulling ivy and archangel. In the process I took the time to remember the legacy of Sandy Diedrich, an environmental advocate who lead the charge against vast stands of English ivy that were enveloping large areas of her beloved SW neighborhoods in Portland, Oregon. I never knew her personally; she passed away a year or so before I got involved with the advocacy side of Fanno Creek issues. But she made a huge difference by recruiting, training, and inspiring a generation of wetland warriors. Her work goes on today and her legacy is celebrated annually in the form of Portland’s Environmental Stewardship awards. She – and all the other Watershed Folk back in Portland were much on my mind as I teased out stems and runners from the roots of ferns and the general detritus covering the banks of Beatty Creek.

Below, before and after photos of a small area (roughly 35 sq. ft.) covered with young English ivy. I suspect it washed down here from higher elevations just a couple months ago – the main part of its root system was mired in a mix of silt and gravel right at the edge of the embankment.

Next, a bit further downstream, before and after shots of one of the ubiquitous stands of archangel that crop up every 300 feet or so along the bulk of the stream. I know for a fact that it can be found as far upstream as the 500’ level about 1.5 miles from this site, which lies at 180’.

I haven’t completely finished work on this patch – still have a dozen square feet to work through. Archangel is way more time consuming to pull than English ivy; but like the ivy, it can propagate from mere pieces of stem or leaves.

I re-photographed the hogweed stand. It is thick on both sides of the stream in this area, and also well established a scant 100 feet further down the bank. If and when it is possible to round up some protective gear, I will try my hand at cutting it down and hauling out the remains.  That will at least slow it down until a professional crew can come in and do a number on it.

Except for the hogweed infestation, the other two I worked on today were quite "minor," in the sense that the vegetation involved was both relatively sparse, and not yet deeply rooted - precisely the kind you most want to tackle. It's slow going because the goal is to tease out as many segments of root material as possible - have to work a strand at a time. If you try your hand at this sort of thing, make sure to pack along a couple hand warmers.

Below, one of the reasons why fighting back against invaders like ivy and archangel and hogweed and all the rest is so important. I don’t know just how these little stream violas figure in the overall scheme of things –what benefits they bring to the ecosystem and all that; but for now I’ll just work to preserve their place at the table. Maybe a little further downstream enlightenment will come….