Pristiphora Geniculata

Day 323: The identity of this critter may come as a surprise. Despite appearances, it is NOT a caterpillar. True caterpillars are the immature stage of butterflies and moths. These larvae are in fact those of the Mountain-ash Sawfly (Pristiphora geniculara), a species of wasp and currently the bane of my garden. I should have investigated more closely when I first noticed leaves disappearing from the smaller twigs, but I assumed that the tree was heat-stressed or suffering in response to a pesky Sapsucker's drilling. When a second Mountain-ash (different species) began exhibiting the same symptoms, I took a closer look. Pulling a branch down to eye level, I was surprised when a little yellow "caterpillar" assumed an uncharacteristically defensive stance. Then I noticed its cousins hard at work on one of the remaining leaves.

Mountain-ash Sawfly was first noticed in Washington in the summer of 2009, apparently a European immigrant. At that time, it was confined to Snohomish County, but it has since spread to much of the western portion of the state. There are two remedies for this pest. I will only resort to chemicals as a last resort, preferring to go with my father's tried-and-true method: removal and burning of each infected twig or branch showing evidence of the insects or their egg cases. The trees will have to be monitored again next spring because I'm bound to miss a few.

Mum's The Word

Day 322: Every year when autumn's early hints put a blush on the vine maples and a suggestion of coolness in the morning air, I buy a chrysanthemum for my garden. I lean rather heavily toward the dark red/maroon end of the spectrum as a general rule, but since my rich purple one wintered over in the strawberry jar and has been a mass of blooms all summer, I decided to go with orange. I didn't get just one. I got three. Okay, they were small (4" pots) and inexpensive, so I figured I could splurge. I bedded them in a windowbox-style planter which had formerly held nasturtiums, and positioned it on the step outside my kitchen door. The colour is so festive, and mums are easy-care plants which will reward you even through light frosts. I'm not ready to give up on summer yet, but oh, cooler afternoons are very welcome after our last interval of hot days!

Doubly Adorable

Day 321: Once again, this image falls into the category of "not a field guide shot" photos because only one of the subjects is in focus, but the "cuteness factor" inclined me to keep it. I had gone to this site specifically to check on the status of the pool and the vegetation surrounding it. for reasons entirely unrelated to its potential for frogginess, and discovered it to be populated with dozens of thumbnail-sized froglets whose species I could not determine without disruption. Many still carried stubs of polliwog-tails and had not taken on full adult colouration. Surprisingly, many of these froglets survive the winter by burrowing into the mud up to twelve inches where they hibernate until spring thaw. Frogs aside, the information I obtained regarding the area only served to add another layer of opacity to a greater mystery. Such is the way of science, whether in the lab or in the field.

Skipper Spotlight

Day 320: A few days ago, I was fiddling around with post-processing effects in response to a photo challenge, starting with a base image which otherwise might never have seen the light of day. Oh, I got the Woodland Skipper in focus, but without capturing any major field markings or characteristics, automatically excluding it from anything I'd use for a "field guide" shot. The background was bland and to my eye, the lavender seemed to be intrusive, and the highlights on the insect's body were too bright. In other words, the image only marginally escaped being thrown in the trash. When I remembered that I was one image short of completing the photo challenge, I decided to see if I could gussy it up a bit.

First of all, I added a feathered blur filter leaving only the Skipper and a bit of lavender in focus. Lens flare provided some colour for the corners and a rule-of-thirds glow, and a "sunlight" filter warmed the image overall. I diminished the highlights and deepened the midtones as a final touch to bring Mr. Skipper out of anonymity and into the spotlight. Still not a "field guide" shot, but even in my world, sometimes it's not always about science.

Fuchsia Fantasy

Day 319: Until a few years ago, the only "hardy fuchsia" I had ever seen was a small-flowered, shrubby variety, fairly common in Pacific Northwest yards. In the interest of keeping my hummingbirds amused, I set about trying to find a commercial supplier and thus discovered that quite a few of the "hardies" bear flowers equal in size to those of the annuals seen in hanging baskets. Over time, I accumulated five varieties: (top to bottom, left to right) Army Nurse, Dollar Princess, Genii, Erecta and Riccartonii. My choices were governed by the degree of hardiness which varies by species; all of these can withstand winter temperatures of 0° or lower. Of the five, pink Erecta has proved to be the most susceptible to cold. It died back and did not sprout foliage on the old wood as the others did, but re-emerged rather late from the ground. This summer, I was surprised at seeing fuchsia berries on two plants. The fruits are reported to be edible but not particularly desirable unless you are growing one of the varieties specifically developed for taste. In that case it is said that they make a delicious jelly. Testing is in order, yes.

