startle and charge elk herds, buffalo-like, over cliff faces,
tumbling - snap, crackle, pop - to be butchered by hunters
below. These peoples knew those spots on the mountain
where the snow melted slow, in protected, shady pockets -
without streams on these bare, high mountain rocks, snow
was an invaluable water source on high elevation treks.
And, while there, they saw places they had never been.
Mt. Rainier, Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Hood, Mt. Jefferson, and
many other, distant landmarks can all be seen from these
peaks on clear days. G ’he view is particularly good on the
coldest, most crisp winter days, when there is little
evaporation or transpiration. Watch your footing - the
ground can be steep and icy.)
While pockets of old grow th persist, most of the
high mountain forests around Cannon Beach were logged
mid-century. The material wealth these mountain forests
produced is long gone, spent on living expenses of times
long gone, and sundry landfill widgets. On such steep
and unstable terrain, logging has left a landscape with the
look and charm of a bombing range: landslides and
gullies still streak downslope, muddying Ecola Creek
headwaters, forming awesome logjams and silt bars
dow nstream. In places, thin mountain soils eroded from
beneath logged forests, leaving fields of grey stumps with
exposed root systems scrawled across bare rock faces.
Might we still term these high mountain forests
‘renewable resources’ if reforestation requires not years
or decades, but centuries or millennia? (Willamette
Industries, much to their credit, has turned their tentative
attention to environmental questions on lands - such as
our local forests - which were purchased from other
logging companies, and they now pursue a program to
stabilize the soils of their highland holdings.) Remnant
old grow th trees stand in places too isolated by cliffs to be
logged. Particularly on Sugarloaf Mountain, massive old
growth trees - accessible enough to be reached on foot,
chainsaws in hand, but not so accessible as to be removed
from the site - were cut and left to rot on the ground.
The Nature Conservancy holds a long-term lease
on a small parcel on the top of Onion Peak, and the State
of Oregon controls Saddle Mountain and a smattering of
small highland parcels - most of our local alpine lands,
however, are owned by private timber companies.
Fearing legal liabilities, most companies have closed their
roads. It is a mighty hike from sea level highways to high
peak tops. In the warmer days of 1998, if I can muster
the ambition, I will return to the high mountains. For
now, in the January chill, I will remember: sitting, eating
lunch with my cousin on a cliff-edge stump the diameter
of my kitchen table, w here no new trees grew to interrupt
the view; seeing elk grazing on slopes so steep that you
cannot imagine how they stay standing; trekking through
the high country during a hunting season snowstorm, and
having my species repeatedly determined through the
scope of a rille; watching the leading, dark grey edge of a
rainstorm crash over Angora Peak in the last sunny
moments of the afternoon, like the world’s biggest ocean
wave, causing the rain to fall straight up as fierce winds
rushed up the south-facing cliff face on which I stood;
sitting atop a high cliff face, looking a hovering raven in
the eye, listening to the eerie metallic hum that raveas’
feathers make in the stiff mountain updraft
■
O ff and on, through the mist and between the
trees, I detect a dusting of snow on the high peaks south
and east of town. A hint of white outlines black tree
silhouettes and the beige, patchy tangle of alpine, winter-
dormant salmonberry thickets. Stand there and look at
them: Onion Peak sits south of town, a massive pillar of
rock, skirted by long, adjoining high ridges - those that
we know from the standard-issue postcards, framing
Ecola Park scenery Looking like a reclining profile of a
bearded face, some call these ridges “Old Man Mountain”
or simply "the Old Man.” Sugarloaf Mountain looms
black and conical, southeast of town. To the northeast,
not visible from town, but seen clearly from Highway 26,
sit dual-peaked mountains - Saddle and Humbug
Mountains - hummocks pointing skyward, defying
physical laws it seems, improbable topography,
characteristic more of Dr. Seuss illustrations than of the
world as we know it.
Saddle Mountain is the tallest of our north coast
mountains, but in my memories the Onion Peak chain
looms largest. On recent rainy nights 1 dig out pictures:
of myself as a small child perched on the Old M an’s north
cliff face, examining rocks, plants, and bugs, tethered
with 20-foot long towing rope, in naive umbilical
security, to my mother (lest I plummet). 1 find a photo of
my father and an elder cousin on the day they climbed to
the tops of these peaks and announced their arrival at the
summit back to Cannon Beach with signal mirrors. And
another: a photo from one of the trips in which they
repelled down cliff faces. Biographical twists and turns
have changed everything; it would be easier to bring these
mountains to the people in these pictures than to bring
these people back to the mountains’ tops by their ow n,
free will. But still, the mountains, tinged with snow,
haven't changed much
Ancient history clings to these peaks.
