Visiting the southern Cascades and Klamath Mountains

After visiting the prairies last summer, I decided it was time to spend some time in the forest.  Not the open forests of the eastern Sierra, but the deep, dark forests of the Cascades and Klamath Mountains.  Where giant pines and firs reach for the skies.  I’ve visited the area before, but it was usually late in the year after most of the birds had headed south.  So, this year I planned on heading up during June and catching more bird activity.

The Cascades stretch from northern California up to southern British Columbia.  Although known for high volcanic peaks (Lassen, Shasta, Hood, Mt. St. Helens, Rainier and many more), the North Cascades of Washington and British Columbia contain some striking metamorphic mountains.  The Klamath Mountains lie between the coastal ranges and Cascades in northern California and southern Oregon. They are generally considered part of the northern California coastal mountains.  The proximity to the Pacific Ocean brings a lot of moisture, leaving many mountaintops snow-covered year-round, and a rich and diverse forest lower down the slopes.  This area, including the Trinity and Siskiyou Mountains, was mostly free from glaciers and became a refugia during various glaciation events, resulting in a tremendous diversity of plants and animals.  It includes one of the most diverse conifer associations, with at least 30 species.  The area encompassing the Klamath Mountains is sometimes referred to as the “Klamath Knot”, in reference to its complex geological history and biodiversity

I started my trip near Lassen National Park, at the very southern end of the Cascades.  I recorded in this area several years ago, after the Dixie Fire, and managed to get a nice, ephemeral recording of beetles chewing on fire-killed trees.  Juniper Lake, where I made those recordings, is currently closed, as they log most of the dead trees.  This time I stayed in a dispersed camping area west of the park.  I found a nice parking area in the forest with a beautiful meadow on one side.  The meadow was brilliant with Shasta daisies which made me want to turn my lawn into a field of daisies.  The spot was a little too close to the highway and I heard trucks and motorcycles grinding their way up the hill to the entrance to the park.   The traffic died down after dark and it was a serene and quiet evening, with a Spotted Owl calling in the distance.  A wonderful dawn chorus woke me up.  Scroll to the end to see a video I made of the trip

From there, I headed northwest into the Klamath Mountains.  I was looking for a small campground high in the mountains above Hawkins Bar (a bar in this case being a small community along a river, not a place that serves alcohol).  The road was abysmally signed, and as I switched-backed up the mountain, through a changing forest of oaks, sycamore, and madrone to pines and firs, I managed to take the wrong fork in the road over and over.  I spent hours driving around trying to find the campground. Just when I was starting to question my life choices and wondering if taking the wrong fork had been a defining factor in my life, I saw a sign for the campground.  With much relief, I followed the sign, only to run into another fork less than a mile down the road.  The sign at the fork was weatherbeaten and illegible, so sure enough, I took the wrong fork again.  When I found myself on one of the roads I had been on earlier in the day, I realized my mistake and backtracked.  Finally, the right road, and I found the campsite a few miles later.

It was a small campground, seldom used, and the dog and I had it all to ourselves.  It was beautiful and remote, with giant trees and a nice meadow on one side.  As I was driving circles around the mountain, I got a glimpse of clouds building over the Trinity Alps to the east. Soon the clouds moved overhead, and thunder started to rumble.  It didn’t rain more than a few drops, and the setting sun left incredible waves of orange, salmon and pink in the clouds overhead.

The campground was full of giant fir trees, dense and primeval.  The birds that were singing were forest birds: thrushes, nuthatches, wrens and flycatchers.   Old stumps told a story of logging long ago.   I hope this remnant forest can escape the scream of the chainsaw for many years to come.

The next morning, I headed north on Highway 96 through the Hoopa Reservation.  It was a beautiful drive through the deep canyons along the Klamath River. I couldn’t help but think how fortunate the earlier inhabitants of the area were to have the rich bounty of the river, plus the fruits and game along the riverbanks.  It had to be much easier than trying to survive in the Great Basin.  We camped that night at a tiny campground along Beaver Creek, not far from Yreka.  It was hot and the creek was cool and loud.  I didn’t bother to set up any recording equipment.

From there, we headed into Oregon.  I had planned on camping at a place between Ashland and Klamath Falls called Daley Creek.  On the way there, I got distracted by a sign for a Nordic ski area and went exploring.  Way in some dirt roads, I found some nice, dispersed camps, but I decided to see what was going on at Daley Creek.  I was surprised to find it closed.  I checked out a few campgrounds further north and they were also closed.  I found a small Ranger Station in Butte Falls, but it was closed.  I ended up on a side road of a side road not far from Daley Creek.  It started thundering and raining shortly after I arrived, but the rain didn’t last long, and I was able to cook dinner and take the dog for a walk before dark.  Right before we went to bed, Sage snuck off and found a dead deer to roll in.  I washed a lot of the gunk off, but she still reeked.  I hoped any bears roaming the area looking for carrion were more attracted to the dead deer than the stinky dog sleeping next to me in the car.  The sound of traffic on the highway picked up soon after dawn, so we headed back to the dispersed camping area near Ashland. 

