It’s hard to believe that 18,000 years ago a gigantic ice cap covered the Cascade Range, up to 2,000’ thick and 170 miles long. Glaciers filled nearly every canyon with moving ice, sculpting the landscape. Much evidence of this glaciation is lost to erosion and volcanic activity, but is still well-preserved today in the headwaters of the Little Deschutes River. Here one finds a classic U-shaped canyon, 1,500’ deep with moraines and a meandering stream, easily explored on a 2-mile trail (one way) and cross-country forays.

Tucked away in a nearly-forgotten corner of Deschutes National Forest, just an hour’s drive west from Culver, the hike along the Lower Metolius River follows a long-abandoned road for 3 miles over riverside terraces and through stands of old-growth incense cedars and firs. The star attraction here, though, is the local population of ospreys, a species of fish hawk that nests in the top of large snags near the river. Hikers during summer will be treated to the aerial displays of these soaring raptors, overhead and around their large stick nests.

The very name “sphagnum bog” conjures up a vision of the Scottish moors — a dark, stagnate, acidic wetland with low fertility, tea-colored water and perhaps a well-preserved Iron Age bog body or two. But the misnamed Sphagnum Bog found just inside the west boundary of Crater Lake National Park is nothing of the sort. It’s actually a fen, fed by mineral-rich, alkaline spring water that supports a diversity of peat-adapted plants. A forested 2.3-mile trail leads to Sphagnum Bog, which can then be explored on a cross-country ramble.

Central Oregon has its share of spring-fed rivers — the Metolius, the Cultus, the Quinn and Fall River — but none of these enters the world quite so dramatically as the Rogue River at Boundary Springs. Gushing down the hillside over colorful, moss-covered rocks and logs, these headwater springs are unique. A good 2.5-mile hiking trail starts on Forest Service land just north of Crater Lake National Park and follows the river canyon (mostly spared from an encircling 2015 wildfire) upstream to the springs across the Park boundary.

Once a shallow 2,000-acre lake, which was filled by volcanic ash during the eruption of Mt. Mazama 7,700 years ago, Big Marsh today is one of the largest, high-elevation wetland/marshes in the nation. A half-hour drive west of Highway 97 from Crescent, it’s a one-of-a-kind resource supporting a wide diversity of Central Oregon wildlife — from elk, to river otters, to sandhill cranes — plus the largest population of threatened spotted frogs in Oregon. A 2.4-mile cross-country ramble invites visitors to explore this natural wonder.

Tucked away in a seldom-visited corner of Fremont-Winema National Forest, just a half-hour drive east of Highway 97 south of Crescent, is a collection of groundwater-fed fens (peat wetlands) supporting some of the richest concentrations of rare and distinctive plants in the Pacific Northwest. Formed in thick deposits of volcanic pumice from the eruption of Mt. Mazama 7,700 years ago, these fens are permanently wet year-round, with a fascinating assortment of mosses, sedges, wildflowers and even carnivorous plants.

What the heck are fens? Unlike bogs, which are acidic, low in nutrients and dominated by sphagnum moss, fens are fed by mineral-rich groundwater, creating neutral or alkaline peatlands with a rich diversity of brown mosses, sedges, wildflowers and even carnivorous plants. Along the east slopes of the Cascades in Central Oregon, fens are rare, occurring only between 4,500’-6,000’ in isolated perched aquifers over slow-draining glacial till from the last Ice Age. Two secluded but accessible fens can be found near Little Cultus Lake.

Spring-derived streams are fairly common along the eastern slopes of the Cascade Range in Central Oregon, including the Metolius River, Cultus River, Quinn River, Brown’s Creek and Fall River. The combination of heavy precipitation along the Cascade crest, permeable volcanic bedrock, plus groundwater flow serves to recharge all of these spring-fed streams. But Fall River has been the most extensively studied as a local indicator of climate change — besides having a delightful hiking trail along its banks to explore.

What do river meanders and the results of a train wreck have in common? Both reflect the dissipation of excess energy. When a moving train impacts a large object on the tracks, the extra kinetic energy of the railcars causes them to scatter in a serpentine pattern behind the engine. When a river has more energy than it can dissipate through turbulence and sediment transport, it will carve meanders in its floodplain to reduce its gradient and stream power. A classic example of this river dynamic is found in a 6-mile meander belt on the Upper Deschutes River, between LaPine State Park and the Big River Campground.

Nearly all the clues needed to solve the mystery were right in plain sight — the huge gravel bars, the dry abandoned waterfalls, the actively-migrating falls just below Paulina Lake today, plus the wave-cut terraces marooned several feet above the lake’s current water level. But it wasn’t until two Forest Service researchers, Lawrence Chitwood and Robert Jensen, put all of these clues together back in the mid-1990s that the full story of Paulina Creek’s ancient flood became clear to everyone.