RETIREMENT TRIP  #7

The Changing World of Nature

                                                                    “Today you can tell fall is in the air here,” said Andy, coming in from checking the car.  He wanted to be sure the patched tire was holding.

“Fall is definitely coming,” said the owner and desk clerk at Antlers Motel when I checked out.  “There’s a certain nip today, and it isn’t the usual morning cooling off.”

A mist hung over Lake Almanor as we drove away from Chester.  It was almost imperceptible, but it portended moisture.  The seasons are changing.  We headed east toward Susanville.

Huge ranches extended as far as we could see on both sides of the road in between stands of pine.  There were thousands of cows grazing on the browning natural grass.  It wasn’t overgrazed, but the number of animals was huge beyond estimation—little dark dots as far as we could see in every direction.

Grazing land looks marginal along Route #395,
the highway from Canada to Mexico.

“Just outside of Susanville we pick up Route #395,” said Andy.  “That road goes from the Canadian border all the way to Mexico.”

“Stop at the Susanville sign,” I reminded him.  “I want a picture of MY town!”

By 9:00 a.m. a bright sun warmed the land and thoughts of fall slipped away.  Just then, we noticed a V-formation of geese flying overhead.  I guess they got the message too.  They were headed south.

I wanted a picture of the Susanville sign.  I had mentioned it more than once before.  But Andy couldn’t stop coming down the two-mile 6%-grade hill into town.

“We can get it going out of town,” I suggested, but he ended up on the wrong road, and we found ourselves in Johnsonville on a country byway.  Oh well!

Outside of Johnsonville the terrain leveled off with mountains in the distance.  Andy had said we’d notice a progressive dryness as we headed east.  He was right.  One more big down and everything was semi-arid.  Now the buttes were covered with sage and grass.  Fire danger was high.  They get some rain from the looks of the grass interspersed with volcanic lava, but the land is thirsty and moisture is still some weeks away.

Pivot systems of irrigation allow
ranchers to grow hay for winter feed.

We drove through Ravendale, population 20; and Termo, population 26; and Madeline, population 60.  It boggles my mind how people live in such tiny towns.“They actually have water here,” said Andy, as we passed Moon Lake just outside of town.  That may have accounted for the stacks and stacks of hay bales in the distance.   We guessed it must have been a company ranch.  A tractor plow going about 15 m.p.h. blocked the road temporarily through Sage Hen Pass at 5,556 feet.  The other side of the pass was Modoc National Forest.

Cattle by the thousands graze east of
Altures, California.

And then we came to Likely, population 99.  There was even a one-pump gas station, a general store, a small school house, the Most Likely Café that didn’t look open and a guy flying a Confederate flag.  Unlikely I want to live in Likely!

Far in the distance in the South Warner Wilderness Area, we could see a cloud of smoke.  It was probably a grass fire that was being allowed to burn.  It wouldn’t damage much here unless it reached the Modoc National Forest farther up the mountains.

Modoc National Wildlife Refuge is on the fly-way for migrating birds.  We stopped for a few minutes to check out the population.  A small V of Canada geese landed in the shallow water.  I read that grains are planted to offer a nutritional food source for the migrating fowl, and besides the geese, we saw two herons and lots of mallards.  I watched a deer move slowly through the marshy water.  Andy didn’t see it, but a sign said pronghorn antelope frequent the area.  It was probably a pronghorn.

On the other side of Altures, the ranches seemed more profitable.

Pivot irrigation systems meant water was available and we saw fields of beef cattle by the hundreds and storage shelters stacked with hay bales.  Here ranching was a profitable livelihood, but the abandoned homes along the road showed the “little guy” was being swallowed up and pushed out.

Goose Lake is little more than a puddle.

Andy stands at the end of what was the boat dock at
Goose Bay State Recreation Area.

“Here it is all about the water,” said Andy, “and not even just the water but cheap water.”

Goose Lake on the California-Oregon border is just about bone dry.  Whoever is using the water for irrigation has sucked it all.  It’s mile after mile of dry mud flats and grass with a few salt patches.  The sad part is that loss of the lake also means a drop in the water table.  This valley, probably once rich and fertile, is being devastated.  No more lake.

