2017 Basic Climbing Education Program Information Night

2017 Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP)

by Patrice Cook, BCEP 2017 Coordinator

I was lost on Table Mountain. I was 8 miles from the trailhead at the PCT. I was alone and had never done this hike. In fact, I was new to hiking and had done less than 4 gorge trails. The only people I had seen that day were on horseback, and that had been more than an hour ago.  As I was in a scree field unable to find the trail, I knew they would not be coming this way. I had no compass, no map, no directions other than one page from a book, no extra water, food, or clothes. I think I actually dressed in cotton. This was my wake-up call.  I did finally find my way to the summit.  There I met a group of seven.  They helped me find my way down and even drove me back to my car after a dip.  It was a recently graduated group of Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP) students and an assistant.  They told me of the Mazamas and this class I could take to become a better hiker; even meet some folks to go with. That was my start.  BCEP and this organization, this family I call the Mazamas, has changed my life.

BCEP applicants learn about our course through YOU.  Through your excitement and love for the outdoors and through your stories of how it made a difference in your life.  BCEP continues to be an amazing experience.  We need your support.  We need you to talk about BCEP with your friends, family, colleagues, co-workers and connections.  Help us build our community and increase our membership with individuals who love the outdoors as much as we do.

We will have 20+ BCEP teams looking for roughly 250 people to share our knowledge of hiking, climbing, and the great outdoors.

Mark your calendars, for this year’s adventure. Information Night is Feb 2 at the Mazama Mountaineering Center. Classes run March 5 through April 25 at our new home at the OHSU Life Sciences Building (more to come on this). Help us make 2017 a great year full of worthy stories.

BCEP Information Night, Thursday, February 2nd, 6:30 p.m. at the MMC

Click Here for More Information and to R.S.V.P.

Slag Heaps of the Cascades

by Darrin Gunkel

Negotiating the rubbley slopes of North Sister.
Photo: Kevin Machtelinckx. 

Unless you happened to watch St Helens blow its top, or until you’ve actually been up one, Cascade volcanoes telegraph permanence. At the very least, they look pretty solid. Maybe it’s that classic pyramid shape like the one on the back of a dollar bill that suggests solidity. Broad-shouldered enough to support massive rivers of ice, they must be made of tough stuff. But when you get up there and hit that band of cruddy stuff below Broken Top’s summit block, you start to wonder. How do these things even stand up if they’re filled with junk like this?

The stuff these mountains are made out of is actually quite hard: the andesite and rhyolite making up the bulk of the big peaks is chemically the same material as granite and diorite (which, to the untrained eye, looks like granite.) They come from the same magma, the only difference being where they cooled; the former above ground and the latter below. These are mixes of quartz and other tough minerals baked together at intense temperatures and pressures deep in the earth and then fused in post-eruption cooling. So why all the cruddy rock? Weathering is the short answer. Rain, glaciers, and the freeze-thaw cycle that pries cliffs and boulders apart all take their toll. Another threat comes from what put those rocks there in the first place: the volcano itself.

Mineral content of volcanic rocks. Credit:
The Earth Through Time, 8th Edition, Harold Levin.

Big fire mountains don’t just snuff out like a candle. While volcanoes can take tens of thousands of years to go extinct, the pools of magma that feed them can take millions of years to cool into solid granite and diorite. After a mountain stops erupting new lavas, it can chuff away for a very long time. And it’s that chuffing that really does damage to the hard minerals that make up the rock. How so?
There are those who like to point out that Mt. St. Helens is one of the biggest sources of hydrogen sulfide pollution in the Pacific Northwest. All volcanoes emit it to some degree or another. It’s the gas that makes the trek into Mt. Hood’s crater such an aromatic, and at times irritating experience. Cook andesite and rhyolite long enough with hydrogen sulfide and it turns to mud—technically clay. Hence the gloppy stuff that sticks under your crampons in Hood’s crater—hard to believe, but this essentially started out as granite. Once eruptions of hard new lavas end, hydrogen sulfide can continue to vent long enough to turn a mountain’s innards to mush. So, while glaciers and other elements are gnawing our volcanoes from the outside, volcanic gasses are slowly digesting them from the inside.

Basalt at 6,500 feet in the Goat Rocks. Photo Darrin Gunkel.

It doesn’t help, either, that not all lavas are created equal. Ever wonder how basalt, the resilient rock that forms headlands like Cape Lookout, could flow 375 miles from its source in Idaho to reach the sea? And why do rhyolite and andesite pile up to 14,410 feet (Rainier actually maxed out at 16,000 feet before the most recent glaciations shaved it down)? Lava viscosity is dictated in part by how much silica it contains. Basalt is on the low end, and rhyolite the high end of the silica content scale. Sticky rhyolite erupts very differently than fluid basalt. It has a tendency to explode, shattering nearby rocks and itself, raining down in fragments. That, or it erupts cascades of rubbley clinkers, the kind of ankle breakers that make late season climbers on the Sisters wish they’d scheduled their climb before the snows melted.

We owe big thanks to andesite for cementing it all together. Andesite lands between rhyolite and basalt on the silica and viscosity spectrums. Tough andesite is what allows our big mountains to soar and provides nice, solid layers full of fabulous holds among those bands of weaker rock. Erosion resistant basalt makes the occasional appearance, too. Check out the post piles along the Pacific Crest Trail near Cispus Pass in Goat Rocks to see a fine example of the relatively rare high altitude basalt flow. Without the help of andesite and basalt, summiting our slag heaps would be an even bigger, if no less rewarding, chore.

