Ecologue

A northern spotted owl approaches a researcher in a redwood forest. (Photo by Michael Nichols/National Geographic)

Here’s a random assortment of recent eco-stories I’ve found interesting:

A short but sweet note from siskiyoucrest.org (the website KS Wild set up to promote the proposed Siskiyou Crest National Monument): “KS Wild motion detector cameras at Bigelow Lake capture great image of Northern Flying Squirrel!” And here’s the photo!

An Oregonian article talks about a new registry tracking conservation projects in Oregon, Washington and Idaho. There seems to be a lot of activity near Ashland, but I bet there are more projects that aren’t on this map (yet).

If you’re at all concerned about the chemicals in your food, check out this fascinating Newsweek article about obesity, specifically, fat babies. As the article points out, the epidemic of overweight infants can’t be explained by poor eating habits and lack of exercise, since babies then and now tend to skimp on working out and keep their diet to a simple staple of formula or milk. The suspected culprit? Ubiquitous hormone-mimicking chemicals (like bisphenol A) that seem to turn more cells into fat cells and change young humans’ metabolic rate to hoard calories. Kind of a scary outlook overall (and you might want to read to the end if you’re considering feeding your baby soy formula).

If you haven’t seen the October issue of National Geographic, the magazine features a giant redwood on its cover.  As a former redwood region dweller, I prefer the print edition with its foldout photo page (to accommodate a composite image of a redwood tree from top to bottom), but you can read the article online here. Once upon a time, redwoods reigned from Big Sur to Brookings, and the article includes a transect of the trees’ habitat and their history, as well as a look at their future, with a special focus on Humboldt County, center of the Redwood Wars and the remaining bits of old growth.

Finally, for the image-minded, the Oregonian’s outdoor guru Terry Richard has a slideshow of a recent trip to Central Oregon.

 

Last weekend we took advantage of the balmy weather and went backpacking on the Blue Lake Canyon Trail in the Sky Lakes Wilderness.

From the trailhead, located north of Mt. McLoughlin, the dusty path descends through a forest and quickly emerges at Round Lake, the first of several alpine lakes. Shimmering blue edged by emerald grass — of course we had to stop, even though the mile of downhill walking hadn’t tired us. We took the dogs’ packs off before they drenched their food and soaked up the scenery while they splashed and tore crazy circles in the bushes (my dogs love backpacking).

Eventually we realized we had to keep going if we wanted to see the rest of the trail. (The hardest part of the trip? Tearing ourselves away from picturesque lakes.) Another mile down the path we arrived at Blue Lake (which the guidebook author claims is the prettiest of the bunch). A beautiful campsite perched above the shore (wilderness rules: no camping within 100 feet of the lake) tempted us, but we decided to keep going after another dip for the dogs and a pika search.

Pikas, aka “conies” or “rock rabbits” (and they are related to rabbits), live in rocky areas at high altitudes, and the steep rock face fronting Blue Lake is one place they can be found in the Cascades. Pikas are thought to be early victims of global warming, as the thick fur that enables them to survive harsh winters also makes them heat sensitive — I’ve heard that pikas have a difficult time surviving in temperatures higher than the mid-70s. Some scientists call the pika the “canary in the coal mine” of global warming in the West. Despite the cool weather Saturday afternoon, we didn’t see pikas, but we heard their plaintive “meep” calls, and we did spot one Sunday on the way back to the car. Picture this: You’re hundreds of feet away, squinting at the rocks because you forgot to bring the binoculars and you don’t want your lab/border collie/boxer mix to get any ideas about chasing pikas. A tiny blob of fur is darting among the rocks, scampering up boulders and scurrying down slopes. Occasionally he emits his bleating cry — in between his dashing. It was like watching a home video shot from too far away on fast forward…but at least we got to see our first pika.

We continued along the trail past grassy Meadow Lake another half mile to Horseshoe Lake, and then another half mile to Pear Lake, which the guidebook said must have been named before bananas became popular (it’s more oblong than pear shaped). Huckleberry bushes crowded much of the trail, and it was berry season. We picked them until our fingers and tongues were stained purple. The dogs also enjoyed grazing the bushes. Past Pear Lake, the trail gets drier and rockier as it climbs and then drops down for two miles to Island Lake. Supposedly, these mounds of rock, called “moraines,” were torn from the mountain by glaciers.

