Crow's New Wings

Day 291: For the last six months or so, it has been becoming more and more obvious that my six-year old Accent was leaning toward becoming a money-pit. Its worst ailment to date affected its circulatory system, i.e., it suffered a nearly terminal case of injectorosclerosis and had to have a four-way bypass to the tune of a thousand crisp greenbacks. Although that fixed the immediate symptoms, others inclined me to think that the fuel pump would be next to go. I hadn't been as kind to it as I'd intended when I bought it, and I'd been compelled to make some inventive stop-gap repairs to the body as well. All things considered, we'd reached the point where I felt I'd be throwing good money after bad, leading into a probable cascade of events deleterious to my finances. Sometimes you have to spend money to save money, so after careful (if quiet) thought, today I entered into a lease and drove out of the showroom with a "symphony silver" 2018 Hyundai Elantra. There are no logging roads in its future, promise.

Monotropa Uniflora, Indian Pipe

Day 290: Monotropa uniflora is one of my favourite mycoheterotrophic plants. Okay, that's a hard call to make since I'm generally fascinated by all mycoheterotrophs, but there are a few which rise straight to the top of the list. Indian Pipe is one, for all of it being fairly common in PNW forests. It is relatively non-specific in its choice of fungal partner, growing where the mycorrhizae of several different Russula species occur. Other mycoheterotrophs are more selective, although that specificity does not necessarily mean that they are more rare; the rarity depends on the fungal associate, although conversely, an abundance of the fungus does not necessarily guarantee a similar abundance of the mycoheterotrophic plant. It's kinda like that old saying from the Depression era, "If we had ham, we'd have ham and eggs, if we had eggs." Or this one: "It takes two to tango."

IPC Bud Blancher Hike

Day 289: The Invasive Plant Council took a hike on Eatonville's Bud Blancher Trail today, which is to say that Program Coordinator Lisa Zander and I had a grand time hacking chicory, pulling tansy, documenting lactuca and knapweed in addition to subsidiary duties like visiting lower Mashel Falls, playing with frogs and taking a relaxing dunk in the Mashel River. We made a 9-mile loop out of it per Lisa's phone app, climbing on up past the falls to Pack Forest's road system, returning along the north boundary and passing through Smallwood Park. As for anyone else who signed on for the hike and failed to show up, you don't know what you missed!

Sparganium Emersum

Day 288: I don't think I will ever be able to think of Sparganium emersum without remembering how Arnie led me through the rushes and into a bog, not realizing that there was a trail only a few feet away. As we made our way out to the plant he was intending to show me, I took a mis-step and wound up sunk to the hips in mud while he perched on a log, laughing and taking photos for posterity. The Sparganium was a bonus. Even though it is a much larger plant than the one we were trying to identify, he'd completely overlooked it.

That's the way it works. Obviously, when you're looking at the broad overview, you stand a good chance of missing small details, but the converse is also true. Once you have attuned your eye to search for flowers only a few millimeters in diameter, your mind tends to dismiss larger subjects as unimportant. Once I've zeroed in on something and have set my visual and mental scanners to detect it, I could walk right by an elephant and not notice it was there.

Barren Wasteland

Day 287: I call it the Barren Wasteland: the ten-foot wide space between my house and garage. When I first moved here, I thought to turn it into a vegetable garden, working around the concrete and wood dead spaces which cover the pit where my water system's captive-air tank lives. Little did I know that nothing but weeds would grow in that soil...not radishes, not zucchini, and definitely not corn or peas or tomatoes. A few years' experiments with bush beans yielded rather sickly crops, so after several attempts at trying to draw blood from the proverbial turnip, I threw in the towel and let the Barren Wasteland go. Then one year I hit on the bright idea of making it a wildflower garden. I bought a mix of seeds "designed for the Pacific Northwest" without paying too much attention to the content. It came up mostly California poppies which, despite being pretty en masse, are undesirable for their tendency to go out of control and into monoculture. My vision of a rampant English-garden style space refused to go according to plan until I relocated a vigorous Rudbeckia to one corner, apparently providing just the "lift" the Wasteland needed to take off on its own. I even found that some of the wildflower seeds germinated long after they'd been sown, delicate Deptford Pinks shooting up here and there accompanied by orange Wallflowers and the occasional Tall Phlox from some prior point in history. I added Rose Campion (purloined from a friend's yard) and more Rudbeckias, even a wild currant. Little by little, the Barren Wasteland filled in. Today, it's far from barren, but the name persists for this "wild space" where colour now crowds out the weeds. I'm happy with it, even though I am still pulling California poppies.

