by
Gerald Johnson
Mountains grace
the backdrop of this river valley. A newly freed Elwha River flows below me. I
stop for a moment admiring my office; this is where I work. Each day bright and
early I head down trail. A once inundated land is now my work site.
Governmental, tribal, public, private, and academic areas all have interests
here. Yet my goal is simple with many facets, “Restore the ecology.” My work is
done to help restore ecological systems man destroyed. Here I work in the field
supporting a rebirth of the wilds, a rebirth of the Elwha watershed. It
involves inter-related tasks designed to promote forest succession and wildlife
health.
With heavy feet I tramp my way down
trail. Dust and silt form clouds behind me. Hard hat secured, protective
equipment on, tools in hand, I make my way toward this week’s work site. The work objectives for the day are simple,
“Clear and widen the trail corridor.”
Brushing the trail, I remove limbs,
shrubs, and grasses growing onto and along this service trail. “Why?” many ask.
Passersby simply smile, express gratitude for my trail work, then proceed to
pass. Smiling back, I wish them pleasant experiences. This work is not for
tourists and weekend adventurers.
My concern is with re-establishing
riparian habitats for salmon populations which are finally able to return to
their ancestral breeding grounds after a century of denied access. Laboriously
I schlepped and planted thousands of dormant young plants over the course of a
winter. I have an unbelievable pride in my work. One day when my children and
their decedents return, a vast forest will welcome them as an old companion.
Each day that passes a sluggish process
of forest succession is underway. A long established site of death and
destruction is being brought to life with each cycle of the sun. Once a flooded
reservoir site, it is in motion transforming back to an original state. Grasses,
rushes, sedges, and shrubs slowly descend river banks reclaiming ground. Occasionally
Black bears mosey down to the new river quenching their thirst, foraging ripened
berries along the way. Chinook salmon, king of salmonids, steadfastly migrate
upstream with the last once of their being to mate, die, and repopulate rivers
and oceans Chum, chinook, and sockeye, freely pass once blockaded areas
returning to their ancient spawning grounds. My moseying bear returns feasting
on salmon carcasses. Our nation’s bird, the bald eagle, is able to extend its
range; taking residency in the surrounding forests building nests in old growth
hemlock trees. River otters bring their playful energy returning as a symbol of
light heartedness and optimism.
No longer will the salmon wait at the
flood gate plunge pools, dying in an effort to spawn in their homeland. No longer
will this be a site devoid of top predators. No longer will this continue as a
depository of sediment, bound for a coast eroding into cobble stone shorelines.
Eight-million cubic feet of sediment has
moved down stream, making its way to the coast, where the beaches and estuary
habitats are able to be replenished. During a century of dams entrapping
sediment, extensive erosion occurred along the shore line. Sandy beaches eroded
to cobble shores devoid of replenishing mountain sediment. Sand bars became
void of crustaceans, mollusks, and other bottom dwelling invertebrates
essential for such marine ecosystems.
Prior to dam removal, there were few
pooling areas for out migrating juvenile salmonids smoult to adjust to the
drastic salinity changes they faced heading toward the ocean. A harsh
transition such as this can affect gill processes and water absorption. Pools
for smoult protect these termo-sensitive fish from high water temperatures
which occur in shallow, slow moving waterways. Salmonids navigating upstream to
spawn also use these features for rest.
Competition
for food along these hash shorelines impacted salmon. Invertebrates which
comprise lower food chain niches dwindled. Elwha River Chinook, which were
historically recorded as the largest consistently in Washington, dwindled both
in population size and individual’s size.
Salmonids have been historically
significant for the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe who reside along the mouth of the
Elwha and throughout the watershed. These fish represented the bounty of the
water, land, and culture. A once major source of substance, the lack of salmon
brought hardships to the tribe. Revered sites were inundated by the reservoir
denying these people their culture and heritage. I have found throughout my
experiences that the death of a culture is far more impacting and subtle than
the death of a people.
As I work each day within my office
without walls (my office with dirt floors and no roof) I have great reverence
for the Klallam tribe who are also known as The Strong People. Their courage
and willpower to withstand a century of social, economic, and physical abuses
should be an inspiration for the masses. Twenty years they fought politically
for the removal of these dams. Here I find myself in the middle of it all, at a
point when changes rose and upturned the foundations of big business for the
greater social and ecological good.
This is what I work for, this is my office.
I brush this trail not for a curious hiker; I cut and trim these red alder
along the trail as a means to promote the growth of recently planted native
plants.
Drained reservoir sites are a hard place
for plants to survive. Perched up to sixty feet, these terraces along the river
are composed of cobble, gravel, silt and a myriad of organic and non-organic
sediment washed down from the surrounding mountains. Summer days cause significant
heat exposure, damaging plants and evaporating soil moisture. Changes in
weather bring tremendous wind gust through the river valley. Life for these
plants is hard. My job is to restore the ecosystem, which means insuring the
survival of these plants.
