A new bridge on the Willamette Update

  The river construction window for the Willamette was put in place for the safety of the wildlife in (largely fish migration) and around the river, consideration for recreational use, and commercial concerns. That window, from July 1st until Halloween, has seen a flurry of action. Unfortunately, I'm missing a lot of it. I spent a little over two weeks in San Francisco for the Photoshop & You store and then another two weeks on vacation in Southern California and along the coast following Highway 101. Luckily, I can watch time-lapse videos of the construction, either on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis. Now that we have reached the half-way point for this year's river construction period, more information is being released. The project is putting together informative videos that include interviews with the designers and decision makers behind this new work. Here's what we have so far, with more to come:


Episode 1: Bridge Location and Type

Episode 2: Episode 2: Why a Cable-Stayed Bridge Design

(Don't you love it when they choose a poster frame like this? Awkward Facial Position)

Happy Hunting,
Brett

Portland's New Bridge

  Due to concerns with yearly migration patterns, there is a limited window in which construction can take place within the Willamette River. This time period starts on July 1st. And construction on the new bridge will accept no slack. Workers have already started moving barges and derricks into place, two weeks ahead of time, to take full advantage of the limited time available to them.

  To ensure the safety of all, whether those working or having fun on the river, no wake and no entry zones have been established (as detailed in the map on right, provided by TriMet). The zones are in effect starting yesterday, June 15th, until the end of the world in December 2012.

  The construction of the (unofficially named) Caruthers Bridge, will start with the building of the two columns that will support the main structure. This will involve sinking two tubes-like cofferdams into the river, which will serve to keep the water out of the construction site and likely as the molds for the columns themselves. Before laying the foundation, the silt, sand, and organic materials that make up a river bottom must be removed  clear to the bedrock in order for there to be a solid mass to attach the columns to.

  I plan on keeping a weekly photo update of the construction through out, starting in two weeks.

Happy hunting,
Brett

Life circles on itself

  I was born in the L.A. basin, atop a hill that overlooks one of them most polluted areas of the world. As I grew older I moved inland, back toward the east of my parents (who were born in Michigan). As you move east from the LA area, you quickly head into the Great Basin, a self-contained basin, one that doesn't reach the ocean. All the water drains inward to landlocked seas such as the Great Salt Lake in Utah or Salton Sea in Southern California. I grew up on the beach or in the desert. Those areas that have little to no rain fall, where there are stream and river beds without water. Flash floods are more common than running water.

 When I moved to the Pacific North West, one of the first things I noticed was the breadth and diversity of life. There were bugs everywhere, of many different types. Those bugs then fed larger life forms, like birds. There were trees and bushes and plants of amazing assortments. Life was present, green was everywhere. It was completely unlike the desert, with it's five or so different life forms. There was diversity here and I fell in love with it. 

  Yet, this diversity and abundance of life came with a great cost. That price was that everyone wanted a piece of it. When Lewis and Clark, and other pioneers came to the Oregon Territory, the found a similar abundance of life, but at a much grander scale than we see today. Trappers were already in the region, capturing beavers for fashionable wear in the east. Natives relied on the abundance for their daily lives. But in came progress.

  Within a hundred years, areas had been clear cut, animal populations cut to single digit percentages of their original numbers. One very sad example of this is the Salmon. Recently, I watched this Nature episode from PBS. It's almost heart breaking to see a species brought to it's knees. The way that they have been hobbled in the Columbia Basin is not humane. Yet, it is the same power that made the Salmon flourish as made hydroelectric power a mainstay of the area. More than four hundred dams dot the various tributaries of the Columbia, a river whose mountainous reach takes more advantage of gravity than most others. 

  The advantages we have taken in this area, whether for farming or for fishing, have taken their toll, and the Salmon have suffered more than most. The best that science can offer is not on the same scale that nature, untamed, can manage. We are destroying that which gives us abundance without giving enough back. We profit at the cost of the future. We profit at the cost of the past. And while there may be abundance for the present, temporarily, all we really leave behind is debt. One that cannot be paid off but in sacrifice. 