Centennial Challenge Coin

Day 318: As part of the Centennial celebrations throughout the National Park Service, volunteers who contribute at least 201.6 hours in the calendar year of 2016 will receive a gorgeous bronze commemorative coin in thanks for their service. By the time I got around to filling out the paperwork for mine, I already had 450+ hours on the books, and "busy season" wasn't even half over. I'm pleased to say that quite a few of our volunteers have already earned their coins although only a few made it into the first batch to be delivered. Bonuses like this say "thank you" in a tangible way, but the real rewards of volunteering are the feelings of community and ownership derived from giving of yourself and your time to a project or cause which you feel is important. Don't just sit there! Get out and volunteer!

NPS Centennial

Day 317: Happy Birthday, NPS! I am happy to say that I have been a member of the Park Service family for over a tenth of its lifetime and plan to keep going as long as I can. For those of you who may have wondered, I began volunteering at Mount Rainier just slightly under forty years ago, and although there was a rather large gap in the middle of my service, I have over ten years to my credit. I have occupied my primary position for over five years, but work with a number of different Interpretive and Natural Resources programs as well as the occasional spot of Outreach or Maintenance.

Since I am called to duty for the 100th birthday celebration at Paradise, I shuffled the schedule a little so that I could visit the site of the historic Paradise Ice Caves while putting in hours for the MeadoWatch plant phenology program. The real Ice Caves are long gone, and I suspect the ones I saw in the '50s were but shabby stand-ins for those so famous in the '30s. Even fifty years ago, MORA was talking about their decline. Today, no vestige of the original Ice Caves exists. I do remember when the Paradise Glacier overhung the cliffs at my back in this photo, and when something resembling ice caves tempted stalwart (read, "foolish") climbers and hikers to enter into their depths. I was never tempted. A glimpse into the interior was sufficient warning: a maze of frozen stalactites hung from the ceiling and from every low point, painfully cold drips of water waited to fall down the back of your neck. It was not uncommon for great chunks of ice to break free and fall to the floors of the chilly tunnels.

There have been many changes on the Mountain in 100 years, both natural and administrative. Some set well with me, and others not so well. However, if I have learned one thing in the years I have spent in the Park, both as a volunteer and as a private citizen, it is that the Mountain endures. In fact, I have often referred to the great snowy presence on my horizon as "the one stable point in my universe." That familial attachment is what inspires me daily, and I am grateful beyond expression for those who strive to protect its integrity. I am proud of my Park Service family and am thrilled to be part of the celebration of the NPS Centennial.

Elmera Racemosa, Yellow Coralbells

Day 316: Yellow Coralbells (Elmera racemosa) is a small plant with leaves you might mistake for those of a Heuchera. It was first considered to fall among the Heucheras until genetic research proved it to be a distinct genus and in fact, it is the one and only Elmera currently known. It occurs only in the Pacific Northwest (Oregon to British Columbia), and somewhat infrequently in the upper subalpine zone at Mount Rainier National Park. Elmera is a hardy plant capable of surviving both cold winters and dry summers.

Legendary Blue

Day 315: A modern story (~cough!) tells us that Gentians take their colour from the sky. How? Well, let me explain.

The deep cups of Mountain Bog Gentian (Gentiana calycosa) are particularly attractive to bumblebees, those great furry creatures who by all rights should be incapable of flight. But Bumblebee has a secret. His wings are a mosaic of sky fragments, so thin that they seem transparent, shimmering with summer sunlight. Bee moves through the air on his sky-wings but only with some effort due to his weight, so when he grows tired of propelling himself along, he often comes to rest in the cup of a Gentian.

Now Gentians don't care to have dew or rain fill their cups, so at night or when a cloud-shadow passes across them, their petals furl into a spiral, closing to form pointy minarets. That's their special magic. When a Bumblebee doesn't pay attention to the time of day or the weather, it may become trapped inside a Gentian blossom when it closes. Bumblebees are not known for their weather wisdom, so this is not an uncommon occurrence. When a Bee is caught in this manner, it cannot escape until the Gentian opens. It may buzz around inside, and in so doing, it transfers the blue sky-pigment from its wings to the flower. As you might imagine, this happens fairly often, but if you search carefully, you may still find white Gentians in the high country, unstained by the colour of the sky. They have not yet hosted a Bumblebee overnight.