Want to dive deeper into the subject? Fire Mountains of the West, the Cascade and Mono Lake Volcanoes (Mountain Press Publishing Company, 2005) by Stephen Harris is a great primer on the geology of Cascade volcanoes, including biographies of the major peaks. If you can find it, the original version, published by the Mountaineers as Fire and Ice: The Cascade Volcanoes, is an even better read with better graphics. And for a more general back grounder on Pacific Northwest geology, try Hill Williams’ The Restless Northwest, a Geological Story (Washington State University Press, 2002).

About the author: A Mazama since 2013, Darrin Gunkel moved to the Pacific Northwest in 1993 with nothing in his car but camping gear, a pair of binoculars, and a copy of Fire Mountains of the West: the Cascade and Mono Lakes Volcanoes. A mania for up close views of volcano geology and access to dark night skies propel much of his climbing.

The Beauty of BCEP: Doing what’s not comfortable is the point

by Maureen O’Hagan

The first week in March, twelve students meet for the first time. There is a doctor, a teacher, a salesman. There is a social worker, an IT guy, an engineer. I don’t know any of this at first; it will all come out later (along with a lot of other life-affirming details.) These are utter strangers to me. But it doesn’t take long to understand a few things. First, that these strangers differ in their experience, their fitness, their age, their politics, their backgrounds. But also that they have one thing in common: they want to learn. And somehow, it works.

This is the beauty of the Mazama Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP): take a bunch of strangers, dump a boatload of information on them, put them under just the right amount of stress, and they come out the other end better in more ways than they could have imagined. At least that’s the way I see it.

Why worry?

I applied to BCEP with some trepidation. At age 50, I was convinced I would be the oldest among the group. The slowest. The least experienced.

In retrospect, worrying is always a waste of time. (I know, I know!) But it’s also true that the whole idea of BCEP is uncomfortable. As an adult, it’s not often that you willingly put yourself in a position where you have no idea what you’re doing. Especially when it could actually be dangerous. Mostly, we grownups just keep doing what makes us comfortable.

Yet this kind of discomfort is exactly what we all signed up for.

The second and third rings

At our first lecture, our team co-leader, Patrice Cook, made the point in graphic form, drawing a picture on the blackboard of three concentric circles. The innermost circle was our comfort zone. This is where we live most of the time. The next circle represented activities that are outside our comfort zone. The third represented activities that made us scared out of our wits. For BCEP, she told us, we shouldn’t reach the third ring. But the second one? Well, that’s the whole point.

Our first hike helped clear up some baseline questions for me. Would I get wet? Yes. Cold? Yes. Tired? Yes. Would I have the right gear? No. But will I manage to enjoy it anyway? Again, yes.

It was on another outing where I would learn the more important lessons. The hike itself, up the Elevator Shaft and towards Devil’s Rest, was a bit steep at the start. But then we veered off to practice some of the rope skills we had learned in the previous weeks. And this is where one member of our group began approaching the third circle. We were to travel on a fixed line, then rappel off of Cougar Rock. To my new friend, this was scared witless territory. As she told me to edge past her as we approached the ropes, her fear was palpable.

For a long time, she just sat there. The rest of the group did our rappels. She sat there some more. And we waited.

When we saw her finally setting up for the rappel, the rest of us gasped. When she safely reached the ground, we all cheered.

Later, when I asked her how she managed to change her mind—how she decided to move forward rather than give up and walk away—she talked about the circles, about getting outside her comfort zone. That’s when it occurred to me that courage doesn’t mean fearlessness. It’s a willingness to trust even when you’re scared—to trust the system, to trust your instructors, and to trust your own body. That’s what we were privileged to witness that day. In some ways, it was a small moment, but it’s a moment I don’t think any of us will forget.

A set of keys

Over the course of BCEP, there were other such moments. There was frustration. (I admit it: I got lost trying to find the starting line for the navigation exercise.) There were challenges. But there were so many stories we all shared. I learned that one of my teammates recently suffered a profound loss but had a look of pure joy on her face as she bounded towards a meeting point. That another used to weigh 400 pounds and had utterly changed his life. That a third had a new baby. I learned several of my new friends practiced meditation. That they had climbed peaks that I couldn’t even imagine. That they may look mild-mannered, or live otherwise conventional lives, but that they were adventurers at heart.

So, what do you get over the course of the eight-week BCEP class? A set of keys that can open doors to new adventures. That’s the practical part. But more important are friends that I hope to get to know even more. And concepts that I hope will serve me in life beyond climbing.

What’s next? I mustered the nerve to apply for a Mt. Hood climb. Sure, it will be hard. But it’s an opportunity to meet even more perfect strangers.


About the Author: Maureen O’Hagan is a journalist who’s written for Willamette Week, The Washington Post, and The Seattle Times. She currently works as a freelance writer, editor, and ghostwriter and is nearing completion of a cookbook project. Shortly after this essay was submitted, she summited Mt. Hood.

FM101 Rocks! Smith Rock Graduation Trip Recap

by Rich Hunter

Checking my email leading up the trip, I was more anxious than usual. Despite the summer weather that’s been way ahead of schedule this year, the weekend forecast called for a turn—rain and thunderstorms were on the way. Not fair! Having circled this date months ago for the Families Mountaineering 101 (FM101) graduation trip to Smith Rock, I dreaded seeing a cancellation email.

But it never came! Instead, my inbox pinged with optimistic emails about how the Families group would make the most of the weekend with our fellow classmates, instructors and leaders, no matter what the weather brought. As I loaded the last of my daughters’ stuffed bobcats, bears and other animal friends into the car next to our climbing helmets, harnesses and rock shoes, I was literally vibrating with excitement to meet up at Smith and celebrate with the students while assisting in a crag leader capacity.