How the Earth was Made

Mt. St. Helens in Google Earth

One of my favorite TV shows, being the nerd/geek/geology-phile that I am, is The History Channel's How the Earth was Made. It takes the long view of history, going in depth on subjects like plate tectonics, erosion, and climate. Forces the Earth has been generating and enduring for four and a half billion years. The original show looked into the life history of the planet, from star dust to life ark. The series that sprung from that (currently with two seasons) has episodes that focus on famous natural features, from the Grand Canyon to Mount Everest to Loch Ness.

I have done a fair amount of reading on how the Columbia Basin was formed. Glaciation, mega-floods, clashing continents, and basalt flows are just some of the creative/destructive powers that it took to make such a unique place on earth. There's enough geologic upheaval in this area to fuel a new episode of the show, should it continue into a third-season. But there was an episode about a feature within the basin. It stands tall on the horizon, easily viewable from Portland. While Mt. Hood gets most of the attention, it's Mt. St. Helens that makes all the noise.

I've taken several trips up to see this massive mountain that so famously blew her top. Just a little over a year after my birth, the side of the mountain bulged and then erupted out, sideways. Scouring the surrounding hills, flattening forests, and flooding the land it caused incredible devastation. Yet the mountain gave warnings that something big was about to happen. This invited scientists in for a short period of study, much of what was learned saved lives in other parts of the world and makes for interesting television.

The ancient Romans believed the volcanic activity of Italy was the result of the forges of Vulcan, the smith of the gods. The Hawaiians thought that their island chain had been created by hot-headed Pele. It's taken hundreds of years of study, but we now know much about how volcanoes form and function.

We are probably all familiar with how the crust of our Earth is made of titanic plates. These clods of dirt, though formed of many types of rock, are largely composed of granite. This particular stone floats on top of the heavier materials that make up the Earth's fiery mantle.But the act of a solid floating on a liquid is not one of levitation, rather it is one of displacement. The chunks of the Earth's crust are heavy and gravity would like them to sink. Like getting into a bath tub and watching the water level rise, all of that hot lava below is also trying to rise, squeezed into every nook and cranny of our imperfectly formed planet.

The crust is full of holes that have have been filled with magma. The weight of the crust pushing down is met with the resistance of the mantle already there, which creates enough pressure to build mountains. These mountains, volcanoes, are like a microcosm of the plates, they float on a lake of lava. The weight of the mountain is causing it to try to sink into this lake, but the liquid in the lake has no where to go but up. These forces find a balance and the mountain sleeps. But if one weakness is found, the lava will exploit it and make an explosive get away.

Approaching Mt. St. Helens in September, 2007

While these forces may remain in balance for years, decades, even centuries, Mt. St. Helens is a very active volcano due to a fatal, balance shattering trait. The May, 1980 eruption taught some interesting lessons, most importantly that the mountain was rotten to the core. Mountains are funny things, they seem invincible and immobile. They modify the weather around them, creating snow and rain. While much of the snow melt and rain waters run off the mountain side and eventually join the Columbia, the rest of it soaks into the ground. And like rain water seeping into your home's foundations and wreaking havoc, the same is more true of volcanoes. The problems lie in the minerals that make up a volcano. Famously, sulfur is a smelly component of volcanic activity. As precipitation percolates into the heart of the mountain, it heats up, picks up sulfur and heads back to the surface. This literally undermines the roots of the mountain, causing internal erosion that compromises the integrity of the structure. As the stones rot they can no longer hold back the incredible powers of the magma below. Eventually something's got to give, and when it does you'd better be prepared to get out of the way.

So long as hot lava lies below and rain falls from above, volcanoes like Mt. St. Helens are likely to blow off their decayed tops and play devastation with the surrounding landscape and river basin from time to time. While the land around us may seem strong, like the mountain, we must remember that the Earth is constantly in motion, just like a river. It moves slowly most of the time, but occasionally it make great, destructive leaps.

Additional images from my 2007 trip to Mt. St. Helens.

