One summer,
while I was working for the US Forest Service, I was assigned to do stream
survey. The purpose of stream survey is to assess the health of a particular
stream or network of streams for the fish population. My partner Ed and I went
through training in the Spring and then began our survey of the North Fork of
the Yachats River and all of its tributaries.
Stream survey
is an odd job. Both science and art. One member of the two-person team is
designated as the estimator and the other is the recorder. Each day they switch
jobs. The river is divided into habitat types of which there are three basic
forms: riffles, pools, and glides. A pool is just what it sounds like. The bed
is deeper and there is not much vertical drop from the upper side of the pool
to the downstream side. Riffles are marked by a steeper drop in elevation and
tend to be longer stretches of stream than pools. The surface of the water is
rougher in a riffle as the water is moving faster. Riffles can include full-on
whitewater rapids and cascades, but they don’t have to be that extreme. A glide
is something in-between a pool and a riffle, a long stretch that is deeper and
slower than a riffle, but not as deep as a pool.
The first thing
the estimator does is to define the habitat type for a given piece of stream.
Then he estimates how wide and how long it is. For example, he may say the first
type is a riffle that is 8 feet wide and 40 feet long. Then as they move up the
stream, he determines the next habitat type is a pool 15 feet wide and 25 feet
long, and so on. The recorder dutifully writes down the estimator’s estimates.
The recorder does not comment, does not give his own opinion. Every tenth pool
gets measured. After the pool has been estimated, the recorder lets the
estimator know that this pool is to be measured and they pull tape across and
along to measure the width and length of the pool. The only one who can see the
results of the measurement is the recorder. He does not tell the estimator what
the measurements are. In this way when the project is all done actual
measurements are compared to estimates and a coefficient can be applied to the
estimates for each person. This is a fairly accurate way to get figures without
having to measure the whole river, which would be too time-consuming. Also, at
each tenth pool the water temperature is taken. In this way the basic elements
of the river are recorded.
At a later date
the team comes back and snorkels the pools. One of the team dons a wet suit and
snorkel and scans the pool looking for fish. He tells the recorder how many
fish he has seen, their size and species. This can be a little tricky. Fish
move, especially if there is a big lumbering human approaching. But we do our
best. Oh, and did I mention it is cold. The wet suit notwithstanding, it is
friggin cold. We had a chance to work with the Oregon Department of Fish and
Wildlife, and they have a different method for the fish counts. They string up
a net at the lower end of the pool and use an electric shocker to stun the
fish. The fish collect in the net and can then be counted. This results in a
much more accurate count than our snorkeling method, but occasionally they may
lose a fish who got too close to the shocker (or got stepped on). It is also a
lot more equipment to haul upstream (and back). So, advantages and
disadvantages. But Ed and I do it the old-fashioned way with a wet suit.
We walked the
length of the river and every tributary of the river . . . twice. For part of
the way we could drive alongside it. There had been a road that at one time traversed
the whole length of the river and connected with a main road on the other end.
But that road had long been in disrepair. Two bridges still existed where the
road crossed the river. The third and fourth and any more that followed had long since given up the ghost. Actually,
the second bridge was questionable. Planks were laid across four large log
stringers. One of the logs had broken and was laying in the water, a second was
severely cracked. Ed said, “I’ll walk over and keep an eye on the bridge while
you cross. If I start flailing my hands, throw it in reverse quick.” I remember
as I was crossing the bridge going, “why am I doing this? And whose idea was it
that I drive?” But I made it across. I might as well not have bothered as it
only gained us about 600 feet of river before we came to the next impassable
crossing. We walked the rest of the way.
We were
supposed to survey every tributary that was large enough to have fish. One of
the tributaries was so thick with brush that it was like walking through steel
wool. Good for the fish (no birds were going to swoop down and get them) but
bad for us humans. The stream had a name, but we nicknamed it “Shit Creek.” On
one of the creeks, we came to a beaver dam and on the other side of the dam was
a huge beaver pond. The pond was the size of a football field. The canyon walls
came almost vertically down at the edges of the pond so we had to figure out a
way around it. We split up. Ed took one side and I took the other. I walked
uphill toward the top of the ridge until I could find a passable route. I was
fighting my way uphill through the brush when a buzzing thing flew into my
cheek. I swatted at it, knocked my hardhat off and my glasses, lost my balance
and fell backward down the hill. Fortunately, the brush was so thick I didn’t
fall very far. I had also gotten stung for my effort. Ow. I probably said a lot
more words than that. My first order of business was to find my glasses. This
is not easy to do when you are not wearing glasses. I could see the hardhat and
moved toward it. As I got closer, I could see my glasses lying on the ground.
They were lying right over a hole in the ground. The hole was the opening for a
nest of yellowjackets. I waited for a bit, but the yellowjackets weren’t going
anywhere. I found a stick and reached in with it and was able to retrieve my
glasses. I navigated around the pond and met up with Ed. He had me apply some
mud to the sting. On another occasion a deerfly bit right through my shirt and
left a nasty welt. But fortunately, we never encountered any ticks or leaches
or any other blood sucking critters (except for mosquitoes).
Trials and
tribulations aside, it was a good experience for me. Being out in nature in a
place that few people have trod is energizing. I learned what makes a healthy
stream, and I saw examples of healthy and unhealthy streams. It’s no great
mystery. The healthiest streams are the ones that have been left alone. They
are the ones that can support the most fish, if any fish can make it to
them. We want healthy fish runs, an important part of the web of life. It’s all
part of the same story: our story. And we hope it has a happy ending.
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