More than 40 students successfully completed the Families Mountaineering 101 class this year, thanks to the colossal efforts of class leaders, Justin Rotherham and Craig Martin, and a bevy of enthusiastic assistants. Over the past 9 months, the class provided a positive, supportive learning experience that emboldened many of the students to exceed their wildest expectations for climbing and outdoor adventure. This class is a pathway to build the future leaders of the Mazamas.
Assembling in the North Point parking lot Saturday morning, it was clear how excited they were, and how much this trip meant to them as a capstone for all their hard work in the class. We also saw a major progression of the students’ awareness and preparation. Everyone showed up ready to go, signed in, grabbed a rope and joined their group.

I, too, have traversed over some challenging and fun territory since my daughter’s FM101 graduation a year ago. I joined the Families Committee, assisted with FM101 again and enrolled in the new Crag Leader training and Mountaineering First Aid. This Smith trip is a perfect example of why Crag Leader training was created—to build the Families leadership corps from the inside, we need a stepping stone from FM101 into intermediate climbing, a way to provide aspiring assistants with the skills and training needed to safely lead activities that are now in high demand from almost 100 recent graduates of FM101. This Crag Leader training has empowered a half dozen new leaders for sport climbing and top roping activities. Arriving at the Dihedrals on Sunday morning, I was thrilled to lead climb, and set sport anchors and top ropes for our stalwart group of families who wanted to climb even through the drizzle.

So, why didn’t we cancel, even though the weather was iffy? AR had already called off their weekend at Smith—we would have been in good company if we canceled. Exploring a new place, climbing different types of rock routes, and putting our new skills to work in a real life climb were major reasons. Looking deeper, the real reason we powered through the bad weather is the bond we have with each other. The amazing relationships we have formed, and the fun times we would have missed if we let the clouds rain on our parade. Not to mention the chance to make a campfire under a rain tarp that was bigger than my house. Clearly, the families program inspires our inner light to shine, and together, we blaze on to climb new heights.

Congratulations FM 101 and Crag Leader graduates!

Ecology & Conservation: The Cascade Red Fox

by Jocelyn Akins, Ph.D. Candidate, Mammalian Ecology and Conservation Laboratory, University of California, Davis and Project Coordinator, Cascades Carnivore Project
The fox padded lightly through six inches of new snow in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest, her nose leading the way to a cocktail of smells at the base of a mountain hemlock. She was so intent on the scented mixture of skunk, castor, and muskrat musk with undertones of chicken from the bait that she did not even hear the click of the camera that caught her image.
Later, on a dark winter afternoon in front of my computer, I sat flipping through thousands of photos that revealed the elusive residents of the Mt. Adams Wilderness: a nervous snowshoe hare, a stealthy bobcat, a gamboling trio of Pacific martens. But then I saw a critter I knew nothing about: a Cascade red fox, a rare mountain subspecies of red fox. This photo shifted the focus of my newly formed conservation initiative targeting wolverines in southern Washington—the Cascades Carnivore Project—to one that focused on the population status, community interactions, and ecological role of this rare and little-known forest carnivore.
Wildlife managers have only recently begun to appreciate the unique contributions the Cascade red fox makes to the fauna of the high Cascades. It is not, however, a simple story.

The Global Red Fox

The red fox (Vulpes vulpes) has had a bum rap for as long as our civilization has been telling stories. Due to its omnivorous diet and innate curiosity, this small carnivore has been considered a trickster in folklore, and persecuted as a pesky chicken killer and a sly and devious predator. It is one of the most widespread carnivores on Earth and is considered an invasive pest in many areas. The species evolved in Africa or Eurasia from a now-extinct fox and is currently distributed throughout the Northern Hemisphere from deserts to temperate rainforests to tundra. The International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) lists the red fox as a Species of Least Concern globally, i.e., one that is widespread and abundant. Before the advent of modern genetic techniques, subspecies divisions of red fox were based solely on geography and morphology, but the distinguishing features among all red fox are a white tipped tail, black tipped ears, and black stockinged feet. Coat color is highly variable. Although this historical subspecies classification scheme does not mesh perfectly with the genetic characteristics of these populations, there are three mountain and 11 lowland red fox subspecies, including a subspecies first described in 2010 that inhabits the Sacramento River valley. These 14 subspecies occupy a variety of habitats and coat colors from deep red to black and silver. Some of this biodiversity has been threatened recently by a lack of conservation concern for these unique red foxes, which are distinct in many important ways from their abundant nonnative cousins inhabiting the lowlands. In North America this has resulted in conservationists largely ignoring potential population declines in this rare and little-studied mountain fox, and making little attempt to understand how their populations, which occur in an archipelago of high-elevation habitat “islands,” could be impacted by human activities, encroachment by potential competitors, and climate change. This begs the question: What factors could impact this animal, which is so far removed from people, and derived from a larger species considered well distributed and common?

Going Back to the Pleistocene Ice Ages (or Getting to know the Mountain Foxes)

Red foxes have a unique evolutionary history in North America that was elucidated by United States Forest Service (USFS) biologist Dr. Keith Aubry and his colleagues in recent decades. The colonization of North America by red foxes was shaped by two waves of migration from Eurasia. Half a million years ago, during the Illinoian Ice Age, red foxes first colonized North America from Asia over the Bering LandBridge, which became established due to the lowering of sea level by the formation of continental glaciers. When the glaciers melted and the Bering Strait was reestablished, red foxes became isolated on separate continents. These foxes swept south and east across the boreal forest. Then, during our most recent glaciation (the Wisconsin Ice Age), the Bering LandBridge formed again and a second wave of red foxes migrated to North America from Asia, which resulted in limited genetic exchange between the Eurasian and North American red foxes. During this last glaciation, the earlier fox migrants were pushed by the ice sheets into the vast, windswept plains and relatively low-elevation forests of the western and central United States, south of the ice. Here they presumably adapted to the colder, glacial climate, which lasted for the next 100,000 years. Once the ice sheets had receded, these foxes moved up into the mountains of the West where habitat conditions were similar to those they occupied during glacial times, leaving the thawing plains of the American Midwest devoid of red foxes. This long separation from their ancestors in the Old World allowed time for their DNA, shaped by chance and environment, to diverge. North American red foxes have now been separated from Eurasian populations for 300,000–600,000 years, and are genetically different from other red foxes. University of California at Davis molecular ecologist Mark Statham and his colleagues recently suggested that all North American red foxes be reclassified as a distinct species, Vulpes fulva—the North American red fox.