Happy hunting,
Brett

Transcending time

On Friday, the Columbia was poisoned. Fuel oil overflowed the tanks and deck of the cargo ship Transcenden Time into the river. About a hundred gallons of Texas Tea was added at the confluence of the Willamette River. While that might sound like a lot, let's put a little perspective on the matter. We're talking about little more than 13 cubic feet of material, which would likely fit within your home refrigerator. While the river doesn't always see oil added in this kind of concentration, I'm sure every rain fall washes far more oil from our roads into the water. But this isn't the first spill the Columbia has seen:

• 1978 - Toyota Maru - 30,000 gallons
• 1983 - Blue Magpie - 80,000 gallons
• 1984 - Mobil Oil - 200,000 gallons
• 1991 - Tai Chung - 11,000 gallons
• 1993 - Southern Pacific - 5,000 gallons
• 1993 - MV Central - 3,000 gallons
• 1994 - An Ping 6 - 3,000 gallons
• 2009 - Black Hawk - 150 gallons
• 2011 - Davy Crockett - currently unknown but 1,450 gallons have been cleaned up.

By comparison, the Exxon Valdez dumped about 25,000,000 gallons into Prince William Sound and last year's BP oil spill resulted in 206,000,000 gallons of oil being added to the Gulf of Mexico.

Oregon's DEQ considers any spill over 42 gallons to be a major issue. Site response, containment, cleanup isn't free, and those responsible for the mess foot the cleaning bill. About $300,000 in fines where levied against the owners of the An Ping 6.

Such spills may be caused by damage to vessels, the pumping out of contaminated bilge water, and the failure of equipment designed to prevent this sort of dirtying. These spills are made up of hydrocarbons that might be in the form of crude oil, mechanical lubricants, or diesel fuel. Oil slicks can cause health issues for all living things, often resulting in the failure of internal organs and hypothermia. While birds and fish make up the vast numbers of casualties, mammals who come into contact with the fouled waters are just as vulnerable. Submarine plant life also suffers due to the oil cutting off supplies of sun light. The oils can stick to beaches and take months to years to clean up.

While the up front effects of such spills can be tragic, geologically speaking, there Earth, and the Columbia Basin, have been through much worse. These are things that can be recovered from, the Columbia will heal and live to flow another day.

Happy Hunting,
Brett

Purple Flat Top

The Inland Northwest, sometimes referred to as the Columbia Basin, is an area near the northeastern corner of Washington near Spokane. It has been shaped by titanic forces throughout history, not the least of which is the works of humans. It is a hard land that has developed a great diversity of trees, birds, and personalities. It is here that Jack Nisbet traveled to after graduating college. He went to find a place, what he found were people, and he found himself.

The book Purple Flat Top doesn’t specify when it takes place, it dances around the subject of time. From the state of the economy and the changes in technology I’m guessing this book takes place throughout the decade of the 70s. I’m not local to the Inland Northwest, so the names of mining operations that supported settlements are unfamiliar to me. Perhaps, if I knew the date when Corporation A had taken over the business that drove the local economy, and closed it down, such a red letter day would standout on my calendar. The only disaster of which Mr. Nisbet writes that I know takes place in my lifetime is that of Mt. St. Helens erupting.

There is no central narrative to this book. Instead it is a string of unconnected episodes of Jack’s life full of random jobs and eccentric locals. Instead, what we have is a series of illustrated portraits of people who have shaped, and been shaped by, the land they living. They have become characters, people with interesting traits, flaws, strengths, passions, pains, and conflicts. Sherlock Holmes would often tell Watson that there is nothing so extravagant as the mundane, that no authors wild imaginings could compare to what happens every day behind closed doors. This were Jack’s neighbors, friends, and co-workers, yet they are drawn so perfectly that we feel that these are our memories, that this is our story.

Happy Hunting,

Brett N

P.S. The distance travelled of my imaginary toy boat, from my bridge over Beaverton Creek to the Pacific Ocean, is 176 miles.

Map of Beaverton to the Sea

If a drop of rain, or a piece of trash, or a toy boat enters Beaverton Creek near my house, it will eventually make it out to the Pacific Ocean (assuming my toy boat is not picked out of the water by some meddling kids). While I've described that path in the past, here today I illustrate it.

