First of August on the South Canyon of the Deschutes River

After being laid up for two weeks with a bum back born of lifting my kayak out of my truck and after another week of bad air from the nearby Bedrock forest fire (15,000 acres and counting), I finally got back out on my usual walk of 6-ish miles along the South Canyon of the Deschutes River here in Bend. 

These observations (I am admittedly an observer, not a talker) about the COID road and the Deschutes River Trail along the canyon on the south side of Bend, I make for nobody but myself, a kind of pinch-myself-look-at-the-stunning-beauty of the place where we live. I think so many people take our natural surroundings for granted and I never want to do that. I always want to be aware of what is going on around me.

This being my second summer in Bend, it's starting to feel like this is my personal section of the trail and I am learning the rhythms along the river. I'm not sure why this matters so much to me, but it does. Perhaps it is to do with being part and parcel of an environment, maybe some deep-seated remnant encoded in my DNA from when my ancestors depended on living off the land and knowing the seasonal ebbs and flows. Alternatively, perhaps I am just weird.

What prompts me more than anything to make these posts is a marked change of seasons and it seems that seasons changed markedly in the last few weeks. Sadly, I missed a key three weeks in July, three prime summer weeks that saw many of the local wildflowers peak in bloom. And now the first of August when I am back on the trail, it really does seem as if we're moving quickly and inexorably into fall.

This shift from summer into fall wasn't immediately apparent, however. I'm often so busy in reveling in all that I can see and hear along the trail, that sometimes I forget to notice what is not there. In my three walks along the river this first week of August, something has been off but I couldn't put my mental finger on it.

It finally dawned on me during my third walk this week that I was missing my constant companions along the river, the tiny but vocal aerobatic artists that we call Violet-Green Swallows. Since May when they first arrived from their winter grounds, they have delighted me each walk, their happy chattering rising clearly above the roar of the white water, the river level being up right now thanks to continual snow melt in the August heat. This past week, I have neither heard nor seen any swallows gracefully swooping along the canyon deftly snatching bugs from the air. They appear to have departed for warmer climes, their absence a sure indicator of the coming fall.

I like to walk this section of river at least once a week to keep in tune with what's going on flora- and fauna-wise. Being laid up for three weeks of July saw me miss some of my favorite wildflowers, the Scarlet Gilia (Ipomopsis aggregata) and the Large-flowered Collomia (Collomia grandiflora), both bearing tubular flowers of very different colors. Both were just starting to bloom on my last outing along the river; they are not to be seen now at the first of August. I'm sad to have missed them this year.

We're at that time of year where the trail is covered in an inch of volcanic dust and it hasn't rained in months. I had hoped, given our late spring which saw our last snowfall on June 19, that our bloom season might have extended into August, but no. Things are very much on schedule now. The usual late summer and fall bloomers are doing their thing, but most plants have already bloomed and are focused on setting and ripening fruit and seeds for next year.

So too is it a lull with the fauna. With the exception of the ubiquitous and eternally noisy Steller's Jays, the birds along the river are extremely quiet now, breeding season being over and most of this year's young having already fledged and flown the coop, as it were. In the spring and early summer, the noisy orange, black, and white male Black-Headed Grosbeaks are found each baseball throw down the river and sit prominently in the higher parts of shrubs and trees loudly claiming turf. Now, their calls are few and far between, much less voluble and much less strident.

By contrast, while other birds are quiet and the swallows are suddenly absent, the Ospreys are more evident than ever and clearly have not started their journey southward (or perhaps they have and I am seeing birds who have flown in on their way south). A tall Ponderosa snag on the west bank is topped with a huge Osprey nest and ospreys are still quite active in the vicinity of this snag.

This year seems different though. Although in the early spring, I saw a pair of ospreys at the nest, I did not see any evidence that they raised a family there this summer. While this is only my second summer along the river, it is the first summer that I have seen Bald Eagles (a common winter resident when the Ospreys have gone south) patrolling the river. There may be some competition between the two species.

Regardless of any potential turf wars, I got two great vocal fly-overs by ospreys in the last week as they worked the river and banks near to and downstream of the snag where they have nested. Ospreys are extremely vocal and I often hear them without seeing them. And sometimes, they and Bald Eagles make very similar sounds (I was fooled by an eagle at Smith Rock this summer). This week, I heard a repeated call from the riverside on which I waffled. I ended up deciding that it was an osprey and a minute later, it flew upstream not 15 feet above my head, white underwings and belly fully on display, a certain osprey.

Though most birds are quiet at this time, at all seasons can you hear the rattling calls of the Belted Kingfishers. This section of white water is so active that it really doesn't freeze and so the kingfishers have access to their fishing holes all year. It is rare that I see them as they perch in the trees along the river but I hear them on each walk. If I were to take the time to stop and look for them, no doubt I would see them, but I am also walking for exercise and stopping for long periods defeats that purpose.