The emergence of Gentians signifies the summer season drawing to a close. They are one of my favourite wildflowers. Yes, they really do close around hapless Bumblebees, and sometimes you will hear them buzzing, trying to escape a Gentian's grasp.

Valeriana Sitchensis, Sitka Valerian

Day 314: Sitka Valerian (Valeriana sitchensis) is common sight in subalpine meadows. It also bears the distinction of having been described in one of the funniest entries in any field guide I've ever read. Aside from the fact that it is highly scented and not altogether pleasantly so, a tea made from the leaves is reputed to have medicinal value if one can get past the flavour which, according to the reference and not validated by personal experience, "tastes like boiled sweat-socks." The scent is less pungent, but still carries a note which may cause your nose to wrinkle until you have accustomed yourself to it as one of the most recognizable odors of the backcountry. You might even find yourself saying, "Ah, the Valerian is in bloom!" before you've observed a single umbel.

Stellaria Graminea, Lesser Starwort

Day 313: Somewhere in the world, every weed is a wildflower. It is only when they escape their habitats and the predators which normally keep them in check that they come to be regarded as pests, or when the predators die off and the plants are free to grow rampantly.

Weeds can be divided roughly into two vague categories: invasive and non-invasive. Invasives are the enemy. In the absence of predators or diseases which would otherwise limit their spread, they are capable of establishing monocultures where little else grows (examples in the Pacific Northwest would include Scotch Broom, the Knotweeds, Himalayan Blackberry). We fight a never-ending war with invasives, but they are not the subject of this essay.

Stellaria graminea (aka Lesser Starwort, Grassleaf Starwort) is a member of the Chickweed family. It is a small plant, rather leggy and wiry, and tangles itself among grasses to go unnoticed until its tiny white flowers appear. It will not take over your lawn or pasture, nor will it poison your livestock or your children. The only bad thing you can say about it is that it may entice pollinators to its blossoms when they should be visiting native species instead, but it does not seem to do so to the extent that natives go unpollinated. Its five deeply divided petals (yes, five!) bring a small moment of beauty to the eye where it is found; non-native, non-invasive, a weed by definition, but a lovely one.

Eremogone Capillaris, Threadleaf Sandwort

Day 312: Following up on yesterday's post regarding the pronunciation of scientific names, I bring you Err-uh-MOGG-oh-nee?...Err-uh-mugg-OWN?...Err-uh-MO-gohn?...dang those taxonomists, anyway! It was a lot easier to say when it was an Arenaria. The correct pronunciation is Err-uh-MOH-guh-nee cap-il-LAR-is (Eremogone capillaris), and that's a lot of syllables for a tiny little plant to carry around.

"Threadleaf Sandwort" is a helpfully descriptive common name (aka Slender Mountain Sandwort). The leaves of this species resemble the needles of Douglas fir, although they are finer and much softer and form a mat close to the ground. The plants are most commonly found on the sandy volcanic soils of glacial moraines. It is easy to confuse them with some Saxifrages on initial observation, so pay close attention to the field characteristics of both the flower and the foliage. In particular, look for yellow or pink dots on the petals which will only be present if the plant is a Saxifrage.

Syl-LAB-ic Em-PHA-sis

Day 311: Pronunciation of scientific names is widely varied among amateurs and professionals alike, but some leave very little wiggle room if you analyze the sections of the Latin. A prime example is presented in Rorippa curvisiliqua, "Yellowcress" in boring and uninspired English. "Rorippa" can't be fumbled so badly that it's rendered unrecognizable, but "curvisiliqua" might tangle the most adept tongue unless you understand what it means.

At the altitude where I observed it, this member of the Mustard family grows in a dwarfed state. I might have recognized it immediately if it had been full height (up to 40 cm), but at Ghost Lake, plants seldom exceed 10 cm. Upon seeing a "little yellow flower," I bent over for a closer look. That was when I noticed the "curvisiliquas." When dry, the curved seed pods of Yellowcress (visible in the bottom image) split in two lengthwise to release the seeds (technically, they become dehiscent). The curved, ripe pod is referred to as a "silique," a word which implies a specific botanical morphology and explains what action to expect. In its own way, you could say that the Latin term dehisces verbally. When it breaks in two along its length, it gives us the seed words "curvi" and "siliqua," i.e., a curved silique. Thus the pronunciation is obvious: curvi-si-LEE-qua. Wasn't that easy?