Moocher

Day 286: I'm not convinced I have the right scientific name to attach to this critter, but I think it's Tamias townsendii. You can infer what you like with respect to the common name; I'm going with "moocher." The little stinker repeatedly tried to brave his way along the log to see what I was having for lunch at the south end of Packwood Lake, but as soon as I'd shift position or the light would glint on the camera lens, he was off like a shot. Admittedly, what I carry for trail lunch probably wouldn't do him any harm, but I'm conditioned to avoid feeding the wildlife, and it does upset me when I see people offering critters things which humans really shouldn't eat either. You know M&Ms aren't good for you, and those salty chips are going to put your blood pressure out through the roof, to say nothing of the nasty artery-clogging fat they were fried in. What makes you think you're doing wildlife a favour by passing your bad health habits along? Moocher got the lecture instead of food, not that it'll stop him from hitting up the next hiker.

The Joy Of Gardening

Day 285: Mmmmmm, such wonderful rewards! This is the second batch of blueberry muffins I've turned out from my three bushes. The two mid-season types accounted for the bulk of the harvest. Oddly, the self-fertile dwarf plant only put on about two dozen berries. I've also picked three nice Oregon Spring tomatoes and a handful or two of Sungolds. "As you sow, so shall you reap!" When you garden with love, you get good returns.

Llast Of The Llama

Day 284: The estimable Ogden Nash tells us
The one-l lama,
He's a priest.
The two-l llama,
He's a beast.
And I will bet a silk pajama 
There isn't any three-l lllama.

It's amazing how few people realize that the "three-l lllama" refers to a fire alarm..."three-alarmer"...but then, there is a large section of society which can't get two- and three-letter words right ("to" and "too," and gods forbid that they should have to rise to the challenge of "their," "there" and "they're").

Mr. Nash aside, I am done with my two-l llama. Even as I write, the third skein is hanging, weighted with a couple of bottles of water to stretch and set the twist. It's been a long time in the making, owing to the fact that a simple plastic part failed on my wheel, a part for which it took several years to find a supplier and longer for it to be stocked for sale. It was a five-minute fix once I had it in hand, slightly longer to find where I'd stashed the remaining wool, less than a week to finish up 503 yards (roughly 8 ounces) of soft, silky sportweight double-ply yarn.

Now I find myself in limbo between projects. The llama is off the wheel, the weaving is off the loom. More wool is due to arrive this weekend (a lovely grey Gotland from Swedish sheep), and four more cones of 8/2 cotton will be here before the end of the month, but for now, I need to find a way to keep my hands busy.

Scutellinia Scutellata, Eye-Winker

Day 283: "Molly Eye-Winker." Isn't that the most charming name you can imagine for a fungus with eyelashes? According to my sources, Scutellinia scutellata isn't uncommon, but I had never seen it until a year or two ago during a Team Biota foray, and not again since that time until I found it on the Packwood Lake trail. There were several dozen of them, as a matter of fact, growing on the end of a decaying log. These were the most developed, although they haven't opened out sufficiently to display the eyelash effect to best advantage. The next time you see little orange dots on rock or rotting wood, bend over and take a closer look. Molly may be flirting with you!

Native Nasty

Day 282: Being highly undesirable and very prolific are not sufficient criteria for a plant to be considered "invasive." It must also be non-native, and in this case, Toxicodendron diversilobum...good old Pacific Poison Oak to you...escapes the classification by being a natural-born citizen of Washington state. That said, I was surprised to find it at 3000' and miles inland from its preferred habitat closer to the marine shores of Puget Sound, so much so that I felt the need to confirm its identity and referred it out. It was not a typical specimen in any event; stunted, spindly, it even lacked the oily sheen one generally associates with the species. How did it come to grow on Packwood Lake Trail #78? I suspect it was carried in by horse, seed caught in material embedded in a hoof. Horses and dogs are common vectors in the spread of invasives and undesirables, including ticks. Livestock and pets are allowed on many trails in National Forest, as opposed to National Park trails where they are prohibited. There are many reasons why those regulations are in place, and weed management is just one of them.

Busman's Holiday

Day 281: It's been years since I hiked in to Packwood Lake, and I'd been thinking it needed a patrol for invasives, so I got my gear together Wednesday night, ready to hit the trail in the cool of the morning. I arrived at the trailhead at 8:30, and there was just enough chill in the air to leave my fingers feeling tingly, i.e., perfect hiking conditions as far as I'm concerned. The trail gains a little over 1500' in 4.5 miles, so gentle that in my definition that it might as well be called "flat." Add to that the fact that for the most part it is hard-packed soil with very few rocks or roots to trip over, and you have an easy, pleasant hike with a lovely reward at the end.

