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