We saw a different piece of history at Island Lake: the Judge Waldo Tree. Judge John B. Waldo of Salem served as chief justice of the Oregon Supreme Court in the 1880s, but he may be more well known for his conservation efforts in support of the Cascades. (Some have dubbed him “Oregon’s John Muir.”) In 1888, Waldo and a small party traveled the length of the Cascades on horseback, from Mt. Jefferson to Mt. Shasta. He carved his name and the date in a tall lodgepole pine on the shore of Island Lake, where you can still see it (albeit faintly) today.

Island Lake contains a small island with a couple trees, backed by a larger island with more trees. Tiny toads crawled in the grass along the shore, and a school of fish gathered in a lake-bottom trench where a small stream ran into the water.

We camped away from the shore in the woods to avoid the bloodthirsty mosquitoes, which weren’t actually that terrible, according to what I’ve heard Sky Lakes mosquitoes are like in midsummer.

The next day we enjoyed a lazy ramble back to the trailhead, with plenty of swimming and huckleberry eating along the way.

To see a photo gallery of our trip, click here.

To get there: It’s an 11-mile round-trip hike from the Blue Canyon Trailhead to Island Lake, but just two-miles round-trip to Round Lake, and four to Blue Lake (the uphill kicks in on the way back to the car). From Medford, take Highway 62 north to the Butte Falls turnoff near mile-marker 16. Turn right, drive about 17 miles to Butte Falls and continue through the town about a mile to the Prospect turnoff. Turn left and drive about 8.5 miles to Forest Road 34 (Lodgepole Road). Take Road 34 about 8.5 miles east (to just after the bridge crosses the South Fork of the Rogue River) and take the right fork of Road 37. Head south to Road 3770 (a couple miles after the pavement ends), and follow #3770 about 5 miles to the trailhead.

 

On Saturday we went for a tardy hike on Mt. McLoughlin. We got a very late start (Hey, it was Saturday), so we didn’t make it to the top of the 9,495 foot peak. Not sure exactly what time we set off from the trailhead, but it was at least 3 p.m. As we hiked up we passed scores of hikers straggling back down the path, including too-many-to-count tired teenagers, who must have been part of some wilderness outing or something. Many of the hikers we passed expressed their concern/surprise that we were hiking up, instead of down, at that time in the afternoon.

Of course we wanted to make it to the top, but since we’d never hiked Mt. McLoughlin before, we were more interested in getting some exercise, letting the dogs tire themselves out and seeing what the area was like.

My guidebook described the hike as “difficult,” but with nearly 4,000 feet of elevation gain and about 11 miles roundtrip, “grueling” is a better word. The path starts out crossing the gushing Cascade Canal — which apparently transports water from Four Mile Lake to Fish Lake — and wanders through the woods at a gentle slope for a couple miles, briefly meeting up with the Pacific Crest Trail.

Then the trail redefines “uphill,” turning into a climb/scramble up the mountain. It was sort of like hiking up a rock staircase — an uneven falling-apart one with crevasses between the “stairs.” The path gets more difficult to follow as you go up, but orange blazes help keep hikers on track.

At one point, just as my legs were starting to feel the climb, I turned around and caught a glimpse of blue. It was Klamath Lake, lying serenely to the east. The views just got better the higher we climbed, as more and more lakes came into view — Four Mile Lake, Lake of the Woods, Fish Lake, Howard Prairie and Hyatt lakes off in the distance (I’m probably missing a few).  

Even higher, the trail brushes against a ridge that, when you peek over to the other side, plummets down the steep incline almost to the “bottom.” It’s a massive concave slope of rock that looks like it was hewed by glaciers. According to the Forest Service, “the erosive work of Ice Age glaciers removed massive amounts of the mountain's northeast slope.” At that elevation, we had left the thicker conifer forest behind, and gnarled whitebark pine were the only trees surviving on the exposed mountainside.