Or do you? I arrived at the lake in just under two hours, even though I'd stopped to take pictures on the way. I definitely did not feel like I was "halfway,"my customary criterion for turning back toward home. I eyeballed the far end...never been to the far end...looks like maybe a mile? US Forest Service is notorious for not posting distances, only nasty warnings saying that even day-use hikers must have a free permit (self-registration) or face a $100 fine. Permit? NOW you tell me I need a permit when I'm 4.5 miles in? There had been nothing at the #78 trailhead, but the #78 trailhead is not situated in wilderness. I had the feeling I'd missed something, so when two hikers came by going the other way, I asked them how the system was employed. They told me the box with the permits was further up the trail.

In hindsight, if I'd shot a waypoint to the far end, I probably would have turned around there and found some other way to fill the rest of my afternoon. As it was, I set off merrily pointed at the south end of the lake and expecting to arrive there after a little more than a mile. After twenty minutes or so, I found the permit box, but the end of the lake didn't seem as close as I felt it might have done. However, the feeling that I'd now fulfilled my legal obligation by filling out the permit and attaching it to my pack, I was determined to go the distance, however far it might be. Approximately 2.5 trail miles from the north end, I arrived at my goal. My proposed 9-mile hike had turned into a 14-miler. That's typical of Crow-style hiking: go until you're "halfway," take a five-minute break and start back.

The boggy south end yielded up a surprise: Myosotis, aka forget-me-nots, my invasive "score" for the day. At least I'd found something besides a couple of thistles. On my way back, a woman camper from California stopped to talk, curious about what I was so intent on photographing on the end of a log (a future post...patience, Grasshoppers!), and when she found out I'd been looking for invasives, she told me she thought she'd seen a small piece of Poison Oak. She continued back toward her camp, but was only gone for a few minutes, returning with the news that she'd re-found the plant and asked me to take a look. It wasn't typical of the species and I didn't feel confident in making a determination, but definitely sported the dreaded "leaves of three." I took photos and coordinates and have sent the image off to get a second opinion. It would be very unusual to see it this far inland in Washington, and especially at an altitude of almost 3000'.

When I got back to the north end of the lake, I took a somewhat longer break to dangle my feet in that wonderfully chilly water before starting the final 4.5 mile plod back to the car. What do rangers do when they're not working? Hike, of course! My "busman's holiday" was delightful, and now I know what's it's like on the farthest shore.

UPDATE: mystery plant confirmed as Toxicodendron diversilobum. I have never seen it at this altitude west of the Cascade Crest. That said, it is native to the state and therefore not considered invasive.

Pink Elephants

Day 280: Backcountry wisdom says that it's perfectly normal to talk to yourself when you're out in the woods. You should only be worried when you find yourself answering back. As far as I know, there's been no mention in the history of hiking covering the occasional visions of pink elephants after prolonged exposure to alpine meadows, but I can personally vouch for the phenomenon. In fact, after 174 visitor contacts at Reflection Lake, I deliberately sought them out in an effort to regain some semblance of sanity.

Pedicularis groenlandica (Elephant-head Pedicularis/Lousewort) doesn't seem to be as common as it once was in the subalpine meadows of Mount Rainier National Park. I used to find it at trailside quite frequently. Now I must actively seek it out where it occurs in pockets off-trail. Even when it's not in bloom, its lacy purplish foliage commands notice, highlights of colour in green meadow. The flower structure demands a very specialized method of pollinization, and is performed by an unexpected agent. As bumblebees progress from flower to flower, the vibration of their wings causes pollen to fall from the hidden anthers and thence to receptive stigmae. It is thought that this specialization helps prevent P. groenlandica's hybridization with other Louseworts.

Reflection Rove

Day 279: Reflection Lake is one of Mount Rainier National Park's most notable roadside attractions and as such, the lakeshore wildflowers take a beating from foot traffic despite being behind the numerous "no hiking" signs. Revegetation efforts have been thwarted by the masses of visitors who ignore the signs as they pursue their own agendas (getting a photo of the elusive reflection, picnicking by the water, wading or swimming, illegally fishing, etc.), most with no thought to the damage a single step can inflict in this fragile environment. Over the last two years, our Meadow Rover manager has asked for volunteers to patrol the fore-shore next to the road (the section which takes the most abuse). We don't have nearly enough people for the task, so after checking to be sure there wasn't a pile of paperwork on my desk waiting to be processed, I signed up for a Reflection rove yesterday. I spent five and a half hours pacing back and forth on the same half-mile section of trail, pulling visitors back from the shore and trying to give them some gentle education in resource management.

