Earl Returns To Strum Creek

In November of 1977, both my friend Earl Rivers and I became the latest hires by the Dept. of Forestry in Astoria. Although more than a few years have passed, I still remember our early days as “new out of the box” foresters. To say that we were filled with wonder and awe for the job would be putting it politely. In those days, everything was new and exciting and we could not wait for the next experience offered by the job. Do you remember those days?

At any rate, Earl stopped by the house yesterday and wanted to take a ride to woods and see some forest tracts in which we worked during the early 1980s. For some reason he was especially interested in finding a track known as Strum Creek No. 3 and asked if I might remember where it is. Oh sure, no problem; the district on which we once worked is about 68 square miles in size and the area of his inquiry might be the size of a K-Mart parking lot. Since Earl left our work unit in 1985 and moved to eastern Oregon, I figured that his recall of the area might be somewhat fuzzy. If I got him close, that might be good enough for this trip down memory lane.

Not two minutes after leaving the highway, Earl commented that this part of the forest sure looked different than we he last saw it in 1985. I reminded him that over the past 24 years the trees have had a chance to put on a little growth; even an old forester has to be reminded that the forest is dynamic. As we rounded a sharp bend in the road, I reminded Earl of a time that he and I had spent a day measuring trees in this very spot. Sadly, he failed to remember, time is funny that way.

After twenty minutes of travel through the “forest of our youth” I stop the truck on a ridge high above Strum Creek. At this point, Earl got out of the truck and said that he remembered the access point being not from a ridge but adjacent to a creek bottom. He was saddened to learn that the access road he remembered had been closed or in forestry speak, put to bed, 15 years ago. In order to make it a total experience, I offered to drive back down to the highway and wait while he walked down hill through the tract. He showed little interest in my suggestion when I reminded him that he would be traveling 2.5 miles before meeting me at the highway. Somehow, the forest of our youth seems to have become a whole lot bigger with time!

An Easter Tradition

Since the early 1940s, the local Pioneer Church has adorned their front lawn with a cross made from the clipped daffodils blooms. The cross announces the arrival of Easter and serves as a reminder to all who drive by of Christ's death and resurrection. It is also one awesome sight, especially when you consider that a hand full of people spent a day cutting and arranging the blooms. The church’s web site claims that the display requires 50,000 blooms; I honestly didn’t take the time to count but as the cross is over thirty feet in length, the estimate is certainly plausible.

Directly behind the church is the pioneer cemetery, the earliest burial dates back to 1850. Time has certainly weather the site and many of the graves are now unmarked because the original wooden markers rotted away long ago.

There are however several stone markers like the one shown in the picture. I have always been fascinated by this particular marker, it has stood the test of time and continues to reach for the sky.

A Terse Message Indeed

In the early hours of January 7th, the steamer Rosecrans transmitted the following message: “We are breaking to pieces on the bar – send assistance – ship breaking up fast – can stay at my station no longer - goodbye.” This quick message announced the end for one of the unluckiest ships to ever set sail.

To fully understanding the story, perhaps more detail would be helpful. The steamer Rosecrans was a tanker owned by the Associated Oil Company, loaded with 19,000 barrels of oil, bound for Portland, Oregon. As the ship approached the entrance to the Columbia River with gale force winds driving a blinding sleet, the ship’s second officer made a small but fatal navigational error. The year was 1913; radar and GPS were yet to come, navigation depended solely on charts and the reference points provided by the light from lighthouses. In the stormy darkness, the officer mistook the light of the North Head lighthouse for that of the Lightship Columbia. His error placed the ship on a course that was less than two miles off shore. The standard course for entering the river is to approach no less than five miles from shore and then turn east into the river. His mistaken course directed the ship to steam head long into the south jetty (the massive rock wall in the picture) and as it rode up and over the jetty, the hull was torn to pieces. The ship quickly sunk sending thirty-three crewmen into a watery grave.

So why was the Rosecrans consider to be so unlucky? During its life, the ship was reincarnated several times before finally sinking. Originally launched in Glasgow, Scotland in 1833 as the Methven Castle, she served as a mail carrier until 1898. Later that year, the United States purchased her to serve as a troop transport during the Spanish-American war. Following the war’s end, she was sold as surplus and acquired by the Associated Oil Company who converted her into a tanker, renamed the Rosecrans.