The descendants of those early Illinoian Ice Age migrants comprise the three mountain subspecies (V. v. cascadensis, necator, and macroura) that now inhabit the Cascade Range, the Sierra Nevada, and the Rocky Mountains, respectively (with the exception that red foxes in the Cascade Range of Oregon are now believed to belong to the Sierra Nevada subspecies). The valley bottoms are generally assumed to be inhabited by invader foxes that originated on the East Coast and were brought west for fur farming and hound hunting. The mountain foxes live at high elevations year-round in relatively open forests and subalpine parkland. Mountain foxes are typically smaller in size and exhibit a greater variation in their coat colors than lowland red foxes. These are not just the red-coated foxes of fairytales and wildlife calendars; mountain foxes occur in coat colors ranging from straw yellow to red to black and silver. There is also a relatively common “cross” variant whose name is derived from the cross formed by a thin black stripe that extends over the shoulders and crosses one along the backbone. More importantly, the mountain foxes are ecologically unique, feeding exclusively on alpine and subalpine prey such as snowshoe hares, white-tailed jackrabbit, pocket gophers, voles, winter-killed mountain goats, ground-nesting birds, and high-elevation plants. Molded by two ice ages, they have become well adapted to the cold. They rarely occur in the western hemlock and silver fir forests that cover lower elevations of the Cascade Range. They do not leave their snowy abode during the harshest blizzards of winter nor interbreed with red foxes in the valleys. They are finely tuned for life at altitude.

A Fox By Any Other Name

Throughout the year, the Cascade red fox relies heavily upon high-elevation meadows and tree copses to forage for small mammal and lagomorph prey. The eastern slope of the Cascade Range contains relatively dry and open mountain hemlock, subalpine fir, and whitebark pine forests and krummholz copses, as well as ragged pinnacles of rock that support mountain goats, whose carcasses are an important source of food. Like most furbearers, the Cascade red fox has suffered significant declines in abundance and distribution as a result of trapping and poisoning over the last century. Despite the absence of these activities for many decades, Cascade red foxes appear to have experienced range losses recently, perhaps due to the shrinking of high-elevation parklands and meadows from climate change, the loss of subalpine conifers to drought, fire, and disease, or the expansion of coyotes (Canis latrans) into the high-elevation habitats that Cascade foxes rely on. Historical patterns of land use during the past 100 years, including timber harvest, recreational use, and road building, continue to influence habitat conditions at various spatial scales and affect the ability of native wildlife to survive and reproduce.

What’s in a Ph.D.?

In founding the Cascades Carnivore Project, I am following in the footsteps of two inspiring scientists. Dr. Keith Aubry, an emeritus scientist with the U.S. Forest Service’s Pacific Northwest Research Station, began the first field study of mountain foxes in 1978 (the year I was born) in Mt. Rainier National Park and the Crystal Mountain area in Washington. This study provided important baseline information about the evolutionary and distributional history of both mountain and lowland red foxes, as well as seminal findings on the ecological relations of the Cascade red fox. Dr. Ben Sacks, Director of the Mammalian Diversity and Conservation Lab and my supervising professor at the University of California at Davis, where I am a graduate student, is an expert in wild dog genetics and conservation. The groundbreaking work of these scientists and their collaborators on the evolutionary history of the red fox in North America showed not only how unique mountain foxes are among the red foxes, but also that the Cascade red fox is the most genetically distinct of the mountain foxes, and occurs only in Washington state.
My research aims to develop a better understanding of how environmental changes in the western mountains impact the conservation of this rare mountain carnivore. I have been working with volunteer wildlife biologists and citizen scientists to conduct non-invasive surveys throughout the year at high elevations within the National Forest and National Park systems in the Cascades. We have deployed hundreds of remotely triggered wildlife cameras and walked, snowshoed, and skied endless miles collecting hair, scat, and urine from which DNA can be extracted to determine where Cascade red foxes live and where they don’t. I am concerned that the distribution of the Cascade red fox may be largely restricted to a few isolated, high-elevation areas of the Cascades. By examining if and how well fox populations are connected, and how this connectivity is predicted to change with climate change, we can begin to understand the long-term prospects for this unique carnivore. I am investigating whether the low number and fragmented distribution of the Cascade red fox is sufficient for them to successfully reproduce and maintain adequate levels of genetic diversity. For conservationists, genetic diversity is important for predicting how likely a species is to persist over the long term. With a diverse complement of genes, a population is more likely to include at least some individuals that can survive future environmental changes, such as the introduction of new diseases or parasites or rising global temperatures. The process by which such initially exceptional individuals survive and contribute their genetic characteristics to the next generation is known as natural selection, and results in the continuing evolution of species to their changing environment.
The farther one travels to find a mate, the more likely that mate will be genetically distinct from oneself, resulting in more diverse offspring contributed to the population’s gene pool. Cascade red foxes may be scattered across a vast mountain landscape with huge distances and major barriers between them. My work suggests their strongholds are Mt. Adams, Mt. Rainier, and the Goat Rocks Wilderness. They seem to have been gone from Mount St. Helens since the 1980 eruption. There have been some foxes detected in the William O. Douglas and Norse Peak Wildernesses. They may occur in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness and their presence in the North Cascades is largely unknown.
For the conservation of the Cascade red fox, its unique genetic makeup may be a double-edged sword. On the one hand, we hypothesize that its unique genetic history confers adaptations that have allowed the fox to thrive where others could not. On the other hand, such specialized adaptations can make it more difficult for the fox to adapt to changing habitats and climates. Consequently, our goal should be to preserve as much genetic diversity within the mountain red foxes as possible. Part of the solution will be to identify the best corridors to ensure movement of individuals among islands of suitable habitat.