The map has been numbered to label the converging bodies of water, as well as some of the areas I've already posted about.

1. Beaverton Creek, which flows into the...

2. Rock Creek, which flows into the...

3. Tualatin River, which flows into the...

4. Willamette River, which flows into the...

5. Columbia River, which flows into the Pacific Ocean.

6. Clatsop Spit.

7. Astoria.

8. Nehalem Basin.

9. Sauvie Island.

10 Tualatin Valley.

Happy Hunting,
Brett

The Great Frontiersman

I had never heard of the author Jack Nisbet, nor his books until a casual glance stole my attention. Something I like to do from time to time is visit Powell's for book readings. Listening to an author tell his personal story and sell you on his latest narrative is reason enough for me to purchase and read a book. To facilitate such sales, Powell's sends out an email monthly about who will be appearing during the next 30 days. I usually just scan this list looking for names or titles I recognize. It's a pretty fast process and I ordinarily see one or two things that interest me. I glanced past a book with a leaf on the cover and thought nothing of it. The Collector, it was called. I was ready to pass it up completely when I happened to see the word "River" italicized in its description. I though, "This could be something interesting, as I like those". The title, being Sources of the River, told me it had something to do with hydrology, which also interests me. But then when I read that this book as about the first mapping of the Columbia River, I knew I had to have it. 

I have just finished this book, and let me tell you, no lives like this anymore. Sources of the River tells the story of David Thompson: trader, explorer, and map maker. Born in England and shipped, as a child, to the new world for the rest of his life. His story parallels that of most any legendary frontiersman. In the territories that would eventually become Canada, Thompson would grow up learning how to live entirely outside of civilization, feeding off the land, dashing off into the utterly unknown. But he brought back knowledge of everywhere he went with scientific precision. The maps he made still hold up as accurate as anything we could make with satellites today.

Yet, for the amount of high adventure he had, there is a serious lack of death in this man's life. Braving snow storms in mountain passes, starving in alpine meadows bereft of game, shooting dangerous rapids in hand made boats. It's especially surprising considering the amount of battles going on around him. Although he is among the first of Western Civilization to visit these lands, they are peopled already. And while the coming of the white man is considered an auspicious thing for many of the Native American tribes, trouble is bound to follow. As in any nation situation , there are border conflicts and concerns over trade, one nation asking for sanctions and embargoes against others. These white men had come mainly to trade. They wanted beaver skins to feed the factories that generated the latest fashions in London. And while tobacco was a hot commodity, guns were an even hotter one. Despite the number of times he was too closely involved in the battles and drama of the natives, no man died in his care. 

Greatly reduced reproduction of David Thompson's Map.

He managed to map the Columbia, from source to sea, and some of its tributaries as well, in the course of only a few years. Much more reliable than the maps that Lewis and Clark put together, of whom David was a contemporary. In fact, Thomas Jefferson sponsoring the Corps of Discovery is what lead Thompson's North West Company to sponsor his trip over the Rocky Mountains. His master work is ten by sixteen foot, incredibly-detailed, and hand-drawn map. Like many artists, he died in near obscurity and his genius was mostly recognized after he was gone.

For those of you paying attention, he is something I want for my birthday. It goes with both the book and my overall study:

David Thompson on the Columbia River 1807-1812 

Happy Hunting, 

Brett

Columbia for a cause

I spent this morning visiting Broughton Beach in North Portland, near the airport. This sandy shore on the Columbia was host to a very strange event. I didn't even know such things happened until about three weeks before this event. My friend Atheana was going to be participating in a small bit of madness. Now, normally I'm a fair participator in madcap adventures and a bit of costuming. This, however, was not my idea of fun. 


The weather report had predicted rain and the dark clouds promised some. It was a chilly morning, despite certain hopes of a groundhog from last week. The waters of the Columbia, having freshly drained the Cascade Range, was flowing at a frosty 39 degrees. Yet bathing suits and towels abounded, as did collections of animals, super heroes, and innuendo. Hundreds had gathered here for a single purpose, to help the Oregon Special Olympics. They were raising money by raising goose bumps. 