This camp spot was beautiful, although a distant highway was still audible at times.  But there were lots of birds singing and there was a lovely, wildflower-filled meadow nearby.  Somewhere, at the far end of that meadow there must have been some water because the recordings included some Canada Geese and Wilson’s Snipe calls.   

The next day, July 5, I decided to head to Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge, where I usually spend the 4^th of July.  Last year when I was there, it was incredibly dry and very few birds were singing.  It looked like there were few nesting attempts or baby birds around.  So, I wanted to see if anything had changed.  This year was much greener and full of flowers.  There was a ton of bird activity, and lots of baby birds.  Many of the adults had already wound down their singing, though, meaning I was a little late for good recordings. 

In the morning (July 6^th), I got a text from my neighbor who was keeping an eye on my house with the message, “call me.”  The nearest cell tower was at least 40 miles away, so I had no idea how the message got through.  I carry a satellite communicator with me to let friends know where I am, which I usually power on every evening to send a check in.   I turned on the satcom to see if there was any more info there, and there was another message from my neighbor to call him.  I tried to message him back to let him know I was almost 2 hours away from a spot with cell coverage, but just then the satcom battery died. 

So, I made the long trip out to an overlook of Cedarville, California, and called my neighbor.  He let me know that one of the other neighbors had been shooting off fireworks on the 5^th, a couple of which landed in my backyard and started a fire.  Someone called it in, and the fire department put it out quickly.  It burned a little bit of dried grass and singed some bushes.  My neighbor said there was nothing to do at that point, so I decided to continue with my trip.  Fireworks are illegal for personal use in my town, but the sheriff doesn’t do anything about it. Which is why I take off for the hinterlands over the 4^th.

I headed back to the west, this time stopping near Glass Mountain, an obsidian dome that is part of the Cascades.  A small, empty campground with a nice little spring nearby was home for the night.  But there were a ton of mosquitoes.  After a nice quiet night, I collected the mics I had set out the night before, and because the mozzies were so bad, I skipped breakfast and hit the road.  I headed up to Glass Mountain, and explored the obsidian dome.  They warn against taking dogs up there as the glass can cut up their feet.  So, Sage had to stay in the car while I poked around. Unfortunately, there is no collecting allowed, so I didn’t fill up my car with rocks.

I headed back to that nice forest near Ashland.  There were thunderstorms in the forecast, but the sky was crystal clear.  Until late afternoon when the clouds started rolling in.  The storm hit just after 6:30 pm and was one of the most terrifying storms I’ve ever experienced.  The storm parked right overhead (or seemed to) with ground-shaking thunder for more than an hour.  I kept waiting to hear a tree shatter after being hit by lightning.  There was a little bit of rain, but barely enough to dampen the ground.  My satcom didn’t work in the dense forest, and no one knew where I was.  I spend a lot of time alone in the backcountry with no one knowing where I am, but this storm made me feel very vulnerable.  Unless a tree fell on my car, there were other people in the area so I knew I would be able to get help within a day at most, so it really wasn’t that big a deal.  But it did let me know that I should probably text my friends my location before I disappear into the forest.

I woke up every hour or so during the night to smell for smoke and look for any glowing embers.  There were none.  It was a beautiful starry night followed by a beautiful sunny morning.  I reviewed the night’s recording, and discovered not only a lot of thunder (too loud for the mics), but a nice Great Horned Owl series, and an unexpected visitor:

I had seen some bear sign in the area (rolled and ripped up logs), but none of it looked fresh.  But now I know what it sounds like to be inside a bear’s mouth.

As I drove out of the area, I scanned for smoke, and sure enough, small plumes of smoke arose to the south and east of where I was camped.  A fire was taking off in an area I was thinking of camping in east of Klamath Falls.  So, I kept heading east.

I camped that night just outside of Lakeview and woke up to smokey skies.  With temperatures rising and smoke filling the air, it was time to head home.  One last night in the southern Warner Mountains, where I was just above the smoke, one last dawn chorus.  I made the sad realization that the next time I would make it out to the mountains the birds would be heading south, and the forest would be much quieter.

Further reading:

Kaufman, O. 2020. The forests of California. Heyday Press, Berkeley, CA.

Wallace, D.R. 1983.  The Klamath Knot: Explorations in Myth and Evolution. University of California Press.