My "Personal Relationship" with Smith & Bybee Lakes

Paint a man’s house and he’ll have a nice painted house for about four years.

But teach a man to paint and he’ll be able to make his canoe look like a fish.

-Old Chinese Proverb-

“So…” devil’s-advocate-Scott leads off, “…how do you have a personal relationship with a wetland area?”

“Well…” I reply, “…it isn’t quite as complicated as having an imaginary dialogue with yourself, or believing in an invisible living God who was executed (briefly) in a political dispute with first century Romans…but…I guess what I’m really describing is a certain familiarity with a physical area developed over time.”

“I see,” says devil’s-advocate-Scott (hereafter simply Rational Scott or R.S.), “you’re simply anthropomorphizing the wetland area.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be so dismissive.” I say, sensitive to the smug tones accenting Rational Scott’s immediate conclusion. I continue, “This metaphorical framework for relating to an ‘area’ as an organism may not be entirely unfounded – that is, it may lead to knowledge and understanding – I mean, it’s not out of the question…entirely?” The certitude with which I began my speech slowly dwindled away under Rational Scott’s scrutiny, his eyes laughing beneath comically furrowed brows. Sadly, what I hoped would be a statement finishes as a confidence-less question.

At this point, a wise man would probably just drop it…but it’s me after all, so I keep on talking.

Chris preparing to perform a magic trick – he’s going to make that beer disappear.

I guess you could say it all started when Chris stood up in his canoe to take a piss and tipped over into the water. This made him considerably less enamored with the canoe, and he ended up trading it for my Atari Jaguar, Sega Genesis, and 80 dollars cash. Those particular game consoles date the transaction to approximately 1995.

That’s about how long I’ve known Smith and Bybee Lakes.

That’s a pretty long relationship for me.

Metro’s kayak launch path – almost wholly underwater.

Over the years, I’ve become familiar with their many moods…and come to understand how they are affected by the seasons. For instance, right now, they’re burning the candle at both ends during these longest days of the year, and putting up with a serious water retention issue.

There’s a nature trail that loops around a short peninsula that juts in-between Smith Lake and Bybee Lake. This observation structure on the east (Smith) side of the peninsula is up to its handrail in water.

…and the path leading to it is also submerged.

When the region's winter supply of water is still tied up in the mountain snowpack, the trail looks more like this.

But this spring, melting snow and endless rain have resulted in a path that looks like this.

The bird-blind on the west (Bybee) side of the peninsula is also standing in water.

Comparison shot

Invasive species continually vie for dominance in an eco-system beset by the challenges of being in proximity to vast numbers of people. Despite weeks of flooding, purple loosestrife manages to keep its head above water.

Last year, some channels were completely clogged with it.

And other plant species worked at converting all the water to biomass.

As the importance of wetlands has become understood – its capacity for filtering and cleaning water, its contributions toward flood control and its ability to support diverse wildlife – Metro has made enlightened efforts to impose the seasonal variation of water levels on the area through the installation of a water control structure. While not a perfect science, they do their best to mimic the natural rhythms of seasonal wetlands.

This piece of ‘designed’ wood brings me the message that the water control structure is currently not exercising much control.

The water control structure is completely submerged on my 06-25-11 visit.

Water was already rushing into the lake from the Columbia slough as early as

04-02-11

In August of 2009, water levels were considerably lower.

One of the characters I met at Bybee Lake.

He used to tell better stories in his younger days, when he still had limbs for gesticulating.

Another invasive species – the yellow flag Iris.

These things may look delicate and fragile but are every bit as resilient as those broomsticks in The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.

The Force is strong with this one.

I think this is beautiful.

But I don’t know why I think it’s beautiful.

I used to wonder if maybe preferences for landscapes (lakescapes?) were written into our genetic code somehow – perhaps some instinct that leads us to environments rich with life. I tried to research it a little, but the general consensus is that, given our origins, we’d likely be attracted to landscapes that resemble Africa’s savannahs.

But then again, we have the capacity to supplement our ‘instincts’ with the memory of our experiences (plus those memories available to us from our cultures) and we can play the ‘what if’ game, like, what if I had a fishing pole, or what if there are deer trapped on that peninsula or …remember that last time I caught a big catfish…wasn’t it on blue water as smooth as this where startled carp slapped the bottom of the boat, just like they’re doing now?

The sun presses against the back of my neck with almost tangible fingers, intent on tanning my hide – that is, intent on converting it to leather. I paddle in-between the wading trees and float in the cool air beneath the forest canopy. Here where the trees respire, I feel as if I partake in the breath of life.