Pink Elephants

Day 310: I thought I was going to have to buy a gallon of cheap wine in order to see pink elephants this year, but thanks to my botany partners Joe and Sharon, I found where they were hiding. Yes, this is the Elephant-head Pedicularis I mentioned a few days ago. It tends to bloom earlier than most of the other Pedicularis species. Take a close look at the individual flowers on the spike. The elephants' trunks are obvious, but do you see the floppy ears as well?

Interestingly enough, these plants are uniquely adapted to pollination by bumblebees, but not in the manner you might expect. The reproductive structures of this Pedicularis are hidden too deeply for a fat bumblebee to reach. In lieu of picking up pollen grains by contact, the bees hover near the flower and the vibrations of their wings causes the pollen to dislodge. Presumably, it is deposited by a similar mechanism as the bees progress from flower to flower.

A Record Abundance

Day 309: Given the abundance of Lactuca taking over the roadsides of Pierce and Thurston Counties, you'd think it was highly unlikely to fall under the category of "discoveries." I'm not sure I want my reputation in the botanical community to rest long on a weed, but as humble beginnings go, at least I have a toe in the door.

First off, I was sure I had two species since the leaf shape was radically different from specimen to specimen. I took photos of both, expecting to be able to sort them out easily. Finding it much more difficult than I'd imagined, I sent the images off to my contact at the WTU Herbarium. He replied, "You'll have to examine the fruit. Leaf morphology can be highly variable with Lactuca." He went on to say that he thought that my plants were all Lactuca serriola, and added, "...but Ben Legler reported Lactuca virosa in Lewis County." Off I went to gather seeds.

Upon arriving home with a selection of mature fruits from various individual plants, I put them under the microscope and compared them to images of L. serriola and L. virosa. The two are visually distinct, and my specimens all appeared to be Lactuca virosa. I sent the microscope image back to David at WTU and his enthusiastic reply made my day: "Thanks for sending the great batches of photos! As usual, these will go up on Thursday. Your images of L. virosa are the first ever for the Image Gallery. We have images for 2,863 species, so adding a new species at this point is quite impressive! The leaf and inflorescence differences between L. serriola and L. virosa are nuanced and largely indistinguishable. The fruits are truly diagnostic."

It's a weed. It's just a weed. It's my claim to fame at the moment, although something else much larger is in the works!

MeadoWatch

Day 308 (bonus edition): So what is this "MeadoWatch" thing I was talking about in my earlier post? Well, it's a program developed at the University of Washington to study the response of plants to climate change, particularly in the subalpine meadows where such changes will be most keenly felt. Participants in the program hike along specific transects, stopping at predetermined waypoints where they record the phenological phases of ten focal plant species. Ideally, the program will have up to three individual volunteers or groups of volunteers hiking each transect every day throughout the growth period to limit the error factor inherent in any research involving observation. The broad section of data gathered in this manner is then correlated in such a fashion that patterns can be tracked. Are the flowers earlier at a certain altitude this year than last year? Did snowpack persist later into the season? Are flowers blooming before or after the pollinators for their species arrive? MeadoWatch aids researchers by acquiring hard data from citizen scientists who have more time to spend in the field.

Ran Out Of Plants

Day 308: That's as far as I got. Then I ran out of plants. I might have pushed a bit further but for the fact that I didn't have sunglasses and the glare from snow can be quite intense. Besides, my duty for the day was only to conduct a MeadoWatch survey, but I just couldn't turn around at the last waypoint, not with more trail ahead of me. I decided to go until I hit snow, and as you can see, that's right where the "end of maintained trail" sign was positioned. I sat on the rocks for a while, talking to visitors as they came up, handing out wildflower brochures and information about the Park's volunteer program, delighting in the cool breeze drifting down from Paradise Glacier. I explained the demise of the famous Ice Caves and talked about climate change, and reminisced with several people who had been here decades ago.

I'd completed my MeadoWatch duties on the way up, charting the phenological stages of a dozen or so "target" plant species at 12 stations marked with surveyors' disks. I found very little Sitka Valerian, something which is normally abundant at this time of year, but was rewarded with meadowed slopes dappled with spires of Bistort and the occasional Paintbrush. I found an unusual colour variation among the Penstemons as well as several plants I have yet to identify, but no alpine lichens (much to my dismay). It was a delightful way to spend a day which in the lowlands would have been too warm to be comfortable.