Most people tend to be cooperative after a moment of initial resistance ("It looked like a trail...I didn't see a sign...Just let me get this one picture...I'll be done in a minute..."), but inevitably, there is always one person who gives you a little guff. Case in point: the guy who had jammed his tripod legs into the leaves of avalanche lilies in order to keep the tripod stable. He didn't immediately comply with my request to move the tripod, but I thought I'd made my point and started to leave the site. I'd gone about twenty feet when something else from the scene registered in my mind. He had had a Gorilla clamp on the stalk of an avalanche lily flower to keep the wind from moving it around. Still willing to give him a few minutes to finish up and move on, I walked another hundred feet or so to the end of my somewhat arbitrary patrol zone and then went back. Sure enough, he had not removed the tripod feet from the leaves, and there was the poor little flower still held in the death-grip of the Gorilla.

As a representative of the Park, I must maintain my equanimity and professionalism when addressing members of the public, regardless of the murderous thoughts swimming 'round in my brain. While mentally placing this single-minded photographer in a similar strangle-hold, I took several minutes to explain the life-cycle of the avalanche lily to him. I imagine he thought I was being excessive. After all, there were thousands of other avalanche lilies in the meadow. But if everyone thought like he apparently thought, i.e., that one flower couldn't matter, pretty soon we'd have no flowers at all. Back and forth, back and forth, covering one-half mile of trail repeatedly, educating one visitor at a time. It's like those wildflowers. One may make all the difference in the world.

Invasive Bullfrog

Day 278: I would not have thought I had it in me to dislike a frog, but Rana catesbeiana (American Bullfrog) has given me reason to re-evaluate my position. No doubt about it, this invasive species is impacting our native frog population as well as populations of other amphibians. In fact, they have even been reported to eat birds. They are wary and fast, active and predacious both day and night, sometimes coming onto shore to hunt. Aside from out-competing native species, this exotic may also be a vector (host) for diseases which affect native amphibs. The good news is that they are primarily a lowland species. This large specimen was observed outside Eatonville. To the best of my knowledge, they have not been reported inside the Park.

Plying

Day 277: Happy to finally have my spinning wheen back in operation after months of waiting for a silly little backordered part (the footman-to-treadle connector, a flexible plastic rod 8 mm. in diameter and approximately two inches long), I had even forgotten that I had one spindle of tan single-ply llama wool already done. I spun up an approximately equivalent amount on a second spindle, and then settled into the less-demanding job of turning two single plies into two-ply yarn.

Right now, you might be thinking, "Why not just spin a single thicker strand?" The answer is simple: strength. When spinning, the twist enters the yarn in the direction of an S or a Z depending on the spinner's preference. In plying, two strands are spun separately, each with the same twist, and then are recombined as a double-ply with the twist in the opposite direction. In other words, two S-twist single-ply strands are spun together with a Z-twist. In effect, this untwists the original strands slightly and allows a few fibers of wool to become entangled with each other, binding the strands together and making a stronger, more durable yarn in the end. I almost always ply my yarns unless I'm going for a "novelty" look. In this case, the resultant yarn is a nice sport-weight, more work, but double the fun of spinning.

Pull To Ring Bell

Day 276: I always think of Eeyore and how his tail became part of Owl's furnishings when Tip sits like this, and I always say, "Pull to ring bell" as I sneak up behind him when the temptation proves to be too much. He's a good sport and joins the game, which then evolves into a tummy-ticklefest or other gentle play. I call him my "little soft cat" because he never savages my hand, holding back on claws or teeth with amazing restraint for a member of the feline clan. On the flip side, Skunk would have my arm off at the shoulder if I tried the same move with her. Cats are like people that way. Successful relationships are built on mutual understanding. You should respect their boundaries, learn their protocols, acknowledge them as individuals with distinct personalities and needs. If you're the type who wants your companions subservient and ready to bend to your will, get a dog.

Half-Baked Horticulture

Day 275: Contorted Filbert (aka Harry Lauder's Walking Stick, Corylus avellana "Contorta") is, according to numerous experts, an extremely difficult tree to propagate. Over the years, I've tried rooting it in water, heeling in (both using cuttings of new and old wood) and soil layering, but without success. I had considered grafting onto native Corylus stock, but this is not recommended because the parent stock is prone to suckering. Finally, I decided to go on line to see what those same experts could suggest, and found a consensus: air layering.