A Warming World

How does climate change affect the Cascade red fox? The reality is we do not know yet. But there are some strong hypotheses worth testing. Impacts of climate change in the alpine environment have been well documented. Two key measures of climate change are temperature and precipitation patterns. In the mountains, changes manifest as rising temperatures and precipitation falling increasingly as rain, rather than snow, resulting in shorter, warmer, wetter, and less snowy winters.
So what is the relationship between these climatic changes and Cascade red fox conservation? The Cascade red fox is strongly associated with high-elevation mountain habitats and is well adapted for life in snowy conditions. Compared to lowland red foxes, mountain foxes have much more fur lining the soles of their feet, which helps them function as snowshoes, and a smaller body size, which allows them to move with greater ease in deep, powdery snow. The Cascade red fox may use the mountain biome to escape predation from the coyote, which is a lowland-adapted species. Coyote abundance has been on the rise since the extirpation of the gray wolf in Washington in the 1920s and state and federal restrictions on lethal predator control. In addition, Cascade red foxes rely upon the subnivium for preying on winter-active small mammals. Unpredictable changes to the space that forms between the ground and deep snowpacks could have significant consequences for the Cascade red fox. Warming conditions can alter the insulating qualities of snow due to decreased depth and increased density, which is predicted to lower the temperature of this stable environment and reduce the abundance of small mammal prey. In addition, these foxes prey on small mammals in winter by pouncing through the snow to catch them as they move within this protected habitat. However, once the first winter rains fall on the loosely compacted snow, the snow pack hardens and may prevent foxes from accessing the subnivium for periods of time. This pattern is expected to become more prevalent as rain becomes increasingly common in the mountains. Hardening of the snowpack may also have the adverse effect of encouraging new predators and competitors to invade alpine and subalpine areas from which they would normally be excluded due to their reduced ability to travel in soft, deep snow. This encroachment may be the single greatest proximate threat to the Cascade red fox as it could result in competition during winter scarcity as well as increased mortality rates at the paws of predators such as the coyote.
There are two primary environmental alterations associated with a warming climate that could potentially impact the Cascade red fox. The first is the encroachment of meadows by shrub and tree species. Climate change is causing tree line to shift upward in elevation, reducing the extent of the alpine meadows upon which the fox relies. The invasion of shrubs and conifer saplings into subalpine meadows has been well documented on Mt. Adams in photographs of particular locations taken 50 years apart. Subalpine meadows and their small mammal communities provide the primary foraging grounds for Cascade foxes throughout most of the year. The second is the increased spread of plant diseases and pests. Fungal and beetle infestations are decimating the subalpine forest. The loss of whitebark pines from warming temperatures and increases in disease are becoming more and more prevalent on the dry eastern slopes of the Cascade Range where mountain foxes are most likely to live. The Cascade red fox relies upon copses of these high-elevation pines and firs to hunt for snowshoe hares and white-tailed jackrabbits during the winter months, and for cover to use as daybeds and rest sites during the harshest winter blizzards. Finally, recent wildfires have severely affected some of the subalpine parklands and upper elevation forests that the Cascade red fox calls home on Mt. Adams and throughout the Cascades. This year, wildfires in the Cascades were the largest and most destructive on record. Wildfires are a natural part of ecological cycles but modern blazes burn so intensely due to the huge fuel loads that were created by 100 years of forest fire suppression and drought.

An Unpredictable Future

What can we do to ensure that Cascade red fox populations will remain viable? A primary goal should be to continue systematic surveys over the long term and in the North Cascades to establish baseline conditions and monitor changes in their abundance and genetic diversity. Increasingly, occurrence records obtained by citizens are becoming an essential part of this process. Such records enable scientists to identify new areas of current presence and may encourage the establishment of new ecological studies, which will be essential for the effective conservation of this unique and intrepid little fox. Research investigating habitat selection at multiple spatial scales, movement patterns, predator-prey relationships, and home-range ecology is desperately needed to fill many key knowledge gaps about the conservation needs of this species. In addition, we should protect denning sites. This is especially important in preventing unnecessary pup mortalities when they emerge from their dens. The next phase of the Cascades Carnivore Project aims to investigate microhabitats most important to the Cascade red fox and determine how the essential components of their habitats will be affected by future changes to the composition and climate of the landscapes they occupy in their mountain home. Ultimately the fate of all alpine species lies within our ability, or inability, to care for our unique alpine landscape, and to address the potential threats to their persistence. The Cascade red fox has been evolving its unique character for hundreds of thousands of years in North America. With a little more attention from scientists, resource managers, and the public, I am hopeful that we will find a way to help our mountaineering friend persist well into the future.
Report your mountain red fox sightings to cascadescarnivore@gmail.com
This research on the Cascade red fox is generously funded by the Mazamas, the Mammalian Diversity and Conservation Laboratory (University of California, Davis), Gifford Pinchot, Mt. Hood, and Okanagan-Wenatchee National Forests, Mt. Rainier National Park, the Mountaineers, Norcross Wildlife Foundation, Oregon Zoo Foundation, The Wildlife Society Washington, WDFW Aquatic Lands Enhancement Account, Washington Foundation for the Environment, Washington’s National Park Fund, and the tireless efforts of many citizen scientists, wildlife biologists, and laboratory genetics interns at the University of California, Davis.