Huernia Zebrina, Lifesaver Plant

Day 307: Earlier this year, I ordered a "Lifesaver Plant" from one of my favourite suppliers. It arrived with several of the smaller branches broken off and loose in the packing, so when I repotted the parent plant, I tucked them into a second pot and have been pleased to see that they all took root readily and began growing. However, I wondered whether or not I'd ever be able to bring this unusual succulent into bloom, and just a few days ago, noticed a single small bud emerging from the parent plant. I expected it to develop slowly, so was caught completely by surprise today when I rotated the pot and found myself being stared down by a huge red eye. At least two more buds are developing on other branches.

According to the information provided by the supplier, Huernia zebrina is easy to grow. I've heard those words too many times to trust them, but in this case, I have to say they proved true. Like most succulents and cacti, Lifesaver enjoys dryness between watering and full sun. Mine sits in the south exposure of my kitchen window where it gets absolutely baked on 85-90° days. Obviously, it's quite happy in that environment! Its blooming cycle is intermittent, and the "lifesaver" in the center of the flower is as large as a nickel; the points surrounding the center extend beyond the rim of an American quarter. The spines on the foliage are soft to the touch, not at all prickly. What a rewarding plant!

Where Ranges Overlap

Day 306: Where the ranges of two similar species overlap, it is always advisable to take photos from multiple angles in order to capture as many field characteristics as possible. This philosophy holds true for plants as well, but it is particularly important when trying to make the distinction between frogs. Two species occur between 2500' and 6000' with Cascades Frog (Rana cascadae) having a range of 2500' to 6000' and Spotted Frog (Rana pretiosa) from near sea level to 8000'. Red-Legged Frog (Rana aurora) also occurs up to 4700', but only rarely is found above 3000'. R. aurora was not a consideration in the case of this specimen from Ghost Lake at 4400' near Cayuse Pass, but the identification points discussed here will also help separate it.

It's often impossible to capture a froggie for examination and certainly not the method the frog would prefer. A few simple observations will allow the amphibian to retain its dignity while assuring the observer of a good possibility of a correct ID. First, does the subject have strong dorsolateral folds extending from immediately behind the eye and continuing to the hip? If distinct, you can rule out Spotted Frog. But suppose the object of your attention is almost entirely submerged in water? Note the orientation of the eye. Does it look out toward the side, or does it seem to have an upward tilt? Best determined by looking directly down on the frog in question, an upward angle denotes Spotted Frog and rules out the other two options. Likewise, presence of full toe webbing indicates R. pretiosa; partial webbing is present in both R. cascadae and R. aurora, but of course this requires a view of the toes.

Now it gets a little more technical. Often, Cascades and Red-Legged Frogs can be distinguished by the presence or absence of reddish pigment on the legs. D'uh! But since the skin of frogs contains photoreceptor cells which respond to light levels by changing colour over a protracted period of time, this is not always obvious. If observable, dark spots on the back will be distinct in Cascade Frog, somewhat blurry in Red-Legged, but these can be difficult to distinguish when your froggie friend is in "mud camo" mode. The colour of the tummy and throat can be helpful, but not alway. Absence of mottling distinguished Cascades Frog, but either species may exhibit varying degrees of mottling. Likewise, presence of a facial mask may or may not be easy to determine, but if it is distinct behind the eye and not speckled with light patches, your frog is R. cascadae. The light yellow, unmarked belly and chest on this specimen add to the evidence that it is a Cascades Frog.

There are other points to consider as well, and while it's always best to note each one, three should suffice in all but the most difficult situations. Happy frogging!

Lousewort Anatomy

Day 305: The Louseworts are in their best bloom at various times over the summer, but it's rare to find examples of every species during a single hike because they don't all flower at once. On July 29, I posted a photo of Bracted Lousewort (Pedicularis bracteosa). Today, I bring you two more: Sickle-top Lousewort (P. racemosa, left) and Bird's-beak Pedicularis (P. ornithorhyncha, right). As you can see, there is quite a bit of variation in the shape of the corolla. Pedicularis is characterized by having a double-lipped flower. The upper lip forms a hood-like structure called a galea, and it is this feature which supplies many of the common names by which these plants are known. Sickle-top is obvious: its galea is the "curl in the middle of its forehead." Bird's-beak has a pointy nose. Coiled-beak is similar to Sickle-top, but its "beak" makes a tighter coil and its inflorescence is more densely packed, and favourite of all, Elephant-head has a long and unmistakable elephant's trunk. The unique shapes of these blossoms serve a purpose: they restrict access to the plants' reproductive parts to specific insects. Upon discovering such an exclusive restaurant, the insects seek out similar plants where they can dine at their leisure without being chased off by other insect species.