Though ducks and most waterfowl except Common Mergansers are scarce, Blue Herons are still reliable. They are hard to spot when stationary and hunting food, standing in the shallow water or perched on a low rock in the river, but sometimes they heave themselves laboriously into the air. It is certainly quite thrilling to see the massive birds gliding through the canyon as I saw them this week.

Nor are mammals very active now at this time of year. Mule deer, very common here in Bend, do forage along both banks of the river, but they are ever so quiet and blend in to the scrub so well, especially in this season when everything is going brown just like their coats. While earlier in the summer and later in the fall, I see plenty of rodents (chattery Douglas' squirrels, silent Western Grey Squirrels, and shy Yellow-pine Chipmunks) there is quite a void right now with these animals lying low to avoid the heat of mid-day and restricting their activities to the hours around dawn and dusk. 

Doe Mule Deer, Lying Low in this Season

While there are very few wildflowers is bloom now in comparison to June, there are a few to be seen if you will take the time to search for them. The primary bloom colors now are pink and yellow, with the most prominent being pink. Fireweed is in its rosy glory in August and the plants along the river are gorgeous. So too is it prime-time for Western Spirea with its fuzzy fuchsia blooms. And if you look carefully among the grasses on the west side of the river, nestled in among the fading Forget-Me-Nots, you will find very pretty light pink Checkermallows. There are six potential species of Checkermallows in this area; I do not know how to tell one from the other.

Fireweed, Chamaenerion angustifolium

Western Spirea, Spiraea douglasii

A Checkermallow, Sidalcea sp.

Although it is the season for purple ray flowers, there are not many along the river. Erigeron and Asters punctuate the sunnier openings along the river, but they are not common. I did spy one clump of pale (usually purple) Western Asters growing right on the riverside, accompanying Forget-Me-Nots and a Rough Hedge-Nettle, a rare tableau of muted color in a brown season. 

Tableau of Western Asters (Symphyotrichum ascendens),
Forget-Me-Nots (Myosotis sp.), and Rigid Hedge-Nettle (Stachys rigida)

Most of the yellow-blooming plants are either right along the banks of the river or blooming on tiny islets in the river. Along the banks in the sunnier areas, the Goldenrods are just starting their late summer-early fall display. Like the Checkermallows, there are far too many similar species of Goldenrods for me to be able to tell them apart. Further afield from the river, Rabbitbrush (Ericameria nauseosa) buds are swelling with a few blooms in the sunnier areas. Their blooms will dominate the landscape during September.

Growing on islets in the river as well as hard against the water along the banks is an assortment of yellow-blooming plants. It is very difficult for me to see exactly what they are from the trail, but I can clearly identify Arrowleaf Groundsel (Senecio triangularis), Tansy Leaf Ragwort (Jacobaea vulgaris), and Common Monkey-flower (Erythranthe guttata).

Goldenrod, Solidago sp.

Yellow Blooms in and Along the River
Arrowleaf Groundsel, Senecio triangularis, Tansy Leaf Ragwort, Jacobaea vulgaris,
and Common Monkey-flower, Erythranthe guttata

While yellow is one of two predominant wildflower colors right now, it is also a harbinger of fall and the subsequent winter. Yellow, copper, and brown are everywhere. No longer are the green leaves pretty and sharp. Rather they are ragged, tattered, and bug-eaten with many yellow leaves appearing on plants and then falling in heaps under the brush. Chief among these are Green Leaf Manzanita and Wax Currants that are both going yellow.

A Lone Tansy (Tanacetum vulgare)

Further up on the canyon walls among the volcanic rocks are the Ocean Spray plants covered in coppery brown, spent bloom panicles, reinforcing that we are quickly finishing our summer. So too under the glorious Ponderosa pines, the tufts of Idaho Fescue, so beautifully gray-green when last I walked the trail, are now limp and brown, their seed heads having appeared weeks ago. My favorite patches of brilliant yellow Oregon Sunshine are now nothing but withered clumps of brown. Gone too now are the ubiquitous Yellow Salsify with their gorgeous star-shaped blooms and massive globe-shaped seed heads. All that remain are a few tattered seed heads scattered among the scrub.

Spent Ocean Spray Panicles, Holodiscus discolor

Back in early July, blue was one of the primary wildflower colors, being sported atop the ubiquitous lupines and penstemons. Now, the lupine blooms are gone, replaced by pea-like seed pods atop the plants. The penstemons are mostly a desiccated brown. 

The blues are there if you are a patient observer, but are not eye-catching like the yellows and pinks nor nearly as numerous; each of the photos below is of the only specimens that I saw on the entire 6-mile loop. An escaped Alfalfa offers a pop of blue, likely from a seed dropped by a bird. Alfalfa is certainly not native to the US, though it is widely planted as a cover and forage crop, especially here in Central Oregon where it is a top crop. There is still one Lewis's Flax in bloom and this particular plant sports a deeper shade of blue than on any other flax I have ever seen. And, for the first time ever, I saw a Bittersweet Nightshade in bloom, also not a native and probably propagated from bird droppings. Robins in particular like the bright red nightshade berries.