We turned in at Goose Lake State Recreation Area.  The flier said, “Goose Lake State Recreation Area is a green and shady destination of wildlife and wildlife watchers.  Its grassy expanse also makes it an inviting place to camp and find boating access.”

Some ad!  Not only was there no boat launch, there also was no water for miles.  Cows grazed everywhere on the dry, yellow grass.  Maybe a huge rainfall would recreate a shallow lake, but for now Goose Lake is no more.

The Abert Rim, a scarp, stands
2,000 feet above the valley floor.

In a dry land, the escarpment captures
water and filters it down to salty lakes.

The Abert Rim is one of the highest and longest exposed scarps in North America, rising 2,000 feet above the valley floor and continuing for nearly 33 miles.

We were intrigued by the green lichens growing high up on the side.  It’s also one of the most prominent and visible fault scarps in the country.  More cataclysmic changes may be in store for southeastern Oregon than the drying up of lakes like Abert at the base of the scarp.  Mount St. Helens is evidence of that.

Bright green lichens grow high
up on the edge of the ridge

Millions of years ago a blanket of lava several thousand feet thick covered southeastern Oregon.  Then continental plates shifted.  The Abert Escarpment is actually the face of a tilted fault block.  Finally, 20,000 years ago during the Ice Age, rain and runoff carved away at the ranges to form lakes in the valleys in between the plates.  It’s still “high country.”  The town of Lakeview at the southern end is 4,800 feet in elevation.

Lake Abert looked completely dry with white salt flats until we drove a little farther north.

“The literature said it was totally dry,” said Andy, “so they must have gotten some rain last year.”

Globs of salt floated near the edge and the “beach” was lined with white brine.  We could smell it too, even inside the car with windows closed.

What remains of Lake Abert
trickles down from the Escarpment.

Brine shrimp live here, so the area attracts sea birds.  I read the informative sign.  It explained that 10,000 years ago Lake Abert was part of a 460-square mile basin of water known as Lake Chewaukan.  As the climate warmed, mineral salts that had been dilute in this ancient sea concentrated in what was left of the smaller lakes.

Marsh plants on the edge of the lake and brine shrimp
attract shorebirds and waterfowl.

Now millions of brine shrimp in the salty water attract shore birds and waterfowl.  The shrimp can withstand below zero temperatures and can live with 98% of their moisture gone.  They may produce hundreds of eggs in their two-month lifespan.   Eggs take about two days to hatch.  Their actual adult size is about 5/8 inch.  It’s no wonder birds come here for easy eating. 

The freshwater streams that feed Lake Abert are vital for land-dwelling wildlife.  Big Horn sheep live on the adjoining escarpment.

We stopped again, marveling about the salt-tolerant grass that was growing along the margin.

All the remains of most of Lake
Abert is a vast salt flat.

Salt flats spread for miles
where a healthy lake once existed.

“And it’s all volcanic,” said Andy.  Huge chunks of basalt had rolled down the hillside.  Some rested in the salt flats below us.  People had walked out to the rock.  We could see the footprints, but the prints were embedded.  It wasn’t dry entirely.

Basalt rocks tumble from the hillside onto the salt flats.


Farther out the strip of blue water shimmered.  In the sun it was 90 degrees, and there was nothing to block the sun.  Only the deepest part still had some water.  The northern area was solid white salt flats.  A few birds swooped overhead, and Andy watched some wading in the shallows.  There wasn’t much water, but salt-tolerant marsh grass survived.

With a close-up of the
basalt rocks, the water
reflects the opposite shore.

 

Around one bend a herd of cows munched on the grass.  “They must have water troughs,” said Andy. “They couldn’t be drinking from the lake.”  At least the grass is being utilized in a practical manner.

Little is left of Lake Abert.

What a different world!  And this is Oregon.  It’s NOT green.

Going back toward town, we saw that the salt flats looked grey in the sun instead of white. 

And there was still a flow from the scarp in a center stream.

As Oregon changes, environmental
care becomes all the more crucial.

But a little more time without rain and it will dry up completely.
There will no longer be a Lake Abert at the foot of the Abert Escarpment.