Mt. Cruiser Climb: A Rare Sighting

 
by John Rettig
 
It’s not on every Mazama climb that you get to summit a mountain AND encounter a rarely observed animal.
But that’s exactly what happened on June 20, 2015, when seven Mazamas stumbled up Mt. Cruiser in the Olympics’ Sawtooth Range with me.

It was a good reminder that while summit views are almost always spectacular, the things that happen on the way to the summit can be just as spectacular, if not more so.

 
Mt. Cruiser Needle.
Photo: Glenn Widener
Our group had just stopped for a break, when a little critter suddenly popped out to have a look at us. We were sitting in a rocky area above the tree line between The Needle and Mt. Cruiser. (The exact location is being withheld, in agreement with the US Forest Service (USFS) and National Park Service (NPS) scientists, to protect the individual marten). At first, I dismissed the animal as just another marmot or pika. But after a second, more careful, look, I recognized the narrow-set binocular eyes and very slender build that characterizes members of the weasel family. That the animal was extremely curious about us and our activities, and generally was not particularly wary of our presence, was another indicator that this critter belonged to the Mustelidae family.
 
The size of the animal suggested it was a marten or fisher, and after some group discussion, we realized we were probably looking at something quite rare. I knew that sightings in the Pacific Northwest have been very rare for any of the Martes genus, as they are known to live at a very low population density, even within their normal range. But this marten was living at the extreme of its documented range. So the sighting was doubly significant. Fortunately, one member of our team, Shem Harding, had his camera ready and was able to take several photographs. We also took note of the marten’s behavior, which included a breathtakingly exposed four-foot jump. We marked the GPS waypoint, then carried on with our climb. When we returned to Portland, I quickly submitted a report and pictures to the USFS, not knowing if there would be any follow-through.
 
How rare was this sighting? On the Tuesday following the climb, within a half hour of the report reaching the NPS and USFS wildlife scientists, my email inbox ignited with descriptions of how meaningful our sighting was, along with kind words of thanks for documenting and reporting it.
According to Dr. Patricia Happe, Wildlife Branch Chief at Olympic National Park, “Neither I nor any of my crew is likely to go near [Mt. Cruiser]—we are all hikers, but no one is a climber—maybe that is why we have not been finding any marten after all these years of looking …The last verified sighting of a marten in our region was in 2008 near Mt. Rose … [And then] the fisher study JUST (June 3, 2015) picked up a marten in the upper Hoh Valley. Your sighting [on top of this one] near Mt. Cruiser, in a completely different area, is really exciting.”
 
Betsy Howell, Wildlife Biologist with the Olympic National Forest wrote, “We have been trying for many years to get information on where marten are residing in the park and forest and haven’t had much luck … Olympic National Park and National Forest, along with Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife and U.S. Geological Survey, are planning more marten surveys this winter and we’ll be having a meeting soon to discuss. We’ll definitely be talking about your sighting.”
 
The lesson that our marten sighting drives home for me is just how extremely important it is that we all act as responsible stewards for the alpine areas that we love. This encounter is an example of yet another way we can manifest that stewardship. Buried in the email clamor in my inbox was the suggestion that future studies might be able to take advantage of the Mazamas frequent access to the rocky summit areas above tree line. We’ve since prevailed upon other climbs headed into the area to be on the lookout and to observe and record. 
 
Learning how to observe and photograph animals in the wilderness, especially for gender identification, and recording GPS coordinates and gathering scat samples for DNA and other studies will help scientists evaluate the diversity, diet, and health of a given population. Reporting any marten or fisher sightings on the Olympic Peninsula will further this important work. You may submit information about a sighting or request a training by sending an email to conservation@mazamas.org.
 

Pacific Marten: The Facts

The Pacific marten, Martes Caurina, is a rarely seen mammal in Washington’s Olympic National Forest. It is a carnivore from the Mustelidae family, which includes wolverines, badgers, otters, skunks, minks, martens, fishers, weasels, and ferrets. Because it was heavily trapped from the 1890s through the 1940s, it was nearly extirpated. In spite of formal winter studies conducted from 2001 onward, there have been only four verified sightings in 27 years. In 1988, one was seen alive and photographed near The Brothers Wilderness; a spotted owl study found two in a live trap in 1990 in the Buckhorn Wilderness (they were released); in 2008 a deceased juvenile Pacific marten was found by hikers near Mt. Rose; and in 2015 one was photographed in the Hoh Valley with an automated wildlife camera, as part of a fisher study. Our discovery—during a Mazama climb up Mt. Cruiser in June 2015—now brings the number to five verified sightings, and the first one in 25 years to be seen alive in person. 
 

In spite of significant efforts to locate and document the Pacific marten (the 2013-14 winter study involved 15 volunteers working 12 different days, which equates to 78 working days) the studies did not yield any martens (although they did result in documenting a rich and diverse wildlife population of cougars, bobcats, coyote, deer, elk, and yes—humans and domestic dogs). We have, in fact, encountered wolves in Oregon more times than we have martens in the Olympics—and we know there are only 77 wolves in nine packs in Oregon, as of the end of 2014. The contrast is quite stark!

Meeting Myself at the Summit

by Craig Karls


For as long as I can remember, the outdoors have been my friend. Growing up in the St. Johns neighborhood of North Portland in the 70s and 80s, I spent much of my time roaming the woods and meadows of Smith and Bybee Lakes, Hayden Island, and Forest Park—collecting plant specimens and immersing myself in nature. The outdoors provided a welcome respite and temporary sanctuary from a home life that was dysfunctional and sometimes violent. 

The author on the summit of Mount St. Helens on
Mother’s Day 2015.



One of the most memorable events of my childhood occurred on a Sunday morning–May 18th, 1980, to be exact. From my front yard, I saw Mount St. Helens erupt in all its glory, burning an indelible mark on my soul. As a young adult, I attended Eastern Oregon University in La Grande and had the privilege of exploring the backcountry of the Blue and Wallowa Mountains during archaeological surveys and geological field trips, as well as on my own.