The event is called the Polar Plunge, and no other name could be more fitting. I estimated about 600 people willingly dove into the icy, pre-noon, cloudy-day waters of the Columbia. Their mixed expressions of triumph and horror are priceless. Soon enough, the sun came out and around $150,000 was raised. And this wasn't the only site performing this charity.  Just in the Columbia Basin there are at least seven other such plunges.

                                                   

More images available here: Polar Plunge.

On another note, back to Portland Bridges for a moment. 

• The Oregon City-West Linn Arch Bridge has closed for repairs. Two years is the expected construction time.
• The twin Interstate Bridges (and here) that take the I-5 over the Columbia between Oregon and Washington is in need of congestion relief. The bridges may be replaced in the future.
• For updates on the bridge to be for the Orange Line, see the home page for the "Caruthers" Bridge.
• The Sellwood Bridge is also in need of repairs. It will be getting significant upgrades soon.

Happy hunting,

Brett

Drive-in, drive on

One of my first memories of moving to Portland was being surprised by a drive-in theater. While walking down a street, I came around a corner and saw a fair number of cars all neatly lined up. They were all parked facing a monolith. Light was projected on this giant screen, but I wasn't sure where the soundtrack would come from. It took me a second to realize that the vertical yellow lines were normally used to separate lanes of traffic. This was the Burnside Bridge, it's leaves drawn up like a castle at night.

While rivers tend to be the center of civilizations, most ancient empires and modern cities are founded on them, they can also serve to divide. Many nations and states define their boundaries based on rivers. In ancient times a true river (as opposed to a stream or creek) might as well have been a mountain for all it did to act as a wall. Casual travelers would rather seek a way around than to have to strip down to nothing, hold your clothes above your head and hope you can make it across in such a state. Trades men could never get their goods safely across such a body. And you can forget about an army of men weighed down by weapons, armor, and camp gear getting through.

If you don't happen to carry a boat around with you, the only way to cross is to find a ford, a place where the water is shallow enough to walk across. And these are not always common, you might have to travel days out of your way to find one. When speed is important, a bridge must be created. Any city built on a river will need bridges to maintain commerce and cohesion.

One of Portland's many nick-names is Bridgetown, and it is well deserved. In the metro area there are more than eight miles of major river crossings and untold leagues of minor ones. And Portland's bridges are not just numerous, but famous also.

Going back to Burnside, this bridge is the center of Portland's compass needle. All locations into town describe themselves as being north or south, east or west of this structure. I have crossed this bridge in a car, on a bus, and on foot more times than I could possibly recount. It was designed by Joseph Strauss, whose name graces the mechanism that lifts the bridge leaves, and who later designed the Golden Gate Bridge in San Fransisco.

Nearby is the Morrison Bridge. A near twin to Burnside, this is the most heavily trafficked non-highway bridge, largely because it serves as an on-ramp/off-ramp to a highway. But also partly due to the fact that it replaces two historical bridges, including the first bridge built in the dark reaches of Portland's history. This first bridge was also the largest west of the Mississippi at the time. The current bridge is the largest mechanical device in the state.

Still going upstream we come to the more-than-a-century-old Hawthorn. It is the oldest vertical-lift still in operation, being so old it must be raised four times a day whether river traffic dictates it or not. For many, this is one of the most nerve wracking drives in Portland, with its extremely narrow lanes traveling very close the bridge's truss system and to oncoming vehicles with no dividers.

If the Hawthorn doesn't stress-out driver and passenger alike, then the Marquam usually will. This speedway, which carries the I-5 freeway, has an incredible takeoff ramp for southbound cars. Just after you are sandwiched under the northbound lanes you take a nearly 90 degree turn out over the river and head for a concrete divider. If you are on the wrong side, say you want to head south (left) you will need to be in the right lanes, you will have to play chicken with other cars who have made the opposite mistake.

