Beauty Behind Beacon Rock

Only spunky and resolute cragswomen tackle trails in the rain. The adventures of the Pacific Northwest fail to wait for sunshine and dry weather. While some of our group headed south to boulder in Arizona for the spring, others of us donned rain gear and layered tops and headed for a warmup hike in the Columbia River Gorge. Selecting Beacon Rock as the primary focus with Hardy and Rodney Falls across the way we gathered at the base of the big Rock only to discover that the rain was rolling up the Gorge more quickly than we had anticipated and the winds were picking up to an alarming level. 

Henry J. Biddle bought Beacon Rock for $1 in 1915 and spent the next three years designing and constructing a dizzying structure to the 848 foot summit. The 17 bridges and 54 switchbacks carry hikers to the top for views east and west along the Gorge, the distances being determined by the weather. River traffic glides below and the busy Interstate 84 of Oregon can be seen across the river. The route up the Rock is not for the faint of heart. Metal poles form the basis for see-through railings all the way up. The path does not circumvent the Rock; rather it zigzags back and forth over the southwestern face, leaving quite a view all the way down to the trailhead. Add the element of drenching rains with high winds and the journey becomes a debatable danger. 

Being reasonable hikers we agreed to postpone an assault on the Rock and turned uphill, across Washington's Highway 14, to the trail toward Hamilton Mountain. This proved a good decision as Beacon Rock has suffered extensive winter damage and has been closed until repairs can be made. The suggested opening for "select areas" is about July 2016.

Warmup hikes are just that. They warm us up on short and less demanding trails in preparation for longer and more challenging hikes in the summer and fall.  Hamilton Mountain's looped 7.5 mile trail and 2000 foot elevation gain offer impressive views on a clear day for the demanding climb, but early on the trail are three splashy waterfalls worth seeing at this time of year. The 2.5 mile round trip was just what we needed even though we had planned the additional two mile Rock climb. 

Melting snow and rainwater hitting the tops of the mass of basalt rock that forms the canyon of the Columbia River Gorge slowly begin a seeping descent through tiny fractures in the columns, relinquishing their journey to gravity and random crevices. As single droplets join others they enlarge their volume and speed toward the basin. Periods of freezing and thawing labor to further open tiny fissures and even detach pieces of rock that go tumbling and bouncing downward until they find a resting place. Legions of these small water flows continue to find direction through larger and larger passageways until collectively they reach a ledge and cascade dramatically through thin air down a hundred feet or more onto another ledge. Here the powerful waterfall works to carve smoothly rounded pools which toss the splashing waters upward and outward in even more mist. Succeedingly lower and wider rock channels take the water to its next fall and perhaps another until a torrential gathering of rushing water reaches the Columbia River itself where it surges toward the largest body of water possible - the Pacific Ocean.

As water intermittently drizzled from the sky we began our hike from the State Park and kept steadily climbing along the trail. We found ourselves embarrassingly out of shape, having to stop more often than we had remembered necessary to catch our breath. This is the stuff of warmups. Keep at it. Step by step we gradually made some elevation gain and took in the greening beauty of a forest waking up after a snowy winter season. 

The first to arise is the moss, spongy and tufted on its surface, housing the bulbs of colored wildflowers just beginning to emerge. Tiny pink twinflower-like bells silently chime in the soft breeze, just barely hovering over their damp footing. Bright yellow violets look like dots of midday sunshine while the infrequent white trillium is like a fading patch of winter's snow. Bleeding heart foliage bursts above the decaying mass of last year's beauty, readying a flush of dangling pink hearts on a line. The white umbels of cow parsnip are forming above delicately unfurling maple-like leaves, growing fast like a teenage boy. Oregon grape leaves, pointed in holly look-alike, are shiny with rain but not yet budding here as they are elsewhere further west. Tiarella or foam flower form puddles of lovely leaf clusters in preparation for their tall spikes of white flower wands. The ubiquitous sword ferns, still staunch with last year's growth, are a higher carpet layer providing darker shades of green against the various colors and textures of tree bark. They hide this year's tightly curled fronds which will replace them soon, pushing the older fronds to the ground to become fodder for another generation of ferns. 