Eventually we turned around, as the sun seemed to be getting too low (although we couldn’t see around the mountain to the western side) to ensure a safe return by night. As it was, we reached the car at dusk. I think we made it about four miles up the mountain, not bad for such a late start.

If you go:

Some tips: Bring lots of water, as there is none along the trail. If you bring dogs, bring even more water! Besides my two dogs, we only saw one other canine, a perky Jack Russell-terrier-type who had made it to the summit, his owner said. Be prepared for changing weather. It was warm at the trailhead, but a lot colder halfway up the mountain. Bring a snack/lunch for some extra energy. According to my guidebook, some people who reach the top make the mistake of taking an easier-looking route back down, instead of going back the way they came up, and get lost. Don’t do that!

How to get there: From White City, drive about 36 miles east on Highway 140. Between mile markers 35 and 36, turn left on Forest Road 3650. Follow the gravel road about two miles and turn left at the sign for the trailhead and drive a short distance to park. The parking lot requires a Northwest Forest Pass or parking fee of $5.

For a photo gallery of our hike, click here.

 

Last weekend we went hiking on Dunlop Trail, a pretty path (about 3 miles roundtrip) in the Cascades up Dead Indian Memorial Road.

The track winds through a shady forest, passing by a side trail to Dunlop Meadow.

As the interpretive national forest sign says:

These two meadows resulted from massive earthflow landslides thousands of years ago. The cliff which rises to the south of the meadows was formed when a large portion of the mountainside slid into the South Fork Canyon of Little Butte Creek. The landslide deposits at the base of the cliff created an irregular ground surface and trapped enough water to form two small lakes. As they filled with decaying vegetation and sediment, the lakes gradually transformed into the grassy meadows seen here today. In prehistoric times, the Takelma Indians camped here during the summer to hunt and to gather the camas bulbs that grow in the moist parts of the meadows.

Here, on the east edge of the upper meadow is the “Dunlop Ranch.” Very little is known about this old homestead’s history. “Old man Dunlop” is thought to have been a settler from the Eagle Point area who “squatted” here sometime in the 1920s (long before any roads accessed this area); some stories state that he was a moonshiner. During the 1930s, the Nickerson family lived here briefly, raising Angora goats. The goat hides were sold for mohair upholstery in automobiles.

The Dunlop Ranch has been abandoned for many years and time has taken its toll on the log cabin, barn and the small shed. The shed remains in the best condition; with its double-log walls, insulated with sawdust, the north half of the shed was used to keep meat and other food cool.

We explored the meadow and the remnants of the ranch, pondering what it would be like to live up there without electricity, before roads were put in — the winters must have been hard.

Back on the path, we gradually descended on a switchback through the trees and over and past several small steams to the banks of roaring Little Butte Creek. The dogs enjoyed cooling off in the water and we enjoyed poking along the shore before heading back up the hill.

To see a photo gallery of our hike, click here.

To get there: Take Dead Indian Memorial Road out of Ashland about 18 miles to Shell Peak Road (opposite the horse campground just past the turnoff to Howard Prairie Lake). Take a left onto Shell Peak Road and drive about seven miles on the dirt road to the trailhead on the right.

A scene from KS Wild's hike in the Siskiyou Crest (photo from KS Wild).

Here’s another dispatch from the KS Wild crew, hiking from the Oregon Caves to Mt.Ashland to campaign for the proposed Siskiyou Crest National Monument. See this blog post and this blog post for more information and their previous posts. See www.siskiyoucrest.org for more info on the crest. Note the invitation to camp with them Wednesday night. 

The team of conservationists, videographers, naturalists, outdoors enthusiasts and photographers backpacking across the proposed Siskiyou Crest National Monument have entered the third and final leg of their journey. Videos from days 4 and 5 are now posted at siskiyoucrest.org.

A public reception gathering/potluck bbq/campout on August 12 will start with a press conference at 4 p.m. at the Grouse Gap Shelter along Forest Road 20 on the Siskiyou Crest behind Mt. Ashland, about a half an hour drive from the town of Ashland. This campout is timed to occur at the height of the Perseid meteor shower.