Drymocallis Glandulosa, Sticky Cinquefoil

Day 304: Of a dozen or so species to be found in field guides under the name of "Potentilla" which are reported to occur in Mount Rainier National Park, at least two have been reclassified taxonomically to Drymocallis. While both Potentilla and Drymocallis still retain the common name of "Cinquefoil," they are genetically distinct; case in point, Drymocallis glandulosa, a "protocarnivore." As its scientific name suggests, this Drymocallis exhibits gland-tipped hairs (trichomes) along its stem and on its sepals. These glandular structures secrete a sticky substance which serve as a line of defense against predation by insects, but unlike the trichomes of true carnivores like Round-Leaved Sundew, the secretions produced by Drymocallis contain no digestive enzymes. Whether or not Drymocallis is on an evolutionary path toward full carnivory is a subject of much conjecture among botanical researchers, but its present morphology points up an interesting consideration: maybe insects won't take over the world. Plants are finding ways to fight back!

Exclusively Evergreen

Day 303: In western Washington, non-native blackberries are regarded in two conflicting lights. Property owners consider them a scourge because they overrun everything else and create monocultures which can completely envelop small buildings or form impenetrable thickets, earning them the nickname of "the kudzu of the north." On the other hand, home canners love the rich flavour of jams and jellies made with them, as do the people who receive the preserved products as gifts. Most of us have our favourite spots to pick, e.g., places where property owners have neglected to control them and have allowed them to create monocultures with more or less easy access. Boon or burden? Hard to decide.

I've done my part this year to limit the spread of the two non-natives (at least by seed), and yesterday came across a fencerow mound which was exclusively Evergreen (as opposed to Himalayan). In my opinion, this slightly drier berry produces a tastier jam, although you may have to pick a few more to obtain the required amount of juice. I managed to fill my berry bucket in 20 minutes, nibbling as I picked only the plumpest berries. One gallon of berries produced four cups of juice when processed, exactly the amount called for in my recipe. Since I did not filter the juice to clarify it but only removed the seeds, the end result qualifies as jam rather than jelly. The final yield was nine half-pints and "leftovers" sufficient for this morning's toast.

Evergreen Blackberry (Rubus lacinatus) is recognizable by its deeply incised, lacy leaves consisting of five leaflets which persist through winter. Himalayan Blackberry (Rubus ulmifolius, formerly Rubus discolor) bears a toothed oval leaf having three to five leaflets. The two species often occur together.

Marmota Caligata, Hoary Marmot

Day 302: The Hoary Marmot is one of more than a dozen species of Marmot which occur worldwide. Six species are known to occur in the US, narrowing down to three in Washington, one of which (Olympic Marmot, M. olympus) is endemic to the Olympic Peninsula and does not occur outside that range.

Visitors to Mount Rainier National Park may see either of the two remaining species, although Hoary Marmot (Marmota caligata, above) is the most common and may be found in the subalpine meadows around Paradise and Sunrise and up to 8200' in elevation. Yellow-bellied Marmot (M. flaviventris) is generally only found above 6500', and where the ranges of the two species overlap, they do not interbreed. Hoary Marmot is the larger of the two, sometimes attaining weights of 20 pounds or more as opposed to the smaller Yellow-bellied Marmot who tilts the scale at a mere 11 pounds as a full-grown adult. True to their common names, the Hoary Marmot's body fur is grizzled in colour, and the darker Yellow-bellied Marmot's golden yellow tummy will easily set it apart when it sits up on its haunches as Marmots often do. Both species' call is a shrill whistle. Marmots are vegetarian, and dine on a wide variety of forbs as they fatten themselves up for winter hibernation.