Well before my time, during the Miocene, lava
met water. In and around the ancestral Columbia River
mouth, hardening amidst hiss and explosive steam, this
lava coagulated into brittle brecchias and pillow basalts
(One can trace the outlines of the ancient Columbia, in the
line of rugged peaks meandering from Nicolai and
Wickiup Mountains in northeastern Clatsop County to
Neakahnie Mountain and Angora Peak in northwestern
Tillamook County.) Over the next 15 million years,
tectonic forces have pushed lava flow rocks up while
streams have cut down, carving jagged high peaks, over
3000 feet high, some with 2000 foot cliffs, others with
pillars and columns of ridgeback rock. Even longtime
locals seem shocked when they have the chance to see the
ruggedness of these high mountain rock formations,
usually concealed by trees, lower peaks, haze, and
distance.
The flora of these peaks is distinctive. Bear with
me: as weather is generally colder as one goes north, it is
also colder as one goes skyward. Organisms on high
mountains often resemble those closer to the poles.
During climate changes (particularly when the climate
grows warmer) plants and animals can persist by moving
up or down the sides of mountains, while they become
extinct in the valleys below, crowded out by organisms
more suited to the new conditions. Isolated mountains
become “islands” of distinctive plants and animals,
holdovers from earlier times, altered somewhat by
prolonged genetic isolation. Since the most recent Ice Age
our own local peaks have become impressive biotic
islands. They contain plants and animals which are rare
or absent this far south, or which can only be found in the
Cascade and Olympic Mountain alpine highlands,
hundreds of miles away. Wet coastal forests of spruce
and hemlock give way to alpine forests on our local
peaks, containing patches of the shiny green, crisply
symmetrical Pacific silver fir (Abies amabilis), the squat
and contorted Sitka alder (Alnus sinuata), and an
occasional remnant patch of Noble fir (Abies procea).
Tundra-like grassy slopes and rocky peak tops contain a
profusion of rare plants, such as isolated varieties of
Lewisia, with white flowers marked with pink petal
stripes, or rare Penstemons with showy snapdragon-like
flowers of pink, purple, and white. Owing to longtime
genetic isolation, there are species and varieties of
wildflowers here - including a bittercress (Cardamine
palersonii) and a species of Indian Paintbrush (Castilleja
spp.) - which are found nowhere else on earth. The list of
distinctive plants goes on and on.
These visually prominent peaks became focal
points of native myth and life. Thunderbird sat atop
Saddle Mountain when he created lightening, the Clatsop
Chinooks said. In his massive talons, Thunderbird would
carry whales to the top of this mountain pillar and devour
them on the spot. (Recapitulating mythological events,
helicopters have recently carried massive Oregon State
Parks trash dumpsters to the top of this mountain pillar;
they house tools used in the repair of trails overrun and
eroded by the professed nature enthusiasts of greater
Portland.) Young people would go to the high peaks to
find their spirit power, being careful to avoid the
sasquatch-like beings which dwelt in the remote
backcountry. The Tillamooks would scale the sides of
Onion Peak and is adjoining slopes to obtain the onions
for which it was named. The nodding onion (Allium
cernuum), with its showy, dangling puffs of pink
flowerets, fills the films of soil that form in rock face
crevices, coloring slopes which look bare from far below
- they taste like domesticated green onions (and I find
they thrive under cultivation too). Native hunters would
^ CHco
For more information on things botanical in the
mountains lining the northern Oregon coast, contact the
North Coast Chapter of the Native Plant Society of
Oregon at P.O. Box 201 Cannon Beach Or. 97110.
HAMLET BUILDERS, INC.
436-0679
Chris Beckman
Tim Davis
P.O. Box 174 Tolovana Park, OR 97145 CCB # 41095
COMPLETE
*
CONSCIENTIOUS
*
CLEAN
BO O KS
O r eg o n A u t h o r s » B o o k s a b o u t O r eg o n
w ith S e l e c t io n s fr o m t h e P N W
52 NE Hwy 101
Depoe Bay, Oregon 97341
541-765-3293
L. l/CKAFr
TmniiWAi Gwntic btsisu
ANI> IltUSTRMlON
I want to consider two things this month as the old
year closes: trees and personal responsibility. The
Oregon Department of Transportation (ODOT) has
posited a proposal request with the City of Cannon
Beach to remove a virtual forest of trees abutting the
portion of Highway 101 that passes through the
eastern limits o f our city. ODOT apparently feels
mildly obligated to acknowledge our city's concern
regarding wanton tree removal. The state agency's
recent fit o f tree carnage on Highway 26 and the
public outcry may have played some small part in
their token concession to our local tree policy. In the
sad little document for removal that a "Mr. Jerry
Leavitt, for ODOT" presented to the City of Cannon
Beach, he comm ents that "It is my opinion that ODOT
does not need City appproval for this request since we
are responsible for motorist safety on State Hwy. 101 "
ODOT gives as its reason for removing several
hundred trees, the reduction of "potential for icy
conditions on roadway and tree or branches falling on
roadway in storm conditions." It is my strong belief
that if ODOT were genuinely concerned with public
safety on the highway adjacent to Cannon Beach, it
would reduce the speed limit at the north entrance of
town, a proposal consistently rejected by that state
agency, despite evidence that excessive speed kills and
injures m otorists, not fallen tree limbs.