Heading back to the north is a truly unique bridge, the Steel. Not only does this bridge carry every conceivable means of transport across the river (people, bikes, cars, buses, light rail, street car, freight train), it is a double-decker vertical-lift. Second in age only to Hawthorn. And while a double-decker is not really that unique, the fact that the decks can lift independent of each other is some flexibility that others envy.

A short distance from there is the Broadway. This Bridge makes it's name for being a bit of a fluke. It is a bascule, like Burnside and Morisson, meaning that it opens by lifting leaves. Unlike these other bridges, though, the counter-weights and mechanisms are above traffic in the bridge's superstructure. Not only that, but it is a Rall-type, meaning it rolls open (named for it's inventor, not for this action), not simply rotating.

At the north end of downtown is the Fremont Bridge. Until recently, this was the largest tied arch (a hybrid between a suspension and an arch) bridge in the world. Now it is number two after a new bridge in China. It still has the longest single span (length of bridge unsupported from below) in the state.

Much further north is the St. Johns Bridge, the tallest, most beautiful, and only suspension bridge on the Willamette. The gothic towers are awe inspiring and can only be called "epic".

I will mention briefly the Ross Island Bridge, the unfriendliest in town as it is the most difficult to get on to or off of as it is a tangle of roads on the west bank, and a list of restrictions on the east. It is also extremely narrow and does not share well with pedestrians or bikes. But it will be alleviated soon. For, between it and the Marquam Bridge there will soon be a new one.

The first major bridge to be built in my lifetime, tenatively called Caruthers (for the streets it almost but doesn't quite connect on each side of the river), is on it's way. For multi-use, it will rival the Steel, only lacking freight trains and cars. That's right! No cars! Making it another unique addition to Portland as it will be one of the largest bridges not for, or allowing, cars in the country. It will also be of the stayed-cable type, which is similar to a suspension bridge. Instead of a large cable crossing the length of the bridge with supports tied to it, the supports are tied directly to the towers. This will also be a breathing and singing bridge! It will host a new Max light rail line, the Orange, into South East Portland and Milwaukee, with a stop at OMSI.

Construction on this new bridge starts this summer, so expect to see updates here as things proceed. I'll be keeping a close eye on it. The average build time for bridges throughout Portland's history is two years, but this one is not scheduled to open for four (or, at least the Orange line doesn't start until 2015).

Happy hunting,
Brett

Origin Story

I find a number of things fascinating. History, geography, and hydrology should be obvious at this point. But what if I said "Construction"? I love the whole process, from an empty field that gets staked out for surveying, leveled, paved, built upon. Where there was once only what the long passage of time and nature had created, and in less than a blink it's another monument to human ingenuity and conquest. I've long wanted to find such a place and turn it into a photo essay. Sort of a before and after and in between. Taking pictures each day as change takes place. But I have often found that it is too late by the time I know an area is going to be under development. One day a pristine field, the next it's already a parking lot.

And then there is this stream near my home. I'd walk by it quite often, look down from the road into this little strip of wilderness surrounded by roads, shopping malls, and car dealerships. The plants and ducks seemingly oblivious to the march of progress around them. I doubt they would find even New Seasons organic enough for their tastes.

I always wanted to take a picture of this juxtaposition, then one day...

The land was entirely cleared. Seems the car dealership was expanding their lot and shoring up their walls. It was like an open wound. I decided I'd finally start this project I've long waited for, capturing the Beaverton Creek as a victim on it's road to recovery. I'm often surprised by how quickly it bounced back and I still take pictures each time I pass despite the utter reclamation of the wilderness. Now my images are like a record of the weather and it's effect on this stream. I couldn't say when my project will be over, but I'm not there yet.

It was Beaverton Creek that made me curious as to how water gets about a valley and out to sea, which lead me to wonder what other waters would also find a different path to that same outlet, and then to map such a complex system. So in honor of this little stream that inspired big ideas I present the rough draft of the story of Beaverton Creek.

Next, I'll start on a series about the largest city within the Columbia River Basin, my adopted home, and birthplace of my son: Portland.

Happy Hunting,

Brett

Roots

Just as rivers are made up of smaller tributaries and streams, the river basins are made of smaller bits often referred to as watersheds. It was interest in my local watershed that became the genesis of this entire project. A short way from where I live a creek travels under the road. This creek flows westward, looking upstream, on a clear day, one can see Mount Hood.