Spiranthes Romanzoffiana, Hooded Ladies' Tresses

Day 301: In the opinion of this observer, the spire-like inflorescence of Hooded Ladies' Tresses (Spiranthes romanzoffiana) is one of the most esthetically pleasing among the Orchidaceae. The common name derives from the braided appearance created by flowers ranked by threes in a twist along the stem, each bloom facing at an angle and all pointing in the same direction. This gives rise to a question: does the spiral always go the same way on every plant in the species? The answer is no, but what influences one to turn clockwise and another to turn counter-clockwise is unknown (at least to your narrator). What we do know is that the spiral arrangement creates a "stepladder" for pollinators which helps to ensure that each single, sweetly scented flower is visited in turn as bees and other insects ascend the spiral staircase.

Cat Day Kids

Day 300 (bonus): Skunk (left) and Tip (right) would like to wish my readers a Happy Cat Day!

Kitchen Music

Day 300: First order of the day...jam up yesterday's gleanings. Last year, the blackberry crop was the poorest I'd ever seen, severely inhibited by hot, dry weather. I'd tried four spots where picking was normally easy, but came home with less than a quart of berries. When I noticed that this year's were beginning to turn black and plump, I decided to strike at once. Since I was already planning to go to Eatonville to see the matinee showing of "Star Trek: Beyond," I loaded bucket, gloves and clippers in the car and left early. Picking wasn't prime, but I soon filled the pail. I juiced them as soon as I got home and let the mash settle overnight. After separating the remaining seeds out this morning, I had exactly four cups of juice, just enough for one batch of seedless blackberry jam. Soon, I was listening to the happy, tinny sound of "Plink! Plink! Plink!" as ten half-pints cooled on the kitchen counter. Not one to let anything edible go to waste, I spread the skimmed foam on homemade toasted sourdough bread for my breakfast. It was worth the wait!

Lewis And Clark

Day 299: A voice came through the brush, its owner rendered invisible by a screen of blackberry vines: "We're going to call this the 'Lewis and Clark' hike after this." Nisqually Land Trust Steward Charly Kearns had been scouting ahead for a route as the remaining seven of us edged along the muddy rim of a beaver dam. Charly was wishing for a machete. One of the team members passed a trekking pole forward and I took to whacking thorny stems as thick as a man's thumb. The "kudzu of the north" is one of the plants we strive to remove from our properties, but in this case, we were forging through timber company lands where invasives grow unchecked. I knew that there was an easier and much shorter way into Boxcar Canyon and suspected that Charly had designed this hike to be an "experience" in land management. It's not an easy job.

In spring or fall when leaves wouldn't have obscured the view, you might have gotten a glimpse of the canyon walls which confine the Mashel River here, but on this day, we pushed through approximately two and a half miles before arriving at a popular (and prohibited) swimming hole beneath an old railroad bridge where we could look directly up the gorge. The water was dark and deep where it cut through the rocks, and inevitably, litter lined the shore. The Mashel is part of the greater Nisqually River watershed, and thus falls within the definition of habitat the Land Trust strives to protect. Future acquisitions may allow us to restore the historic salmon run here, but for now, portions of it are still owned by timber companies and the Town of Eatonville.

The "Lewis and Clark hike" wound down as we strolled the last half-mile back toward Eatonville, munching blackberries as we walked along a disused access road. The sound of traffic on the highway brought us back into the modern world, perhaps a little wiser for the journey.

Luetkea Pectinata, Partridgefoot

Day 298: It's just one of those "little white flowers" you see all over the subalpine meadows in the Park, but Partridgefoot (Luetkea pectinata) is enchantingly lovely. Its common name comes from the shape of its leaves which resemble bird tracks left in snow or sand. The second half of its Latin binomial also refers to the leaf: "pectinate" means "having comb-like teeth." Interestingly enough, Luetkea is not classified as an herb, due to the woody nature of its rootstalk, nor can it be called a shrub because of its diminutive size. It therefore falls into the category of "subshrubs," plants whose woody stems and roots overwinter without entirely dying back. Many groundcovers qualify as subshrubs, and indeed little Partridgefoot often forms dense mats of foliage soon after the snow melts.

Eriophyllum Lanatum, Oregon Sunshine

Day 297: When a plant is said to be a "composite" (i.e., it belongs to the family Asteraceae), the term refers to the structure of the inflorescence. The blossom (a non-scientific and indefinite word) as we perceive it actually contains two different types of flower: ray and disk. In many cases, the showy ray flowers (usually sterile) surround a tight cluster of much tinier disk flowers containing the plant's reproductive parts. The ray flowers serve as attractors for pollinators. Oregon Sunshine (Eriophyllum Lanatum, aka Woolly Sunflower) is an excellent example of a composite.