Just as our weary legs threaten to give out we hear the distant pounding of a waterfall - Hardy Falls to be exact. Encouraged by this sound we hurry along the curving trail to see, through the trunks of Douglas fir, Alder and Hemlock, a frothing spring waterfall, sluicing energetically over its boulder-strewn channel. Early spring runoff empowers these streams to a dramatic show of force and noise. The path to its base is deep with mud and steep enough to discourage visiting. Not far away is Rodney Falls, another impressive cascade. At the top of our trail is the famed Pool of Winds, a multi-level waterfall forced through a narrow wall of basalt to explode in windy arrival into a scoured rock pool and bounce against the channel walls in disregard for direction. But gravity wins as it pulls the flood over trees long ago dragged into its path but lodged between large rocks in the stream bed. A metal tubing rail restrains the overly curious from being washed downstream in a foolish and suicidal attempt to enter the pool. 

Misty Hamilton Mountain

Turning back to face our downhill return we slip and slide on the muddy path, greeting oncoming hikers and dogs bent on conquering Hamilton Mountain, now shrouded in a veil of mist and fog. We'll save that trip for another day when the view will be worth the effort. Reaching the trailhead we scamper into a covered picnic area for a cold lunch and a chance to wring out our wet gear. Tales of April trips abroad to sunnier climes by some of the group provide mental warmth to our chilly extremities. We all agree that today's short but sweet hike was worth the wet conditioning. We'll look for you on the trails next time!





*** Links to Gorge history and formation

Yellow violets

Trillium

Trail bridge

Falls through the trees 

Trail blocker

Trail danger!

Hardy Falls

Checking  out Pool of Winds

Feel the wind?

Top of falls

Safety railing 

Tree caught downstream

Rodney Falls

Pools of roof water

Talus behind shelter

Death and new life

Shelter stove

Picnic set on mossy boulders

Hot Stuff

Belt and suspenders: redundant safety procedures in place to eliminate all risk. That tactic, for the risk-averse or the tired warrior in the habitat of wild things, could prove to be useful. See previous posts for the initial stories at http://journalistbynature.blogspot.com/2016/01/feeding-frenzy-foiled.html and http://journalistbynature.blogspot.com/2016/02/two-sides-of-persistence.html.

Although my pitched battle with squirrels and raccoons seemed at a pause (no pun intended, maybe), when a friend suggested I employ the use of cayenne powder as the ultimate repellent I reflected on that as a possibility, having heard stories of its success elsewhere. When she offered a free and unopened giant shaker of the product, who was I to say no? What could I possibly lose? Famous last thoughts.

Refilling the bird feeders with fresh and tantalizing morsels I sprinkled a bit of cayenne powder around the feeding stations and on the ground. On second thought, just to be sure, I dumped piles of it in an enlarged circle and along the fence top trail, smug in my assurance of this safety perimeter. Returning to my post at the kitchen window, I waited for my prey to arrive.

Soon the little flyers, sensing a banquet, returned to beak-crack single sunflower seeds and flit among the leafless shrubbery branches, chirping and quarreling, dropping shells below while keeping an eye out for pesky fluffy-tailed rodents. They appeared to be unaffected by the red powder coating their snack. Avian activity must signal an available food supply because the squirrels made haste for the feeders. As usual, Mr. Nutkin first perused the ground for easy pickings of overlooked seeds. But very soon he reared back on his chubby haunches, little paws furiously rubbing his mouth, cheeks and eyes. Ah ha! Cayenne powder in action!  He scooted off in a flash, sneezing along the fence top trail in an effort to get safely home. Nary a rodent returned that day. Word was out. I swelled with triumphant pride.

The following morning, anxious to see how the raccoons had fared, I opened the mini-blinds above the kitchen sink for a peek at success. My success. Some of the stones at the base of the feeder stand had been moved, again. The shepherd's crook holding the feeders seemed to be listing at an increased angle, perhaps from the weight of the filled feeder, perhaps from climbing attempts. Hard to say. But the cayenne powder dumped amongst the base weights seemed to convey deterrence. However, an unusual amount of bird seed was missing, or consumed.

Squirrels develop wire cutter teeth 

Puzzling over the quickly disappearing seed in the feeders, I began to ponder the possible reasons. Squirrels sneezing and dashing away. Check. Raccoons investigating and lumbering off to easier and less bothersome food sources. Check. Uh oh. The birds. So many birds. Such a great charm of finches, a host of sparrows, a party of jays, a general dissimulation of birds. At least there was no murmuration of starlings, those rapacious invasive creatures from England!