Escaped Alfalfa (Medicago sativa)

Vibrant Blue Lewis' Flax, Linum lewisii

Bittersweet Nightshade, Solanum dulcamara 

Other than these few flowers, August offers pretty slim wildflower pickings, with the remaining blooms being whitish and hiding in plain sight. There is one large stand of White Sweet Clover along the COID road that attracts a lot of bees. It's an invasive plant in some areas of the country, but it is also a favorite of pollinators. And although most of the Stinging Nettle patches, that were so vibrantly green in spring, are now ragged and nearly spent, if you look carefully, you can still see some blooming in the shade. Of course, by the time they bloom, they really are no good to eat.

And finally, this is the time of year to see the parasitic Woodland Pinedrops in full bloom. Their large bloom spikes emerge from the barren ground under the Ponderosa Pines whose roots provide nutrients to the Pinedrops. Coming from back east, I never had a chance to observe these plants before moving to Central Oregon. Based on my limited observations, these plants would seem not to bloom in the same locations each year. I found no blooms in 2022 in areas where I saw dead stalks from 2021. And where I saw blooms last year, 2022, I find no blooms this year. And this year, I see blooms in locations where I did not find them last year.

Non-Native White Sweet Clover, Melilotus albus

A Shaded Stinging Nettle, Urtica dioica, Still in Bloom

Parasitic Woodland Pinedrops, Pterospora andromedea

The true bounty of this late summer season is not the flowers, but the resulting berries and other fruits, some of which I snack on opportunistically. If I were a jelly maker (I don't care for sweets), I would be going nuts this time of year.

Among the most visible fruit are the chokecherries by virtue of them being one of the most common shrubs along the river banks. This year's crop is abundant, though not quite ripe enough for harvest just yet. By contrast, I see no fruit on the Oregon Cherries, Prunus emarginata. The Western Serviceberry, which provides a lot of early gorgeous white blooms along the river, is starting ripen and the fruit is delicious. Meanwhile, the Wax Currant bushes are dripping in ripe fruits that some people say are tasteless and seedy. Seedy yes, but tasteless? I think they're pretty tasty and would make an amazing jelly to serve with venison or wild boar. And then there are the local Woods' Rose hips that make a sweet, perfumed jelly. They too are going red in this season.

Bumper Crop of Choke Cherries, Prunus virginiana

Delicious Western Serviceberry, Amelanchier alnifolia

Massive Amounts of Ripe Wax Currants, Ribes cereum

Woods' Rose, Rosa woodsii, Hips Make Great Jelly

Other edibles along the route are the Oregon Grapes, our state flower, that are now going purple and into ripeness. The fruits of both species, Mahonia aquifolium and M. repens and the hybrid crosses between the two, are a big favorite of the Cedar Waxwings, though the American Robins attack the berries in our yard with a certain ferocity. The scarce Pacific Blackberry (Rubus ursinus) vines–I know of two small patches–are still green.

There are also any number of fruits that we would consider inedible that are now coming into ripeness. While Snowberries, Symphoricarpos sp., are starting to become white and more visible, we will really be able to see large clusters of them once the leaves drop. Also sporting white berries currently are the ubiquitous Red Osier Dogwoods, a common feature of the wet areas along the river. Side by side with the dogwoods are scads of Tatarian Honeysuckles, an invasive from Asia, bearing glowing orange to translucent crimson berries. Regardless of how invasive they are, these honeysuckles offer both an exquisite display of spring blossoms and fall berries.

Growing right beside the dogwoods and honeysuckles are a lot of young Cascade Mountain Ashes, Sorbus scopulina, but only a few of the larger ones have any fruit and that is just going yellow to pale orange. This fruit will be bright orange when ripe. It may be my imagination, but I have seen hundreds more of these small trees this year when compared to last year.

Red Osier Dogwood Berries, Cornus sericea

Invasive Tatarian Honeysuckle, Lonicera tatarica

Finally, one of our most common shrubs, the Greenleaf Manzanita is starting to ripen a fairly heavy set of fruit. Although not known as an edible for humans (though it is and can be made into jelly tasting of apple), it is a lifeblood for the California Quail that scuttle about the ground under them. These berries will constitute a decent early winter food source for those ground-hugging chubby birds. I have never seen the Greenleaf's cousin, the Pinemat Manzanita, A. uva-ursi, on this stretch of trail.

Ripening Fruit on Greenleaf Manzanita, Arctostaphylos patula

And that's what's happening along the trail in the opening days of August. I'm looking forward to the cooler weather and spectacular display of Rabbitbrush that will happen in September.