Monthly Archives: March 2026

Marron River Grasslands

We start at the bottom of this unique hillside property, where the fabled Marron River flows. First named The River of Wild Horses by botanist David Douglas, locals renamed it the Marron River, “marron” being a French term for a feral horse. Doreen, Fred and I chuckle as we blithely step over the Marron, Canada’s smallest designated river. It is midday, but we are enveloped in the full shade of the massive Douglas-firs overhead. As we navigate through the dense dogwood and water birch, various birds take flight, and Doreen casually names them all. An avid naturalist, she has lived on this 77 acre property for a quarter century, and the number of creatures she has identified and catalogued here is stunning: 89 bird species, 16 mammals, 18 butterflies, and 9 reptiles/amphibians. Some of the species she has identified are rare and at risk, like that fascinating little amphibian, the spadefoot.

Leaving the river bottom, we start up the hillside, and the tree cover begins to transition from Douglas-fir to Ponderosa Pine. Fred, an accomplished forester, tags some of the smaller understory trees to be taken down. Prior to European contact, these dry hillsides would have been kept open and healthy by Indigenous cultural burning practices. Now however, we can protect pockets of old-growth like this one by removing small post-suppression ingrowth trees with a chainsaw.

Now we reach a level bench, where the log home, yard, garden and chicken coop stand. Doreen makes coffee for us, and we sit next to a trickling pond where dragonflies hover. I see a tiny ripple in the water, and sure enough, a long-toed salamander makes a brief appearance. Rested, we move on, farther uphill. The ecological transitions we pass through, in this short space of time and distance, are quite remarkable. Closed Douglas-fir forest to transitional Pine-Fir, to open Ponderosa Pine. And now, above the house and yard, we encounter Antelopebrush, an icon of our shrub-steppe ecosystems. Further uphill, we enter into an open grassland. There I see Bluebunch Wheatgrass, the elegant mainstay of the Okanagan’s native bunchgrasses. We stop again, and gaze further upward toward an exposed, rocky hilltop.

This property, southwest of the town of Kaleden, is a kind of Okanagan in miniature, and a haven for naturalists. It is certainly worthy of preservation, and The Nature Trust of British Columbia is currently raising funds to do just that. If you would like to lend your support, donations can be made via their website: Marron River Grasslands – The Nature Trust of British Columbia

The Junction Range

I stopped the truck and we got out, each heading off in a separate direction. This vast landscape demanded solitude, and we three obliged. As someone compelled by nature in general and grasslands in particular, this Junction Range was overwhelming. A merging of two storied rivers, the Chilcotin and the Fraser. A grassland in the midst of lodgepole forest country. No evidence of human occupation, other than a short rail fence at the viewpoint. But I knew this Junction had a millennial (four, in fact) history as a traditional fishing site for the Secwepemc peoples. After a time my colleagues became anxious to move on, but I waved them off, and let this strange and magnificent landscape wash over me. 

Certain places form a kind of ecological hinge, or buckle. Saskatchewan’s Cypress Hills: a forest in the prairie. Garry Oak meadows in wet coastal British Columbia. Canal Flats, where the north-going Columbia River nearly connects to the south-trending Kootenay. And here, the Junction Range. These are places that by their sheer natural power and –dare I use the term, majesty—become emblematic. The Junction Range hinges forest to grassland, mountain to prairie, and earth to the vast and changeable dome of sky. It buckles two great watersheds, the Chilcotin and the upper Fraser. In its exposed and naked geology, it connects the earth’s surface to deeper layers and to past epochs. The Junction’s pit houses and other archaeological evidence speak of long-term, sustainable resource use that pre-dates the pyramids. Evidence that does not speak well of today’s uses. 

The Junction Range also ties the Boreal Forest to the Great Basin, two vast biomes that are separated by thousands of kilometers, but connected by the slender thread of these and other river systems.

My colleagues finally convinced me to get back in the truck, and we headed back to Williams Lake. That moment was twenty-five years ago, but the memories are as clear as yesterday. The Junction Range will always be a part of me.