Volumes of air move purposefully across temperature and pressure gradients as the sun withdraws its face.

I look for the ribbon that marks my route through the trees to the shore.

CHEMEKETAN CANOE-KAYAK EXCURSION @ SMITH & BYBEE LAKES

Sooner or later even my Dad recognized that, come spring, the yard needed some attention and the hedge some trimming. After the inexpert botanical butchering was complete and a chaos of slaughtered plants lie piled on the sidewalk, it would fall to me and my brother to load all the debris into the bed of the old orange and white Studebaker.

Then Dad would fire up the relatively newer Ford LTD station wagon (featuring less than convincing wood panel decals) and butt it against the front of the Studebaker so the jumper cables would reach. Somehow, between the three of us, all the buttons and pedals of both vehicles would finally be manipulated in concert to resuscitate the old pickup and bring it roaring to life amidst oily smoke and un-muffled mechanical despair. The fact that the gas gauge had always been broken only seemed to add a certain element of excitement to the adventure as Dad and his two little co-pilots would begin what could very well be a one way trip out to the old St. John’s Landfill where all the rest of Portland would come to dump their garbage for another decade.

Now that big pile of garbage still stands menacingly beside Smith and Bybee Lakes, its feet carelessly dangling in the water and its immense crown thinly disguised under an artificial looking veneer of real grass.

This location is where the canoe and kayak division of the Chemeketans arrived to explore what are now considered to be the largest seasonal wetlands within an American city. Chemeketa is an Indian way of saying ‘meeting place’ and was once used to describe that area of land now known as Salem. It probably isn’t a coincidence that the Chemeketans are an organization out of Salem that likes to gather together to partake in outdoor activities.

The Chemekatans I have met so far have been extremely friendly and were willing to let me tag along on what was billed as an easy and educational paddling experience. Their group is sprinkled liberally with various experts in scientific topics having to do with botany and uh…accounting, and other outdoorsy related studies. If they don’t happen to have a resident expert on the topic at hand, they often go to the trouble of befriending one.

One of the things I learned is that, as people alter a landscape, say by putting a giant landfill in it for instance or by adding little dams here and there, there are often unanticipated results. Smith and Bybee Lakes are the victims of many such tinkerings. I won’t go into all the details, but I will say that our attitude towards landscapes once considered to be mosquito ridden worthless swamps has evolved as we’ve come to understand the roles such wetlands play in purifying and straining waste from the environment and helping to mitigate flooding. Maybe think of wetlands as if they were a giant liver. Simply artificially altering the level of water in the lakes has given several invasive species of plants opportunities to proliferate.



Parrot Feather, evidently one of the invaders, originally hails from the Amazon River. If you try to kill this plant by hacking at it with a machete, all the little pieces can take root and grow, just like that broom Mickey Mouse tried to destroy in the Sorcerer’s Apprentice.




Several electricity transmission lines march through the middle of Bybee Lake.


The inter-lake trail includes two viewing platforms. This one, facing west on Bybee Lake seems best designed for bird-watching.


The water control device at the intersection of Smith and Bybee Lakes proved to be a frustrating obstacle to really large carp anxious to enter the lakes.




Due to sewer overflows and accumulating PCBs, carp are about the only things willing to swim in Smith and Bybee Lakes…

… oh, and Chemeketans.

Inflated water levels caused by floods or by well intended dams have had an impact on the livelihood of some trees. Over the years I’ve witnessed the gradual disintegration of this old fellow.



High waters subsequent to flooding in 1996 resulted in optimal conditions for a beaver population explosion. Now that Metro is endeavoring to maintain the Lakes as seasonal wetlands, there doesn’t seem to be as many beavers. Still, exploring the ‘fingers’ of the lakes reveals several beaver architectural artifacts, some of which show signs of continuing beaver activity.

Here is how a beaver dam looks today.

Here is how the same dam looked back in 2003.

This natural dam and its reservoir have turned out to be the staging ground for another very successful invader…the yellow flag Iris.





So much vegetable matter grows in the rich mud and sediments trapped by this dam, that it is hard to recognize that it is a dam and not some geographical feature. Water trickles over the dam at a low spot revealing its wooden stick core.

In 2003 it was much easier to tell that this was a beaver dam.

By the middle of summer, there will likely be no water here below the dam save for a beaver dredged canal system that will lead back to the main body of Bybee Lake.

Back out on Bybee Lake with Mt. Hood evident in the background.

We set out for the willow concealed passage to Smith Lake.

We didn’t see any turtles.

For more information about the Chemeketans, visit http://www.chemeketans.org/