If you are a resident of Cannon Beach, a citizen of
this state, or a visitor to our area, please visit the stretch
o f highway between mileposts 27 and 32 and see the
trees marked for removal. Trees are tagged with red
flags or marked with red paint. If your property abuts
the highway, removal of these trees will increase road
noise and disturbance. If you drive this stretch of
highway, the elimination of these trees will
significantly dim inish your aesthetic pleasure in
travelling through a natural green belt. Even
W illamette Industries has made some concessions to
aesthetics in their local cutting plans. Our state's
agencies have developed increasing deafness in the
past two decades.
"Why do people hate trees?", my friend Vi
Thom pson frequently asks me. I'm unable to answer
her, but it seems true.
"What would you do if you had only one day left
to live?", she sometimes asks. "Plant a tree, of course!,"
she tells me.
Cannon Beach has been designated "Tree City,
U.S.A." We need to live up to our title or relinquish
the claim.
The State of Oregon has been singularly remiss in
husbanding its tree resources. The cavalier butchery
o f trees in Ecola State Park last winter was a public
disgrace and exemplifies the on-going process in the
degradation of natural values in that state treasure. If
past history can be trusted, the state will hire a private
logging contractor to remove trees. Wood and pulp
prices make trees a valuable commodity. Deals are
cut. How much revenue did past logging operations
realize from the cutting done in Ecola State Park, in
Oswald W est State Park, on Neahkanie Mountain,
along Highway 26 west of W olf Creek Wayside? The
state, and not private concerns, may log Highway 101.
Tim e will tell. If the cutting is done, it will be ugly
and unnecessary, that much is certain.
If you are concerned, I urge you to exercise your
responsibilies and rights as constituents and citizens
and express your concern. In the current matter,
correspondence should be addressed to the City of
Cannon Beach, Attn: Barbara McClure, P.O. Box 368,
Cannon Beach, Or. 97110 or call Cannon Beach City
Hall at 503-436-2045.
I would like now to consider one of my pet
grumbles, personal responsibility. In the late part of
the twentieth century here in America, people seem
keen on placing the responsibility for their actions on
someone else, and the ramifications for all of us are
nothing short of astounding.
If someone trips on a walkway, he sues. If a drunken
driver hurtles across a highway and is killed, his family
sues a tavern owner. If an obese woman falls over a
cliff in a state park, she sues. Life is not, nor has it
ever been, easy. As Job discovers in the Bible, "Man
that is bom of woman is of few days, and full of
trouble." Attorneys have grown fat on liability. When
are we going to take responsibilty for our own
actions? The state asks to remove trees adjacent to a
state highway because they pose a hazard. Do we then
remove all trees that might pose a potential hazard?
Rocks occasionally roll down hillsides onto roadways.
Do we then remove all the rocks and steep grades next
to highways? A wandering cougar disturbs shoppers
in a mall in Vancouver. Police remove the offending
animal. Herds of elk graze on agricultural land Do
we kill them to placate an irritated farmer?
The natural world harbors pitfalls, mire, thorns,
and danger. T o leave the womb means birth unto
danger. We cannot construct a Disneyland or
highways that pass through the Big Rock Candy
Mountain. We had better listen to the natural world,
not bulldoze it into submission. Life is not easy. Gird
up your loins.
Cookies • Cinnamon Rolls
• M uffins • Espresso •
Pizza by the Slice
Cheri Lerma
P C. Box 1012
(iSTom, OR ?770T
50 33&
T or . ftppoiNTrttriT
239 N. Hemlock
P.O. Box 825
Cannon Beach, OR 97110
(503) 436-1129
UrPLR LEFT EME JANUARY
1
IIU
Every small, positive change we make in
ourselves repays us in confidence in the future.
Alice Walker