Another bag of seed bites the dust

In order to keep my feathered friends happily returning, for my
amusement and their nourishment, I am now required to buy more and more bird seed. It would appear as if the cayenne powder has been an accelerant to the birds' appetites. That tip to the shepherd's crook? Perhaps is was due to the now increasingly portly winged creatures perched in repose after a heavy meal. Cayenne powder, the hot stuff: their gain, my bank account loss.

A Perfectly Gorge-ous Day at Catherine Creek

Springing from winter's hibernation our happy hiking group gathered, quivering with pent up energy to make the first excursion of the new year into the woods. Catherine Creek, part of the Columbia River Gorge Scenic Area, lies between Bingen and Lyle on the Washington side of the river and offers a first glimpse of the wildflower frenzy about to burst throughout the territory. It also allows warmer and drier hiking due to its eastern location.

Invigorated by the early morning spring-like weather, we piled into cars and chatted our way east, catching up on each other's winter activities and travels. Crossing the Columbia River at Hood River, we turned east along Highway 14 to reach Old Highway 8 where the trailhead begins. Expansive skies, laden with layers of light gray cirrostratus clouds caused a halo effect around the sun rising in its southern arc. Absent was the customary Gorge breeze and thus a mirror-like surface lay over the entire river. No wind surfing today.

A lower, paved trail winds in two three-quarter mile loops over the river-hugging cliffs, a popular nesting ground for peregrine falcons later in the spring. With only the occasional wind-blown Ponderosa pine to frame a view, the upper reaches of the Columbia River are seen as a wide, serpentine trail of water slowly making its way to the Pacific Ocean. The scene evokes tales of various local Indian tribes meeting nearby and the Lewis and Clark exploration party trading with them for supplies and information. Hushed by these thoughts I stood silently, letting the cool air swirl softly around me and the view transport me to a different time and place.

Desert biscuits

Stream crossing

The Arch at top

Stepping around rivulets of seeping water we entered the upper trail to begin our climb to The Arch and an old homestead. Basalt cliffs stand as tall overseers of vast fields of glacial till, remnants of receding glaciers. Water percolates through this porous structure to travel downhill in tiny streams, gathering in small ravines which channel it into singing waterfalls on its way to the mighty Columbia.

The trail is a gentle climb, branching east and west halfway up the hill. Taking the eastern route we made our way to the first summit where a carpet of purple, white, yellow and silver wildflowers grew as if strewn by by an unseen hand. Desert Widow, Columbia as well as Smooth Desert Parsley, the tiny Columbia Gorge daisy, newly leafing lupine and several varieties of saxifrages tint the greening rocky hillside with their colors.

Traversing the hilltop we stopped to view the top of The Arch, a natural bridge structure formed when part of the ridge rim fell away, leaving a gap in the basalt cliff. From the early part of the trail below it appears as a cave above an avalanche of talus. Considering the piles of rocks that have fallen away from the cliff we step back and stroll along a pole fence line to stop for lunch and take in the view upriver towards The Dalles. Puffy stratocumulus clouds begin to dot the bluing sky and sunbeams make their way to the pasture to warm us. Cattle once roamed this rocky area, subsisting on the scrawny grasses. Relics of past ranching are losing the battle with time and decay as nature reclaims its territory.

Desert Widow

Joining the watery runoff we hop-scotch down the trail, avoiding the more swampy areas by stepping on the flatter stones that clutter the path. More swaths of wildflowers color the landscape and we stop to examine them up close for their dainty details. Across the river at Memaloose Hills the wildflower display tends toward acres of brilliant yellow arrow-leaf balsamroot and deep purple lupine in mixed bouquet arrangements.

There is no more colorful time to visit the profuse wildflower displays frosting the hillsides of the Gorge. Start in the drier, eastern end around Mosier, The Dalles and Arlington and work  your way west and into the Coastal Range to Saddle Mountain. You won't be disappointed unless you forget your camera. Happy hiking in 2016!

Rocky soil supports profuse wildflowers

Steel, our trail dog

Colorful carpet

Watery trail

Lunch spot

Lupine just leafing out

Moss

Looking down over The Arch to bridge

Desert Widow and Gold star daisy

The Gorge looking east

Desert parsley

Ancient fencing returning to the earth

Saxifrages soaking in mossy rocks

Rivulets of runoff

Yellow desert parsley

Partial list of wildflowers by month