Okay, it's been many years since I air-layered anything (a leggy dieffenbachia, as I recall), so I went to YouTube for a refresher course. I could have pulled out a plant manual, but I was already sitting at the computer (I'm getting lazy these days) and I was curious to see if there had been any improvements made to the technique. The process is pretty basic. You strip a section of bark from a branch including a node in the section, scrape off all the cambium for an inch or so on either side of the node, treat the section with rooting hormone, pack wet peat or sphagnum around the wound and then seal it up in plastic wrap. Okay, got that. Nothing new there. However, one horticulturist recommended applying a layer of aluminum foil over the top of the plastic wrap to reflect the heat of summer sun. In the video's conclusion, he said, "And there you have it...baked potato on a stick."

Harry Lauder now sports three of the strangest fruits in my garden. It'll be a month or two before I can tell if this bit of half-baked horticulture will work.

Cooley Spruce Gall Adelgid On Douglas Fir

Day 274: Some forms of the Cooley Spruce Gall Adelgid (Adelges cooleyi) spend a portion of their life cycle solely on Douglas fir while others migrate from fir to spruce as the insects reach maturity. On spruce, an infestation of Adelges cooleyi may form unsightly galls on branch tips, but these galls do not form on Douglas fir. According to the Oregon Dept. of Forestry, "The conspicuous presence of woolly adelgids on Douglas-fir foliage and the galls produced by this same insect on branch tips of spruce generate more public inquiries than any other forest insect. In natural stands the presence of the Cooley spruce gall adelgid is of little consequence, but severe infestations on ornamental trees, nursery stock, or Christmas trees may justify control. The damage caused by this insect affects only aesthetics and does not threaten tree survival." Adelgids are more likely to occur on stressed trees than on healthy ones, as evidenced by this infestation on a young fir struggling for survival in rocky, dry fill. The white, cottony masses shown in this image are the waxy secretions produced by the insect which helps it adhere to the branch and affords it protection from other insect predators. A few unconcealed Adelgids can be seen here as tiny black spots.

Devil's Tower, Tolkein Style

Day 273: There's a long story behind this post, but the upshot of it is that I had a need to revisit this location today because my geocaching partner is still recovering from heart surgery. As much as he would have liked to make the trip with me, it wouldn't have been wise.

When I first started geocaching in 2005, it took me a while to figure out that everyone's routes and coordinates might not be the best. Typical of Crow, I didn't want to go around lifting up lamp-skirts to sign log sheets in film cans; no, I wanted to make an adventure of caching, to seek out strange new places, to get off the beaten path. One of the first caches on my to-do list was Sulphur Creek Falls. I made a couple of false starts as I tried to follow the cache owner's instructions, but it didn't take me long to realize that he was no woodsman. Nobody with any brain tries to go up a creek bed which is likely to be choked with devil's-club, or have piles of impassable boulders obstructing progress. On the advice of a more woods-savvy friend to "follow your own forest sense," I took to a ridgeline and then shot a contour directly to the base of Devil's Tower (the Washington version). Having found the cache at the base of a beautiful waterfall, I knew then that I'd be paying another visit. In fact, I made several return trips in the company of various friends...one from New York, and a memorable group expedition in the company of Kevin, another cacher, my caching partner and Indiana Jones. Oh, yeah...that'll take some explaining. Indy was a "travel bug," a little toy with a numbered tag, meant to be taken from cache to cache and logged in. We had fun photographing Indy on the trip.

Not many people were willing to make the trek into Sulphur Creek Falls for a single cache smiley, and the cache owner moved out of the area and abandoned the hide. After several years and many maintenance visits, I petitioned Geocaching to allow me to adopt the cache. They gave the original owner time to respond and when he did not do so, ownership was transferred to me. Then when I decided it was time for me to archive my other caches (not wanting to die with a legacy of plastic and metal left in the woods), I asked my caching partner if he wanted to take over from me. He readily agreed. However, he wasn't able to visit the site again, so I kept up the maintenance runs.

Recently, someone tried to find the cache and failed. For some reason, it came to the attention of Geocaching that it had not been found since 2013 and, despite my logs showing I'd performed maintenance every year, they saw fit to send Dan a "nastygram" last week, threatening to archive the cache unless he performed maintenance. And there you have the reason for today's trip...a hike I made in the cool of the morning before I'd even had my second cup of coffee. Not much to see in the way of a waterfall right now, but in the spring (the best time to go), it comes down those rocks in a veritable river. The hike is much easier now, too. There's a well-established trail once you get through the salmonberry thicket. Admittedly, you need to be second-cousin to a mountain goat to navigate portions of it, especially the last drop to creek level, but it's well worth the effort.

