Tilton Paddle

 

Day 324: Although this trip has been in the planning for the last couple of weeks, I had not realized that four years had passed since the last time I paddled the Tilton Canyon. Accessed via Ike Kinswa State Park, the route begins where the Tilton empties into Mayfield Lake. Progressing roughly eastward for half a mile, the waterway restricts abruptly into a steep-walled, narrow canyon for a quarter mile, then to open out onto this scene where the river splits into two channels. In previous years, I've turned left here, and so I did yesterday, only to find myself blocked from further passage by a log jam another half mile up. Coming back, I rounded the point of the gravel-bar "island" and continued on my journey. A small riffle posed a challenge. I nearly succeeded in paddling through it, but the current in the last three feet was such that I could only hold my ground, despite paddling as furiously as I could. I let the flow take me back downstream fifty yards, got out on the shingle and dragged the kayak in shallower water until I was beyond the riffle. Even so, I only reached my usual turn-around point, and I ran aground where the channel was again blocked by logs. There, the island was too weedy for me to portage, and in any event, I'd only have gained a few hundred feet before another riffle would have presented a new and possibly insurmountable obstacle. I ate lunch on the island, documented invasives, and then "shot the rapids" down the little riffle to return to this basin. Then it was back to the canyon, around another small island, and home, feeling that September Morn had indeed been well-spent.

Quest For World Domination

Day 154: Yesterday's foray was all about Skunk Cabbage, but it was a short-term mission and I needed some way to fill the rest of the day. Since I'd decided to invest in a Discover Pass which allows me access to state parks, I thought I'd do a land survey of Ike Kinswa. My previous surveys of the area have all been done by kayak. That said, before I left the Swofford Pond area, I decided to check on a nasty infestation of Yellow Archangel at the boat launch. The land managers have been trying to eradicate it since I first alerted them to its presence a few years ago. Unfortunately, the stuff is amazingly hard to wipe out and spreads like wildfire unless it is hit hard and on a regular basis. Sure enough, the 3000-square foot patch is taking off again, bad news which gave me cause to file another report with the Invasive Plant Council.

At Ike Kinswa, I found some digitalis (foxglove) along the roadside. This wasn't unexpected, and it's much easier to control. The first shocker came when I got to the highway and saw Vinca minor which had been deliberately planted beneath the park's entrance sign. It had escaped from the landscaping and was moving into the forest. A grounds-maintenance person was on staff, so I mentioned it to her before continuing along the Mayfield Lake Trail. Oh, but what a nightmare I found there! However the plant may have crossed the highway (subsurface runners, seed, fragments caught in someone's boot or tires), the invasion force was hard at work. I mapped approximately 30,000 square feet of Vinca minor, so aggressive that it is even overwhelming the Himalayan blackberries.

The real mind-boggler is this: nurseries in Washington are still allowed to sell both of these virulent invasive groundcovers, and they do so, touting the plants' ability to "suppress weeds." Those words alone should be a warning to anyone with half a brain. Both of these plants are extremely difficult to remove once they become established, so if you have them in your yard and don't intend to live forever to maintain them in a confined space, get rid of them NOW!

Fossils

Day 325: My September Morn paddle was not without other notable discovery in addition to the anticipated invasive plants. I found fossils! Well, sort of..."fossil" needs to be qualified. I think what I found up the Tilton Arm qualifies as a "pre-fossil." What initially caught my eye was an ochreous clay concretion which had broken apart to display the imprint of something teardrop-shaped roughly 1.5" long (a freshwater mussel shell, perhaps?). Turning over other fragments of the material revealed a pattern of straight lines which on closer examination appeared to be the imprint of evergreen needles; under the magnifier, the central vein of each needle was quite distinct. The clay matrix was quite soft, easily scored with a thumbnail. I suspect the clay is a recent deposition, probably pre-dating Mt. St. Helens' 1980 eruption, but possibly not. This area did receive substantial ashfall. I will ask our Park geologists for their thoughts on the find.

Even if the mineral specimen isn't a "fossil" in the truest sense of the word, you can't deny the paleontological significance of a Tyrannosaurus rex preserved in its entirety. My second discovery of the day came from the Cowlitz Arm, just off the banks of Ike Kinswa State Park. Never knew they'd roamed the Pacific Northwest.

Paddling Tilton Canyon

Day 324: With yesterday being September Morn, I wanted to do something special, and although I'd determined that I wanted it to involve the kayak, when I went to bed Thursday night, I was still undecided as to where to go. Lake St. Clair was out because I'd just gone there recently, and none of our other local lakes is particularly appealing. I kept coming back to one location: Tilton Canyon, but thrifty Scot that I am (read "cheapskate"), the $10 access fee to Ike Kinswa State Park raised my hackles. In the end, the lure of the Tilton won. I mean, it's September Morn, right? That would be my gift-to-self. That said, I was not willing to pay an additional $7 to put in at the boat launch, so I put the 'yak on the cart and dragged it 100 yards through the day-use area.