Fast forward to Summer 2014. I was hiking McNeil Point on Mt. Hood with some friends. We continued past the shelter and up the path that runs along the ridgeline. It was a lovely clear day, we were at about 7,100 feet, and we were looking at the top of Mt. Hood. I turned to my friend, Eric Crowley, and said, “You know, I would love to climb to the top of that someday.” 

He smiled slyly and replied, “I have,” and proceeded to mesmerize me with his stories of climbing Mt. Baker and Mt. Shuksan.

BCEP team enjoying a fire after a day
at Horsethief Butte. Photo: Kathleen Sciestl

Eric must have remembered our conversation from that summer because I received a text message from him the following New Year’s Eve that read, “Howdy—wanted to see if you are at all interested in taking a basic mountaineering course. I am going to sign up for the Mazama basic course.” I began to barrage him with questions and he gave me the link to the Mazama Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP). I read everything on that link and began exploring everything else on the Mazama website. Saying that I was interested would be an understatement. Eric advised me to go to the BCEP Information Night to learn more.

So I did. I was enthralled by the people I saw climbing the rock walls in the auditorium. I had never been rock climbing, never been in a harness, and knew next to nothing about the sport. Yet, something about the spectacle I witnessed called to me. I heard a quiet voice inside me, saying “do this, now is the time, you will grow and discover things about yourself that hitherto were unknown.” I listened to the presentation and watched the slides, becoming more certain that BCEP was the right choice for me. I went straight home and signed up online. I knew that there was no guarantee of being admitted into the program. I was told that demand for BCEP often exceeds the spots available–a fact that was reflected by the standing-room-only crowd at Information Night.

The team prepping to climb at Horsethief Butte.
Photo: Kathleen Sciestl

I received an email in early February informing me that I had been accepted. I was delighted, but also a little apprehensive. After all, other than hiking, I’d never done any “mountaineering” sports. Also, I tend to have a lot of social anxiety when meeting new people, especially in large groups. Fortunately, my friend Eric was accepted, too, and we were placed on the same BCEP team: Team 21, led by Amy Graham and Patrice Cook. Patrice organized an introductory potluck at her house before the first class, allowing us to get to know one another.

There we each received about six feet of climbing rope with which we could begin to learn our knots. Some of the knots were easy to master; others, not so much. We were being “shown the ropes,” so to speak. It was both gratifying and humbling to learn a new skill. A properly tied and dressed knot is a thing of beauty! At home later that evening, my knot-tying practice seemed to take on a meditative quality—a Zen and The Art of Knot Tying, if you will.

At the first BCEP class, I learned that we were going to be rock climbing at the Mazama Mountaineering Center (MMC) that very weekend. I was as excited as a freshman on the first day of high school. Later that week, I dutifully went to the Mountain Shop in Northeast Portland to buy all the gear I would need to try rock climbing for the first time. Fortunately, there were BCEP assistants at the shop to help me get what I needed and ease me into the world of rock climbing.

When our MMC rock session came, I had a beast of a time getting my two prusik slings the correct lengths. Patience and determination came through, though. When it was my turn to climb the wall, I felt an exhilaration like none other. Getting to the top of the wall, I thought to myself, “Hmm, I think I may have found my sport.” Strangely, I didn’t have much fear of falling. Also, I discovered that climbing has a meditative quality. My chattering mind became silent and focused on the task at hand. There was something paradoxically relaxing about it. The biggest fear I had that day was belaying my classmates. I wanted to make certain I was doing everything correct, lest they fall.

Our camping and outdoor rock session weekend at Horsethief Butte was the last weekend of March. The weather was excellent and the experience magical, confirming that I had indeed found my sport after 45 years on this beautiful planet. I eagerly went from station to station, climbing again and again. I also discovered another activity I adore—rappelling! And I discovered that while indoor rock climbing is fun, outdoor rock climbing is a blast.

We had our snow weekend in mid April, learning about avalanches, self-arrest, crampon use, roped teams, and pickets. Mountaineering is the perfect team sport because the only one you are competing against is yourself and the climb team is only as strong as its weakest member. Thus it behooves you to help your teammates succeed in any way possible.

When it came time for the final exam, I was amazed at how much knowledge and activity had been packed into such a short timeframe. I am now comfortable with the skills that were taught and my BCEP experience has ignited in me a passion to learn as much as I can about mountaineering. I have already taken the Crevasse Rescue Skillbuilder and intend to take additional skillbuilder classes. I see Intermediate Climbing School in my future, as well. 

I learned a whole lot more from BCEP than just mountaineering skills. I learned more about who I am. I’ve learned to trust others more—life is one big climb and everyone you meet is belaying you in some way. I’ve learned the wisdom of the fool—that is, having a beginner’s mind in learning a new skill can bring so much wonder and joy into my life. I’ve learned patience—what really matters is the process, not the product. Sometimes you will be able to summit a mountain, sometimes not. 

Mazama membership requires reaching the summit of a glaciated peak. I summited my first glaciated peak by climbing Mount St. Helens on Mother’s Day. I’ve seen pictures of the summit many times, but nothing compares to being there. The gods of the ancients always lived on a mountaintop; perhaps they were onto something. It is a spiritual experience to be on a summit. I applied for Mazama membership after the Mount St. Helens climb and received my acceptance letter dated May 18, 2015—35 years to the day when I saw it erupt. What strikes me as astonishing is that I didn’t take up this sport much sooner.


I would like to thank my BCEP teachers—Amy Graham and Patrice Cook—and all the assistants from the bottom of my heart for having the patience, enthusiasm, knowledge, and judgment needed to get this kid-goat started in mountaineering. 