Dinosaur Chutney

Day 272: Black as coal tar, hot as lava! That's what makes dinosaur chutney my favourite condiment for meat. Originally published in some 1930s cookbook somewhere as "Abdul's Brigadiere Chutney," my mom's version became known as "dinosaur chutney" in our family because it looked like something you'd dredged up out of the La Brea Tar Pits. I have never been able to locate the source recipe, but I do know that it specifies that it should be made with mangos, although peaches are a very acceptable substitute. A batch lasts me several years because I'm not big on beef. Chutney is a way to mask the barnyard taste. It also goes well on pork or chicken, but it is a must for "luxury protein," i.e., dead cow.

A few weeks ago, I got hungry for red meat and broiled a steak. I ate half of it, smothered lavishly with dinosaur chutney, scraping the last tasty dregs from the jar with my finger. The second night, I intended to eat the other half of the steak cold, but when I opened the cupboard to get a new jar of dinosaur, I had a Mother Hubbard moment. No! I'm out? How did that happen? Fortunately, I still had pear-tomato chutney (best for pork), and was able to cover the bovine flavour enough to pronounce it edible. And then I started watching my favourite fruit stand for Yakima peaches, and yesterday, I scored. They weren't quite as ripe as I'd have liked, but that just meant I had to cook the chutney a little longer. A batch-and-a-half yielded three pints, six half-pints, one four-ounce and enough leftovers for a couple of steaks.

So...how do you make dinosaur chutney? Fyrst catch ye an dinosaure...

3 pounds of ripe peaches or mangos, chopped fine
6 cups of sugar
3 ounces of minced garlic
5 tsp. dry ginger
1 generously heaping Tbsp. chili flakes (I usually go even heavier here)
1 pound raisins
2 cups white vinegar
2 Tbsp. salt

Combine ingredients and cook at a gentle boil for at least an hour (cooking time depends on how much liquid the peaches put out). Test for consistency by dropping a little of the syrup on a plate. When it is cool, it should be somewhat sticky, but not quite jelly-like (yesterday's batch cooked over two hours to reach the right consistency). As an alternate test, the syrup should just barely fall in drops from a spoon turned sideways, unlike jelly which will "sheet" from the spoon. Only experience will tell you when it's right. Once the chutney is cooked to the proper consistency, pour it into sterilized jars, cap and process in a boiling-water bath for 15 minutes. Yield for a batch will be roughly 7-8 half-pints.

Moneses Uniflora

Day 271: Moneses uniflora (commonly called "Wood Nymph" or "Single Delight") is described as comparatively rare in Mount Rainier National Park, information which came as rather a surprise to me because I have encountered it in a number of locations over my many years of hiking. Ignorant of its status, I didn't take GPS readings or make any particular notes-to-self, so now it's going to fall to Team Biota to reinvent the wheel, i.e., re-find it in undocumented locations. I don't know whether to be embarrassed or amused at the oversight, but never again will I walk past it with the same casual disregard, "Oh, there's that one again."

Chasing Phantoms

Day 270: Putting this in perspective, the three people who make up the core of Team Biota are three of only six or seven individuals who have ever observed Phantom Orchids (Cephalanthera austiniae) in Mount Rainier National Park. Two others are Park colleages, and the sixth is a former Park employee and friend of Arnie's. The seventh observation was made before the Park was established in 1899 and only describes the location as in the "upper Nisqually Valley," a broad term which could refer to anything above the former town of Alder. That first sighting was of a single stem, as was the one made by Arnie's friend. Even Joe and Sharon have not seen as many stems as I have: a total now of 23 (14 in 2017 and 9 this year). You can't blame me for being a bit jazzed!

Yesterday, we found three stems in two new spots, although still within the 100' circle we feel represents the mycorrhizal network. One of the older plants was broken (possibly trampled by a certain young fawn of our acquaintance), another had the terminal buds nipped off. The specimen I dubbed "Bitten" last year has emerged this year whole and healthy, proving that its root system and mycorrhizal connections were undamaged. The lower flowers on several of the stems are beginning to open, and if you look closely at the image, you may spot a tiny aphid in the center of the lowest bloom. Are these what pollinate Cephalanthera? If so, I say hurray for aphids!

Mycorrhizal Associations

Day 269: While exploring a new trail in Gifford Pinchot National Forest yesterday, I came across several very dense pockets of Indian Pipe (Monotropa uniflora). After a little hunting, I found its mycoheterotrophic ally, a species of Russula. Mycoheterotrophic plants depend on a fungal component in the soil to break down nutrients into a form they can utilize. Some mycoheterotrophic species are more selective than others and may ally with only one or two fungal species while others are content to partner with an entire family of fungi. This is one factor to consider when searching for mycoheterotrophic plants: "Fyrst finde ye an fungus..."