The beautiful portion of Tilton Canyon is rather short, depending on where you start measuring. The true neck is only about a quarter mile in length, but in that quarter mile, the walls rise straight up and are covered with maidenhair ferns. The canyon is overhung with rich greenery (Big-Leaf Maple, mostly), and it's dark and cool and utterly enchanting. A few small trickles descend from unknown lands above, chuckling unseen in their concealed beds. At one spot, the thin veil of a scattered streamlet drops from the rocks in a hundred tiny rivulets, dashing the river's surface with the force of a torrential rainstorm a foot wide and six feet long. By mid-day, reflected sunlight casts coruscating shadows on the canyon's walls, augmented by the trembling of the maple-leaf canopy. Travelling beyond the upper end of the canyon, the river flattens out so much that navigation is tricky even in a kayak. Eventually, the explorer reaches a point where portage is mandatory. I stop here, not wanting to carry 'yak and gear over 300' of round river rocks to get to the next stretch of flat water.

Because it was September Morn and I felt I needed to serve Ma Nature in some regard, I conducted an invasive plant survey. I was pleased to see that the Japanese Knotweed and Spotted Knapweed noted two years ago has diminished and appears to be under treatment by some unknown agency. Much of the remaining Knotweed had been bent, and much of the Knapweed had been cut to remove the flowering heads. Likewise, I noted far less Buddleia, just a few small plants and one large parent bush. However, a new invader is running rampant: Jewelweed. I did not see it here two years ago; now it covers acres (literally acres!) of riparian land.

Before the day was done, I had paddled nine miles on the Tilton and Cowlitz arms, the two rivers which join to form the greater Cowlitz at Mayfield Lake. I'd found a massive beaver dam, circled several islands and put into port on two (neither much bigger than the floorplan of a modest home). I'd shared the Canyon with a beaver, several ospreys, several herons and a tolerable number of recreational boaters (one of whom bottomed out when he tried to go too far up-river). It's not easy to get away from it all on Labor Day weekend, but I think I managed pretty well.

Allow Me To Introduce You

Day 300:  While we normally think of introduced species as a bad thing (case in point, the Tansy Ragwort shown in this photo), introduction of a species can sometimes be beneficial if managed wisely. The Cinnabar Moth (Tyria jacobaeae) was introduced to Washington in 1960 as a biological control for Tansy (Senecio jacobaea). You see, these little yellow-and-black buggers are very specialized. They are predatory on members of the Senecio family almost entirely to the exclusion of any other food. When that food source dries up (i.e., they eat themselves out of house and home), the caterpillars turn cannibalistic, thereby controlling their own population.

Paddling Tilton River Canyon

Day 298: I can't tell this story without prefacing it with a rant against Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife's extortionate fee system, because it very nearly ended this adventure before it could begin. When I arrived at the "public" boat ramp (I use the word "public" with tongue firmly in cheek), I came up against a sign advising me that if I wanted to launch my little craft, it would cost me an additional $7. The extra charge was tacked onto the $35 I'd paid for my Discover Pass, a permit which apparently only allows me to sit in my car in the parking lot looking wistfully at the water. This is the second time I've encountered a surcharge when I had nothing but a $20 in my purse and was not inclined to backtrack 10-30 miles to get change. In the first place, I resent having to have a Discover Pass and/or a Northwest Forest Pass to enter the woods half a mile on either side of my home. Fortunately, I am exempt from also having to purchase a National Parks pass, or I would be restricted entirely to pavement. Luckily, I was able to track down a semi-official person in the State Park campground who pointed me at the "day use" area where I could launch my kayak free of charge, although I'd have to wheel it about 300 yards. Wheel it I did, bump-bump-bump down the concrete steps at the swimming beach. That 300 yards was harder on my shoulders than the nine miles of kayaking which followed. As for WDFW, they have got the last cent out of me they'll ever see, except for my fishing licence. The Discover Pass is a masterpiece of false advertising, and I won't make the mistake of purchasing it again.

Now for the trip...I'd heard from one of our Park volunteers that the Tilton River Canyon was a fantastic kayak trip. I had seen it from above while walking the trail, and it did indeed look very enticing with its fern-covered walls and milky blue-green water. However, walking the trail gave me little sense of how far up the river I might be able to go. I expected to get quite a bit farther than I did. After being forced to get out and walk on three occasions, about two miles up, I hit the final obstacle: a small rapids I couldn't pass without portaging the 'yak, and I could see another larger one a tenth of a mile further on.

Upon turning back, my adventure took on a different mission when I noticed Spotted Knapweed (a "hit list" invasive) on the river bar. I had my GPSr with me, so I put in to take coordinates and photos so that I could report it to the Invasive Plant Council. While trying to determine the extent of the affected area, I also discovered Buddleia, Tansy Ragwort and acres of Japanese Knotweed. When I got home, I mapped the infestation. It's all on State Park land. The one good note I can inject here is that the Tansy was being devoured by Cinnabar Moth caterpillars, a biologic control introduced a decade or two ago which has had a good success rate (but maybe not here).

Because I'd had to turn back earlier than expected, I was feeling rather disappointed. I made a couple of loops around the island opposite the swimming beach, put in at a 20' x 30' knob of rock and dirt in the middle of the river and had lunch, and then decided to do it all over again! Back up to the rapids I went, and on the second pass, I was able to find a channel which didn't require getting out and dragging the 'yak through the shallows. I also saw some whopping big fish, and was kicking myself for having left the rod behind. Oh, well. I'll have another chance before my present Discover Pass expires, and now I know how to get around that stinking surcharge. $7 just to put a kayak in the water? Get real.