Most everything in the local environment will usually end up in its drainage system. So all of my local rain, whether through storm drains or direct runoff, heads into this creek. This channeling takes with it much of our waste, litter, oil dripping from cars, spilled coffee or soda, blood, sweat, and tears. Most watersheds join others and become an outlet to the ocean, taking all of this out to the ocean.

I would often wonder where this little stream, which I see quite often, goes. When I travel to other parts of town and see another stream, are they the same? If not, will they join together before each comes to a river? How does this eventually get to sea? I see mountains all around and I just imagine that there must be some passage out through the coastal range, some canyon that runs out to the ocean. So I start checking in Google Earth, I trace it's path, as each creek joins to stream to river. It moves west, it moves south, it moves east, it moves north. I'm in the center of a sort of spiral.

The roots of a basin are like an inverse of tree roots, reaching up one creek at a time through mountains and hills. Draining them and melting them, pulling out their nutrients and cleansing them. Rivers, like our own circulatory or respiratory system, are important for cycling materials, to avoid the stasis-like state of deserts and tundras. Like maintaining a healthy blood supply, free of excess sodium and cholesterol, with a healthy diet, we need to keep our watersheds clean. Everything that is dumped into the water supply doesn't simply disappear forever into the ocean. For once that ocean water evaporates and becomes rain over us once more, what we sent to sea returns. The BP Oil Spill in the Gulf resulted not only in blackened beaches, but a fall of oily rain.

My creek, Beaverton Creek, runs through the city of the same name. Recently, I learned that the city has plans for development. Not just of expanding the limits of urban sprawl, but also of the protection of the watersheds. These plans are not just protecting the lands immediately around these creeks, but their trees and plants and animals. The trees we help prevent erosion that could otherwise undermine nearby buildings. But there are plans also to make the wetlands more park like. And I do not see this as a way of spoiling them. Instead, it will bring them out of hiding, more into public view. From there, each of us will have a more intimate relationship with our water and what effect we have upon it. No longer will it be someone else's problem, instead, keeping it clean will be in our best interest both in terms of health and aesthetics.

Next time, I will show my other little project with the Beaverton Creek.

Happy Hunting,
Brett

A weekend adventure

Because I've been doing so much research on the valley in which I live, I decided it was time to see some of the places I've been reading about. So I rented a car for the weekend, packed in the family, and prepared to head off. Little did I know what I was heading into.

The first stop was Council Crest, the highest point in Portland. From this hilltop, near the southern end of the Tualatin Mountains, one has a view of Mt St. Helens, Mt Hood, Mt Adams, and Mt Rainier. None could be seen. The problem was the fates had it in for me today. Today was likely to be the cloudiest, foggiest day of the year.We couldn't see the road further down the hill that had brought us up. Plus, it was bone achingly cold. The donuts we had purchased on the way couldn't fuel any warmth, so we quickly made our way to our next stop.

Once we descended from the peak, we crossed over to Skyline Blvd. This road rides the crest of most of the West Hills. Starting at the Sylvan exit off Highway 26, it heads in a generally northwestern direction through some of the highest priced real estate in the state.

Our next destination was the Willamette Stone. This was ground zero in the days that the Oregon Territory was being divvied up into land claims. It formed the (0,0) point of the grid of farms, townships, and streets that were to follow. There is a state park around it, but it's probably the least inviting one I've ever seen. No parking, a nondescript sign, and no amenities. Plus, the Stone itself was removed a quarter century ago. Oh well, off we go.

No real destination in mind now but to follow Skyline to it's end. The further we went, the heavier and more opaque the fog became. Then it started to snow. Of course I had hydrology on the mind when mapping out this trip and when the snow began to fall I started to wonder if it would melt off to the east and join the Columbia almost immediately, or if it would drain west and meander around the Tualatin Valley for awhile. We found an area where the snow had accumulated, perhaps a quarter of an inch. Good enough to have a snow fight.And a minuscule snow man.