The Jewelweed From Hell

Day 268: Honestly, this is not a huge jewelweed stem as adult plants go, but what makes it exceptional is the fact that it was growing in my lakeside friend Jim's well-kept yard, and fairly near the water's edge. As many times as I've sat with him at the base of his rockery, I don't know how I could have missed it. In any event, he invited me up for lemonade (his house sits about 40' above his dock), and as he walked me back down to my kayak, I spotted the plant. The killing instinct is strong when it comes to a few species, and I stooped on it like a hawk on a mouse, screaming "Aaaaaaagggggh! Jewelweed!" as I did so. Poor Jim must not have known what to think as I took hold of its 1" stem and began pulling, hoping to get the roots from under an overturned boat. I wasn't entirely successful, but deprived of its leaves and its remaining roots under cover, it's possible the plant will die. Jim's puzzled, "What is it?" gave me the opportunity to educate, and with any luck at all, he'll make his neighbours aware of this rapidly spreading invasive. I'll need all the help I can get.

Sundew Triptych

Day 267: Between weather and schedule, it had been a while since I got out and about in a boat (kayak), so my choice of destination was a given: visit the Sundews on Lake St. Clair. I thought I might have missed their blooming period, and when I arrived at Jack's dock at 10 AM, it seemed my suspicions had been correct. But wait...those look like buds, not pods. Could it be that I just need to wait until later in the day for them to open up? I took photos of the foliage and then paddled off to pull Jewelweed from one of the few pieces of shoreline I can access from the 'yak. Jewelweed is a nasty invasive. I'm winning the war on a 2000' stretch, but the lake is heavily infested, and I'm essentially trying to dip the ocean dry with a teaspoon.

So, bow full of jewelweed, I returned to Jack's dock about an hour and a half later. Sure enough, some of the Sundews' cute little shepherd's-crook stems had open flowers. Now that I understand the daily phenology a little better, I can plan subsequent trips accordingly. Currently, Jack's dock represents the only population of Sundews on the lake, but they are amazingly healthy. In fact, when I spoke with Jack and said I was checking on "my kids," he replied, "I babysit them every day!" Despite the fact that he calls them "those Venus fly-trap things," he realizes he has something special.

It was a rather social outing for me. My other lakeshore friend Jim invited me up for lemonade. We sat for half an hour, looking out over the lake from his porch, skirting any mention of the woes of the world the better to enjoy the peace of the moment.

Scouler's Harebell

Day 266: Delicate Scouler's Harebell is purportedly common in lowland forests, but has been reported in only a handful of locations in Mount Rainier National Park. Over the last couple of years, Team Biota has contributed three new sites to the list, and there is some evidence that the seed is being transported by road equipment. While this isn't a major issue when we're talking about native species, seed dispersal of invasives by vehicles and equipment is a widespread problem. Non-native species such as the Lactucas, Fuller's Teasel, Knapweeds and others "hitchhike" in mud and soil caked in wheel wells and other accumulation pockets on vehicles. When these areas are not washed out properly, the dried material and the seeds it contains can be transported for many miles before dropping off the undercarriage of its own accord. Innocent as it may be of any plans for world domination, Scouler's Harebell might not have spread to the location where this image was taken had it not been for careless cleaning of equipment, growing in abundance around the stem of a new invasive which may have been "planted" by the same piece of machinery. It's food for thought.

Chrysomela Aeneicollis, Willow Leaf Beetle

Day 266: Not what would immediately spring to mind upon hearing the word "beetle," the larvae of the Willow Leaf Beetle (Chrsomela aeneicollis) look like something from a science-fiction film. The adult insect is readily identifiable as a beetle, although its colour and pattern are highly variable and can range from black with red or brown spots through pale brown with black spots. The colouration tends toward the darker range as distance from the coastal areas increases. Both the larvae and the adults feed on willow species, skeletonizing the leaves by consuming the tenderer tissues and leaving the tougher vein structure.

Fame Or Notoriety

Day 264: Shortly after Arnie began his present tour of duty at Mount Rainier National Park, he jokingly assigned me the task of finding plants previously unrecorded within our boundaries. More than once now, he's had occasion to say, "I was kidding! I didn't think you'd take me literally!" when I have shown him a new species or a new location for a particular plant. Not all my finds have been joyous, though, and this year, my fame as a plant sleuth is verging on notoriety, an ungratifying turn towards the negative end of the spectrum. Earlier this year, I found our first Teasel, a nasty invasive.

