Playing in the Woods

By Brook Bauer
12/15/2020

Our adventure started on a crisp morning as Deb and I vigorously prepared for the wonders that awaited us off the Bitterroot River, nested among the wilderness area surrounding McCauley Butte. And, of course, Stephie lent a helping hand in getting everything together. I found myself thinking, “It's a good thing that I brought a big bag today,” because we brought kits to test for pH, O2, as well as macroinvertebrate collection kits. I was not sure what we would need in order to learn as much as we could about this hidden wilderness area. 

From what I had researched and what Deb had told me, we would be venturing out to a wilderness area (approx. 140 acres) that is owned by a lovely school known as Aspire. Aspire is an experiential learning school, playing around with new innovative ways to engage K-12 kiddos in all sorts of academic curriculum. Today Deb and I would be meeting with a few high schoolers to talk about water (hence the variety of water testing kits) and to  check out what was going on in this remarkable hidden gem of a landscape. 

I followed Deb out to the campus and we then followed the instructions left by the Aspire teacher, Elana. Eventually we found ourselves amidst the fresh new snow surrounded by a beautiful wetland ecosystem. Gearing up, we discussed whether or not we would need the sled to haul our gear out, but ultimately decided we would manage. Following Elana’s detailed instructions we started on our way. Going one way, then realizing it was the wrong way, then finding a bridge, following a long fence line, and finding ourselves at the most amazing cluster of cottonwoods. Deb and I, for the life of us, could not remember what a cluster of cottonwoods is called... Maybe Populus? I don’t know if we actually found out, but a girl can hypothesize. Nested within these trees were tons of nests which Deb said were probably magpies. 

Moving along (well, actually we backtracked a little bit due to finding those majestic cottonwoods), we eventually found our way to a frozen lake, then to a larger stretch of cottonwoods, and eventually found the Bitterroot River. Following it until we found our Aspire friends, we were thrilled because there was a huge warm fire to welcome us. 

We spent the next few hours lending a hand to Elana in any way we could. Mainly, we assisted her and two of her students in understanding the ins and outs of how the body of water we found ourselves by worked - and how to test for indicators of water health. The students collected data on turbidity, macroinvertebrates, and pH. They would blaze their own trail by forming their own opinions on the current state of the Bitterroot, a hypothesis of sorts informed by the data that was collected. 

While assisting in the pH testing we got a consistent number of 7.2 out of all of our tests, and found a bunch of little macroinvertebrate friends! (That indicates a healthy water system.)

I learned so much about this wilderness area, and was absolutely in awe of the amount of rich biodiversity that blankets it. What a spectacular place to play! Both Deb and I walked away feeling very grateful that Aspire shared this space and time with us. We hope to be back learning with them soon! Hopefully, next time we will luck out in seeing a beaver!! 

Living in a Caddisfly Case: Part Seven

 By Cassie Sevigny

Moving to Montana was my first foray into full-scale independence. Responsible for feeding myself. No family, no friends. When the people and city were unfamiliar, I met the details of Montana’s landscape. The mountains and evergreen forests reminded me of Washington. Montana huckleberries used to feel foreign and wild, a reminder of how far from home I was, but knowing this little sour red huckleberry existed in the place I had left made me feel like a rhizome that had tunneled from the Puget Sound to Missoula, sprouting and growing in a new direction.

Like a caddisfly in a stream or my child self on the beach, I built a home from pieces of the world around me – the mica-rich rocks, swathes of color-changing larch, fire-forged morels and huckleberries, even a red crayfish who eyed me from a stone dropped long ago by a valley-carving glacier. And like caddisflies and huckleberries, I can make my home in both Washington and Montana.

Living in a Caddisfly Case: Part Six

 By Cassie Sevigny

The “Montana huckleberry” isn’t the only variety. There’s another that I found on a visit home, hiking up Wallace Falls with my family. It takes root along streamsides and in rainy forests of western Washington, fanning its leaves over nurse logs, stems tipped with delicate pink berries.

The trail to Wallace Falls starts below buzzing power lines, but as you walk farther into the forest all human noise fades away. Moss and underbrush muffle sound, the rush of the river filtering through the foliage even when you can’t see it. We stopped at a bench near an informational sign. My siblings and I sang the information to each other, creating its story for ourselves in a joyous lingering moment.

My parents identified the red huckleberry plant. Eating one releases a crisp burst of cool tartness, none of the silky blueberry tones that bother me in the Montana variety. I imagined other creatures that met here, birds and chipmunks, all taking a piece for their needs and carrying on. My stepsister could not get enough. Each berry gave a brighter gleeful gleam to her eyes.

“Save some for the bears,” we told her finally. Bears might not come to this particular bush on the trail, but plenty of other bushes in the state park likely see regular bear visitors. In less human-touched areas, bears even fight over huckleberry territory.