In the early 1900s, while sailing along the California coast, she was driven onto the beach during a fierce storm. Following the grounding, insurance listed her as a total loss; however Associated Oil decided to rebuild the ship. Shortly thereafter while loading oil while tied to a pier, the ship caught fire. Once again the ship was rebuilt and placed back into service. On the night of January 7, 1913, the final bell tolled as the steamer quietly sunk into the grave yard of the Pacific.

The Color Of Spring

A quick glance at the calendar tells me that spring is nearly one week old. Well, as of today, I still can not see it in the sky or feel it in the air. I did however find an ornamental cherry tree beginning to sport it's colors. Maybe that's the best we can do for the last week of March 2009!

Oh how I envy you folks who live in the southeast and have been posting photos of beautiful spring flowers. My envy will end abruptly when your temperature reaches eighty degrees; then you are on your own!

Spring Begins On Friday?

Boy, as I look out the window, it's difficult to believe that spring actually begins tomorrow! At the present moment, the skies are dark and it looks as if a torrent of rain will be unleash at any moment. The temperature is also a balmy 45 degrees.

A sure sign of spring will be when my neighbor's rose bush begins to produce foliage. A few weeks ago when I made this image of a gigantic rose hip's shadow, the new buds were begin to swell. Sadly, when the foliage finally appears, the wall of the house will be obliterated and so goes my opportunities for shadows. On the other hand, as long as the sun shines, there will always be another shadow somewhere!

Saint Patrick’s Day On The Coast

Not being Irish, I never really understood St. Patrick’s day and all things green, but why let a little thing like understanding ruin your day. So in honor of St. Patrick, I decided to see if I could find something green to photograph in honor of the patron saint. As it turned out, today was not the day for color of any sort because the skies were shrouded in deep overcast. At times, the overcast was broken by periods of intense showers which even included hail. A great day for photography!

The photo was taken from the banks of the Columbia River about thirteen miles east of Astoria. I seriously doubt the patron saint ever wander in these parts. If he did, it’s unlikely that he saw much in the way of green during mid-March.

Happy Pi Day

Just in case you are looking for a reason to celebrate, be sure to mark Saturday, March 14th on your calendar. In the world of mathematics, it's known as international pi day.

Pi, not to be confused with a delicious desert, instead it is one of the most important mathematical constants known; countless formulas are dependent upon its value. Simply stated, pi is the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter. For you non-math types such as myself, pi is a number which is equal to 3.14.

My first introduction to pi was not in a math class but surprisingly at Boy Scout camp in the summer 1966. We were camped at Butler Beach on Cape Cod and while huddled around the camp fire, someone noticed a blinking light in the evening sky. Immediately a couple of the older scouts proceeded to the beach to scan the sky, free of the campfire’s light. After a while my curiosity got the better of me and I proceeded to the beach to see what all the fuss was about. Alpin C. and a few of the other senior scouts had decided that the light was most definitely a UFO and they were discussing signaling the space craft using Morse code via a flash light. As I listen to the discussion, the consensus of opinion was that the message must be a series of numbers. So without missing a beat, Alpin grabbed a flashlight and began signaling deep space or as deep as the light from a flashlight might reach! Out of curiosity, I interrupted Alpin and asked what he was saying. He turned to me and announced that he was sending pi; my next question was what the heck is pi. When he finished signaling, he politely explained more than I ever wanted to know about pi. I suppose it goes without saying that Alpin was brilliant and graduated high school at the top of his class. He later attended both Brown University and MIT majoring in mathematics and computer science. I have to admit, the man certainly knew his pi!

But now back to 1966, Butler Beach, and the UFO. Even at that point in my life I had little appreciation for anything extraterrestrial. I walked away wondering why pi was the message chosen on that August night. While taking modern math in junior high a few years later, I came to learn that mathematics is considered to be the “universal language”. OK, so maybe if the blinking light actually was a UFO, presumably they would have understood the message. Years later, I still think that maybe a more neighborly message might have been to simply say hello or to invite our intergalactic friends to stop by our camp for a meal. The food as I recall was very good and we even had pie and ice cream most evenings. Surely such a treat would be fit for an intergalactic traveler!