Feverfew (Tanacetum parthenium) is my latest addition to the list of Park plants. A few days ago, I found a single specimen of this garden relative of Common Tansy growing in disturbed soil. I left it where it was, waiting for orders from Arnie when he returns from leave. Further complicating matters, the base of the plant is surrounded by roughly a hundred specimens of Anemone lyallii, a plant known to occur in only a few places in the Park. The Feverfew will have to be handled in such a manner that the A. lyallii is disturbed as little as possible. If that wasn't enough, close by, the alders were losing their leaves to Cottonwood Leaf Beetles and several young Douglas firs were coated with Woolly Adelgids, two more issues I'll be serving to Arnie's already-full plate. I am reminded of that old Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times." It's definitely been an interesting week.

Field Research Proposal

Day 263: Thanks to boots-on-the-ground by a Park colleague who found the sedge meadow, Team Biota was able to visit the mother lode of all Myriosclerotinia caricis-ampullaceae yesterday. At least 2000 specimens dotted an area roughly 500' in diameter. We now have identified it as occurring in seven places, but nowhere was it as abundant as the one where this photo was taken. At the three sites we surveyed, we found in excess of 2500 specimens.

The new data puts a new perspective on this rare parasitic fungus and begs a larger question: Could Myrio be affecting our native sedge population adversely? Although its host sedge appears to be abundant, we have no way of knowing if there is less sedge present now than in the past. To answer this question, we've put forth a field research proposal to Arnie to set up control plots at the site where Myrio is most numerous, count the sedge stems and Myrio present, and monitor them over a period of at least five years to see if the census changes. As research projects go, this idea would require very little (if any) funding from the Park.

Another discovery yesterday gave us a clue into Myrio's ephemeral nature. On several occasions, we had returned to one of the sites on two subsequent days, only to find that the cups which were present on the first day had disappeared by the second. This made us wonder if they were being consumed by animals or insects, or if they were being resorbed into the soil, or if some other mechanism was in place to govern their ephemeral nature. At one location yesterday, we found that the sclerotium (the anchoring button at the end of the stipe which holds the fungus in place) had detached from the sedge in multiple instances, releasing the cups into flowing or circulating water. Many fungi were being transported into deeper water by the flow. This observation might also explain in part how the fungus spreads, moving from one pond to another.

Questions! Every time we go out, we come back with more questions! At least this time, we believe we have a means to an answer: a field research project to monitor Myrio's effect on the sedge population. Of course that will raise even more questions, but that's how science works.

Biocontrol At Work

Day 262: Biocontrol of invasive species brings with it certain tactical issues and the need for long-sighted planning. If you introduce a predatory species to control the invasive, what is the possibility that the introduced species will develop into an unhealthy population? Will a species known to be attracted to the target invasive die out once its preferred host is gone, or will it shift to a new host and in doing so, become a problem in its own right? One of the best success stories I know is that of the Cinnabar Moth.

Cinnabar Moth larvae (Tyria jacobaeae caterpillars) are predatory on Tansy Ragwort (Jacobaea vulgaris, syn. Senecio jacobaea), rejecting most other plant species. They are hungry little buggers, and dozen of them can make short work of a three-foot tall specimen of Tansy in just a few hours. After feeding, they pupate and turn into adult Cinnabar Moths. The adults mate, but since they must lay their eggs on the host which the prior generation has consumed and that host is now absent, the critters have effectively eaten themselves out of house and home. It takes several years of the cycle repeating before the target is gone, but when there is no more food for the larvae, Cinnabar Moths disappear from the ecosystem as well. The larvae may even turn cannibalistic in the absence of the host, a self-limiting feature which makes up for the fact that both the caterpillars and the moths are distasteful to birds. A few may survive each year by shifting to a secondary host, but in the long term, they need a substantial volume of Tansy in order to reproduce effectively.

The Fruitful Garden

Day 261: I am excited! The flowers are fading on Hardy Kiwi "Issai," and little kiwi berries are starting to develop. I planted two vines just this spring, so I'm not expecting much of a harvest. However, the description for this variety claims that each vine is capable of producing up to 100 pounds (POUNDS!) of grape-sized fruit at maturity. I will be happy if they just grow to cover the trellis and provide me with vine-ripe snacks when I'm working in the yard. Issai produces a fuzzless berry with a flavour identical to that of full-sized kiwi fruit. Just pop them in your mouth and enjoy!