Red alder is a great source for
developing mycorrhizal fungi. These fungi form a symbiotic relationship with
plants. They coexist in soils and form on the roots, promoting nitrogen
fixation and water absorption. Nitrogen, one of the macro nutrients for plants,
is hard to come by in this soil mixture. Typically nitrogen is made available
by mycorrhizal fungi, decomposing of plant matter into the soil, and a few
other sources. Because of the Lake Mills Reservoir, the fungi that would
normally be present in the soil were gone, due to a century of flooding. Plant
matter that would accumulate and decompose within this diverse, high turnover ecosystem
was washed away never able to enter into this soil strata. For ten months my
job has been to restore the ecosystem. Each week has brought with it new tasks
which combined catalyst this process.
Cold short winter days were spent with
the arduous task of planting numerous species of flora native to the Elwha
watershed. Each morning I arose before the sun crested in the east, beginning
the work day while the ground was still hard. Plants propagated, were prepared
for the long schlep to their planting site.
A crisp morning air from mountain
breezes filled my nostrils, the ground beneath my feet frozen from the long
northwestern nights. Hulling packs of plants numbering sometimes in the
hundreds, weighing upwards of sixty pounds, was the final trip for these plants
along their journey to the Elwha watershed. Plants secured, shoulder straps
tightened, waist belt snug, I began schlepping. With tread clear, frost from
the morning sparkled and coated the already established parts of the forest.
Over creaks, across a bridge, down a hill, then finally out onto the rocky
flats. Here would be the home of these plants. Here is where they will sprout
roots, lay seed, and rebirth the wilds of the Elwha.
During the harshness of winter, many
people might wonder, “Why plant such important plants during the cold of winter?”
The answer is simple. Winter is a time when plants go dormant. During this time
transplanting results in little shock. Winter is the time for planting these in
preparation for spring, where they may take root, flower, and spread their seed.
Transplanting such plants has many
challenges during winter months. With ground exposed and little soil
insulation, these terraces freeze becoming laborious to work. Along with the
plants, numerous hand tools were brought down or retrieved from hidden caches.
Picks, shovels, and pulaskies pierce
through frozen earth. Little by little, a hole is dug through the matrix of
cobble, gravel, and silt. Each hole must hollowed enough to allow for the root
wad completely. A little more is then taken out to offer an indentation in the
ground around the base of the plant. Here debris and plant litter can gather.
Here, offering some retreat from the weather, the base is slightly protected.
Plants are pulled from their packing bags. After tufting their root wad, each
plant is placed, dirt back filled, and if available, debris would be placed
around for protection and compost.
Many long days of winter transplanting
offered hours of solitude and reflection. As an individual how can society prevent
such ill-planned projects? How can a society turn a blind eye to the law and
allow ecosystem and cultural decay in doing so? Such questions I have found
will never be answered.
Planting is a long laborious process
both mentally and physically. Eight hours breaking through frozen earth and
rock, swinging hand tools and digging holes. Eight hours on a barren landscape
void of floral life, hauling plants to staging areas. Eight hours of self-reflection
and assessment while bringing life to the reservoir. Eight hours focusing on
flora, developing a sense of place and finding beauty within a Pacific
Northwest winter. Eight hours humbling oneself while bringing about a rebirth
of the wilds.
Each plant bringing life to the Elwha,
has sown a seed within myself. I am the thimbleberry grown and raised for a
purpose; I am the nutka rose seeking a place of being; I am the western hemlock
sapling, waiting to become aged and strong inspiring future generations. Every
plant, every species transplanted into these sites are part of me. With grunts
and thuds I pound creators into the ground. Gently and compassionately I place
each plant, back filling the dirt like a mother settling a child before a long
winter sleep. Never in my life have I spent the solemn days of winter incubating
such life.
Unfortunately winter rains also brought high water levels, sloughing sediment terraces and moving sediment
downstream. An array of plants desperately clings to eroding hillsides
spreading their roots deeper, reinforcing banks, and clinging for survival. As seasons changed though, spring brought
new life and a blossoming of beauty to the barren lake bed. Mosaics of purple,
white, and red paint the landscape. River lupine towers over the grasses,
inspiring onlookers who visit. Down valley breezes carry lupine’s sweet
fragrant scent into early spring air.
This experience has taught me a lot
about myself and my place in this world. I am an individual but I am one of
many. I realize my impact may be minute but when multiplied to an order of
magnitude, change is inevitable. I am one of a mass. A mass of individuals who
have devoted countless man hours working these sediment terraces transplanting
native species. I am one of many who have taken to the field to count, size and
monitor salmonids migrating out and returning to spawn.
My job is to restore the ecology. With
sweaty brow and blistered hands I have become one of many who have committed to
this covenant. This project along the Elwha means more to me than returning
rivers and establishing forests. It is a rebirth of the wilds, a realization
that mankind’s anthropocentric view over the land is faltered. Here is an
experiment exploring areas mankind has regrettably impacted, an exploration
into the measures and the lengths needed to repair our damage. Only time will
tell the outcome of my work. I am but one of many who has made this possible
and one day I wish to return to a riparian watershed flourishing with flora and
fauna. Until that day I will continue each
day returning to my office in the wilds, striving as many before me have
restoring the ecology and promoting the rebirth of the wilds.