When botanizing with Your Humble Narrator, you would find that I generally break subalpine composites into two categories: yellow daisies and purple daisies. Both occur at Mount Rainier National Park in abundant numbers and varieties. The field guides and manuals required to distinguish many of them would easily fill an expedition-sized backpack, although Oregon Sunshine's woolly, silvery leaves clearly set it apart from the rest.

Plants Playing Jokes

Day 296: As if identifying plants accurately wasn't already a daunting task, doing so without a flower is even harder. Plants may look quite different when their foliage is just beginning to develop or they are in the budding phase, and likewise when they have gone to seed. Sometimes you stumble across something so unusual that you're certain you've never seen it pictured in a field guide. Such was the case when I pulled up short to examine this specimen.

I never disturb my subject until after I have obtained photos of it in situ, and in any event, I wanted to capture the beads of morning dew, so didn't handle any portion of the plant for fear of shaking the droplets loose. While I danced around searching for the proper angle, I noticed several other leaves with the same strange growth in their centers. The plant was a lupine; that much was certain, but the structure in the middle puzzled me. It was certainly not characteristic of either a pod or bud of the species, but what was it?

Photos "in the bag," I examined the specimen more closely, and in that moment learned that some plants have a very warped sense of humour. I'd been suckered by the teamwork of a Sub-Alpine Lupine and an Avalanche Lily. Plants playing jokes! Now that's something no botanist should have to endure.

The Cousins Epilobium

Day 295: Once thought to belong to the same genus as common Fireweed, the Epilobiums were set aside as genetically distinct and were retained as the genus while Fireweed was removed to Chamaenerion in another of those taxonomic moves which makes almost all of your field guides obsolete. If this nomenclatural shift seems insignificant to my readers, please understand that it is the result of hard science and as such, has benefits which outweigh the inconvenience of learning a new name. If we are to understand the ecological niche in which a species occurs, knowing that it is distinct from another species or genus is vital in order to determine its relationship to other species/genera within the same niche.

Shown here as a demonstration of diversity within a genus, the four-petalled flower characteristic of the Epilobiums is easily observed in species such as E. glaberrimum (left) and E. anagallidifolia (right), but not so readily seen in E. luteum (center) where the petals are broad and overlapping. With a loupe, one might also note that each flower contains eight stamens. When in fruit, the Epilobiums form a long four-chambered capsule which, when it is ready to release seed and splits, releases puffs of silvery-white hairs to which are attached individual seeds. The tiny seeds are dispersed by wind, borne aloft and sometimes carried for miles before dropping to the ground.

Penstemon Procerus, Small-Flowered Penstemon

Day 294: When a wildflower occurs in a colour variation radically different from how it is commonly found, identifying it can be challenging. Small-flowered Penstemon is normally purple, so when Team Biota found numerous examples of the white form in an area where there were no purple ones, we had to break out all the field guides. White Penstemon procerus is not uncommon by any means, just a little unexpected when you've just left a trail where purple is the rule.

There are many species and subspecies of Penstemon in Mount Rainier National Park, in shades ranging from cream through pink, purple and blue. Single flowers are always trumpet-shaped, but the arrangement of them is variable: panicled, racemose or clustered in a whorl. Penstemon procerus (whether appearing in purple or creamy-white) and P. confertus (creamy-white or yellow) were once considered to be a single species. Even today, the "lumpers" argue with the "splitters" over whether a distinction should be made between the two, or whether the colour variations should be treated as subspecies. The point can be made that, for example, Nasturtiums occur in cream, yellow, orange and deep red, but the colours are not considered different species or subspecies. The inconsistency in the discipline is enough to make you want to throw your hands in the air, your field guides and manuals in the river, and go back to the simpler days when wildflowers were bunched under a generic name: "Oh, look! Penstemon!"

Ursine Idyll

Day 293: Team Biota wasn't the only party enjoying the meadows today. We happened on this family moment while driving out of Paradise late in the day. Cubby and mom were enjoying a dinner of wildflowers. The little guy was fairly independent, trailing behind his mother at some distance, but finally caught up to her in time to pose for this distant shot. I suspect mom is the sow who was hanging around Paradise Valley late last fall. Even rangers can't resist bears! We weren't the only carload of uniformed personnel who stopped to watch the show.