Nerding Out on Nature:

Because Earth is cooler than screens


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Kayaking on the Oregon Coast with a Terrier in a PFD

I’m not a Mother’s Day brunch kind of gal. Give me a river, a kayak and a beach full of tidepools–I’m good to go. A carving station? Not so much.

My husband, knowing better than to sit me down in front of an all-you-can eat seafood bar, researched the Siuslaw Estuary Water Trail near Florence, Oregon. “It’s an adventure!” he told me and our 8-year old daughter (aka The Spud). We presented our new dog, April, with a terrier-sized life vest and headed west.

April, the intrepid terrier.

April, the intrepid terrier.

You’ve got two choices when you park at Bender Landing at low tide; you can either slog with your kayak through knee-high mud and drop it in the water, or you can rig a line 10 feet up on a retaining wall and lower your boat and climb down a metal ladder to the river. Either way, you’re guaranteed awkward hilarity.

We opted for the ladder, lowered our paddles and peanut butter sandwiches and the terrier, and started off laughing and unmuddied upstream. Paddlers on the Siuslaw can kayak 30 river-miles between Mapleton and the Pacific Ocean. It’s pretty country, I decided, but nothing beats kayaking the Siltcoos River 14 miles south. That’s my true love river, with its old growth and sand dunes that give way to Snowy plover territory and the ocean. We turned our boats around after a while, observed by a preternaturally calm egret, and paddled with the tide.

Egret

Heading south on the North Fork of the Siuslaw, you’ll see farms in the distance, and tractors and horses. We spotted more egrets sailing overhead, and vultures, and what looked to be a Northern harrier skimming the fields. Nutria emerged at the shoreline and scuttled off into tall weeds. Below us, fallen trees stretched out in the water with delicate plants all around them. On this sunny Mother’s Day weekend, the water felt warm enough for a swim. The Spud jumped in to the delight of our new terrier and splashed around a while.

MaiaKayak

It’s possible to kayak to Old Town Florence and tie up in pursuit of a scoop of BJs Oregon Trail ice cream. But we had some serious tidepooling to do, and so we paddled back to our put in and circled around the ladder and the muddy shoreline, weighing our options. Not willing to drag my kayak one-handed up the ladder, I got out on the shore and sunk immediately up to my knees. A pristine kayaker, preparing for a paddle, gaped at me from a picnic table on the grass. “That the only way in?” he asked.

I nodded at the narrow metal ladder and broke into laughter at the sight of my husband mired in the mud.

Our giddy giggling continued later when we walked down to the beach outside the Adobe Resort and discovered two people in the distance gathering up something in bags. A budding journalist, The Spud ran over to investigate.

“Maggots,” she reported back as I bent over a tidepool full of hermit crabs and turquoise anenomes. “They’re collecting maggots.”

I’d spotted five-inch long translucent jelly-like tubes on the beach. Confused, I decided these were maggots of some sort, and the couple had found use for them. I wanted to know just what that use was.

Not maggots–squid eggs.

Not maggots . . . squid eggs.

Not maggots . . . squid eggs.

“What are you collecting?” I asked with a bemused smile.

The man who replied gave me a sober look.

“Agates,” he said.

Turns out this beach, like Bob Creek Wayside a few miles south, offers agates the size of fingernails and fists. The latter, he said, can be worth hundreds of dollars which accounts for the beachcombers who show up hours before low tide to start searching. Those five-inch long jelly-like things? Apparently, they’re squid eggs flung by ocean waves to land among the velella velella (By-the-Wind Sailors).  Here, read this!

Velella vellela (By-the-Wind Sailors)

Velella velella (By-the-Wind-Sailors)

Velella velella (By-the-Wind-Sailors)

By day’s end, I had mud between my toes and tiny amber agates in my pockets. I had the memory of a terrier in a life vest, a child in the river, and a lunch to look forward to the next day at our favorite Mexican food restaurant, Los Compadres in Florence.

A very fine Mother’s Day, indeed.

I’m teaching a two-day workshop 7/25-7/26 titled “Heal Yourself through Environmental Memoir” at the lovely Sitka Center for Art and Ecology near Lincoln City, OR. There’s still time to register; I’d love to work with you!


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Kayaking Coyote Creek with Bryozoan Buddies

“What’s that balloon-thingy?”

Surprise robbed me of eloquence, and I backpaddled hard to investigate the yellowish bladder-like object clinging to low-hanging branches over Coyote Creek.  “Is it alive?”

My husband squinted as I lifted up a skinny branch to investigate.  “I think it’s just stuff that’s built up over time.”

The thing fell off then, splashed into the water, and resurfaced.  Our daughter, Maia, scooped it up with her ever-present bug net.  “I got it!” she hollered.  “I just can’t lift it.”

Bryozoan and Jonathan

Coyote Creek’s endlessly surprising, just 20 minutes west of Eugene.  We’ve been taking our kayaks there for years, and each time, the journey along tree-lined banks over to Fern Ridge Reservoir yields revelation.  Once, white pelicans sailed overhead.  Another time, we spotted bald eagles.  Great blue herons are forever squawking at the splash of our paddles in the murky water and gliding off right in front of us. It’s a wonderful place to go for a wilderness experience among red-winged blackbirds and tree frogs and osprey and . . . bryozoan colonies?

For that’s what the bladder-like, balloon-thingy was–a colony of moss animals, aquatic invertebrates gathered together and attached to low-hanging branches.  Pectinatella magnifica, the colony we accidentally disturbed on a sunny Sunday in early October, is a round mass of heavy matter resembling white jelly.

Bryozoan Kayak

I know this because I committed a cardinal sin of kayaking–I pulled out my smartphone and posted a picture of the colony on Facebook and tagged my naturalist friends, desperate to know what the thing was before we left the creek.  My artist friend Barbara Gleason swiftly obliged, letting me know that her husband had heard tell of bryozoans on Coyote Creek a while back, and my biologist buddy Jayne Selwa confirmed the species.

“Why do they look like stars?”

My daughter leaned close to the mass she’d wrangled up to the front of the kayak and pointed out the tiny black arms radiating out from each zooid.  (I had to look that one up.)  The “arms” are tentacles lined with cilia that pick up food particles out of the water.

Jon and Maia Kayaking

The only food particles we had were two halves of a banana, one of which had fallen into the bottom of my kayak (but hey, it still tasted fine), and so we packed up and headed for Pizza Research Institute in Eugene’s charismatic Whiteaker Neighborhood.  Over slices and cider, we researched bryozoans and planned to return to Coyote Creek the next weekend to see what surprise the waterway would offer next.

To get to Coyote Creek, head west of Eugene on 126 and turn left on Central Road (across from Perkins Peninsula Park).  Turn left on Cantrell Road and look for a sign on your left and a vehicle pullout at Coyote Creek.  Click here for a map!