To you, I say, “Climb on!” I guarantee you will find yourself at the summit.

 

How a Team of Volunteers Changed My Life

The author on the summit of Mt. Hood, July 7, 2012.
Photo: Steve Deardorff

by Kristie Perry


It started with seven little words.

“Take Beecept, Kreestee. You vill love eeT.”

So proclaimed Ania Wiktorowicz, a relentlessly cheerful co-worker and one of the many awesome ambassadors for mountaineering that make the Mazamas such a terrific organization.

I wasn’t so sure about this BCEP thing. At that point in my life, I was about 18 months away from my last cigarette and about four years away from my last bottle of red wine. I had, at least, quit committing slow-motion suicide. But I was, at most, a recreational hiker and car camper with a head full of “I can’t.” Should I really do this BCEP thing?

I was quite convinced the answer was No. But every Monday morning, there was Ania, egging me on. “Take Beecept, Kreestee. You vill love eeT.”

So with high hopes and even higher anxiety, I enrolled in BCEP.
It was a life-changing experience.

There came a moment during the eight-week class when I fully realized that the massive undertaking that is BCEP is run entirely by volunteers. A lot of them: volunteers who are recent college grads, moms and dads, and grandmothers and grandfathers; volunteers with full time jobs as social workers, accountants, physicians, lawyers, engineers, and sales reps; volunteers who seem to have been born wearing crampons; and volunteers who only recently learned how to tie a butterfly knot.

That light bulb moment about BCEP came at the conclusion of Jodie Adams’ presentation on strength training exercises for budding mountaineers. Jodie is a Mazama member and physical therapist. She’d just had a baby. It was still very tiny. And yet Jodie hauled herself down to Jackson Middle School on a rainy Tuesday night in March 2013 to talk to a bunch of wannabe mountaineers about the proper body position for deep squats.

I felt tremendous gratitude for Jodie’s willingness to share her expertise with us. She did it for free. She did it with cheer. She did it even though as a new mother she was extraordinarily sleep deprived.
I experienced many moments like that during BCEP. There was Colleen Sinsky, who rescued me from a meltdown during knot-tying practice. There was Sue Giordano, who coaxed me up my first climb of the MMC rock wall. There was Kyle Heddy, who hugged me after I stemmed up the chimney at Horsethief, and Brian Anderson who made sure I did my BARK check correctly before rappelling back down. This chorus of “You got this, Kristie!” was conducted by BCEP Team 7 Leader Kevin Clark, who patiently instructed me—again—on how to plunge step after accepting me on his Mt. McLoughlin climb.

Volunteers. Every single one of them. Teaching me the skills of mountaineering. Doing it for free. Doing it because they wanted to. Doing it with a magical mix of patience and encouragement. Amazing.

Every single one of those volunteers played an important part in evicting that rat’s nest of “I can’t” that had been so thoroughly ensconced in my head for so long.

So I did the only thing I was really qualified to do for the Mazamas right after taking BCEP: I joined the Publications Committee. I got to geek out with other grammar nerds on the finer points of the Oxford comma. I got to apply my administrative and organizational skills to some process improvement projects. Eventually, I got to be chair of the committee.

And with every article I proofed and every meeting agenda I put together, I got to say thank you. Thank you to each and every Mazama volunteer that has come before me and made this organization what it is today: a welcoming place where even timid, middle-aged chicks with a head full of “I can’t” can learn to glissade with the best of them.

About the author: Kristie Perry is a three-year Mazama member and Director of Donor Relations at Central City Concern.

Youth Program Development Intern

This spring, the Mazamas and our partner, Friends of Outdoor School, decided to team up to host an intern to help develop youth programming which will further the missions of both our organizations. You may know Friends of Outdoor School as the organization which exists to support access and funding for outdoor school programs across the state. They have also run the Adventure WILD summer camp out of the MMC for the past three summers. Both Friends of Outdoor School and the Mazamas are interested in partnering on and expanding the Adventure WILD camp to raise awareness and funds for the good youth education work our organizations are doing. Our shared intern will review successful camp models, conduct market research, and develop a business and marketing plan for an expanded Adventure WILD camp. After interviewing a number of great candidates, we chose Jenny Dempsey Stein as our youth program development intern for this fall. Jenny is a Mazama member, outdoor enthusiast and experienced researcher. Read below for more about her, and you’ll see why we feel lucky to have her working with us!

Jenny, on the left, pictured here with her husband, kids and mother-in-law at the Mazama Lodge

Jenny Dempsey Stein has worked for public organizations for many years. She got her start with Americorps and the U.S. Forest Service, conducting wilderness inventories of Northern spotted owl populations off trail and at night, surveying streams and educating visitors at Multnomah Falls Nature Center. She served as an Outdoor Education instructor in New Hampshire, where she facilitated ecology, ropes challenges, snow shoeing, skiing and wilderness survival activities. Jenny spent ten years serving the public, providing administrative support to Metro’s Parks and Greenspaces and Open Spaces acquisition programs, and coordinating Metro’s popular, widely used Disposal Voucher cleanup program. In addition, she supported Metro’s Community Enhancement grant program and managed a grant funded cleanup guide publication.

A Mazama member since 1998, Jenny’s family has recently participated in Mazamas Family Mountaineering 101 classes and hikes. She applied for the youth program development assistant internship because she has pursued projects throughout her career that support environmental education and natural resources stewardship. Jenny worked more recently with Oregon Community Foundation as a research and writing consultant exploring best practices for Oregon outdoor schools. She also volunteered with her local school, actively supporting the PTA’s school improvement committee, green team efforts and several Mazama Lodge fundraisers. Most recently Jenny completed a graduate certificate in sustainability at PSU, and is studying graduate ecopsychology at Lewis and Clark College.



Welcome, Jenny!