We followed Skyline through some intersections that tried to get us lost, as this street is not the straightest of all roads. After some time of driving through a beautifully shrouded country side we found a road that was not fit for the compact car we were riding in, presumably the road that would have taken us back down to the Valley floor and ended this leg of the journey. Instead, we drove down the eastern face into the Columbia Valley. After having just listened to a story on NPR about the cutting down of Prometheus, a nearly 5000 year old tree (still alive at the time), we came into a wasteland. We crested a hill and suddenly there were no more trees. But the great river was in front of us and fighter jets were doing maneuvers above us. And now on the radio was the story of an endangered bird and the foolish attempts to help it. The subject of our radio our was well-meaning mistakes.

We stopped for lunch at Ichabod's in Scappoose. Then we headed off for a short drive around Sauvie Island. The weather had cleared up on this side of the mountains and we saw our first and only gleams of sunlight. Rather than a rough ride back to the Tualatin Valley, and not wanting to cover the same ground again, we shot through Cornelius Pass. We took some time to examine a house we saw online that we have considered purchasing. Near by is a open pit mine, but we were unable to view it due to the ever encroaching fog.

The last planned stop was Bald Peak Mountain, part of the Chahalem Mountains that form the southern border of the Tualatin River basin. After being lost in Hillsboro for a while, going in one really large circle and having abandoned all hope, we serendipitously found our way back to the right road to take us to the top of the hill. We broke through the fog just after sun set. We could see the valley blanked in thick clouds. We made our way to the peak, but it was getting too dark and the fog had chased up hill to see anything.

Descending the hills on the souther side into Newburg, we saw an amazing view of the Dundee Hills wrapped in tendrils of cloud. But it was getting fully dark now. We stopped for dinner and then headed home having had a nearly scenic adventure.

On Sunday the weather started to clear, and on Monday we had a lovely afternoon. I tried to make the best of it all by going to Powell's book store downtown. They were hosting a reading by author Jack Nisbet. Nisbet shares my passion of the Columbia river and it's environs. I picked up four of his books, all having to do with the lands of the Pacific Northwest, and I'm sure each will add to my understanding of this land and provide extra umph and depth to this humble blog.

Here is a link to a few of the pictures that I took on this adventure that pertain to the hydrology of the land: Gallery.

Next, a short look at Beaverton on it's treatment of streams in the Tualatin Valley.

Happy Hunting,
Brett

The Circle of Life

We should all be pretty familiar with the Hydrological Cycle by now. We learned about it in grade school science, how water leaves the ocean, travels across the sky, falls to earth, and runs back to the ocean once more.

The Columbia River is one of those paths that waters use to find their way back to the big blue, it's basin is like a large net, which is probably a bad analogy for catching water. Really, a basin is more of a funnel that captures waters of many sources and channels it out to a single exit point. Rain, snow melt, and springs collect along the surface into creeks, steams, and brooks. These small flows are the tributaries that eventually turn into rivers with the power to destroy mountains and flood cities.

Yet destruction is not all that rivers bring. In fact, without this cycle of water there would be no life on earth (there would probably be some in the ocean, but the diversity would likely be less). I am often struck by how much nature mirrors life itself (which isn't to say that life isn't natural). The Hydrological system is almost a perfect clone of the Circulatory system in animals. Water replaces blood, of course, and the ocean acts as the heart. Tides and the seasons are the beating that pumps life into the earth. The clouds are open arteries. Rain is the capillaries. And rivers, as our primary concern, are the veins that return the blood to the heart.

And you don't even have to just take my word for it. Here is a map of the Columbia River and many of its tributaries. Next, is an image of a human retina, the veins prominently shown. For me, I see the same random fractals. Our retinal vein pattern is as unique as our fingerprint, just as every river's basin is.

Side tracked once again, I do not deliver on my promised subject from last time. I could go on to explain about it, but what was supposed to be an introductory statement became the entire focus. Next time I will return with back to back to back subjects to complete the tale of my home basin: My weekend adventure, my city's wilderness plan, and my photo project. Until then...

Happy hunting,

Brett