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.

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.

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!"

American Pipit, Anthrus Rubescens

Day 348: I like checking off new birds on my Life List and don't get many opportunities to do so because I don't travel. Therefore, I grabbed Peterson (where the List is kept) with great enthusiasm, only to feel somewhat deflated when I saw that I had placed a question mark and an "S" beside the listing. Pipit is a bird of the tundra; "S" stands for "Sunrise" in my notation system. The only upgrade I could conscientiously add was that I had documented the species with a photograph which allowed me to confirm a previous (if uncertain) sighting. Pipit ("Water Pipit" in Peterson, "American Pipit" in Sibley") was not a new bird for me.

This little character and his cohorts were staying ahead of me in a group on the Paradise Trail system, scampering along the edge of the trail, fluttering up to the summits of boulders occasionally where they made repeated, quick dips of their tails. That one behaviour was enough to narrow down the possibilities. Upon looking at the photo, I could pick out their field characteristics: the eye ring, the white throat, the streaking on the breast, the faint black smudge on the throat, the narrow and somewhat unusual bill shape. Yes, without a doubt, these were Pipits, and I'll let the authorities argue out the first part of their common name. And "pipit" was what they piped to me as they ran along ahead, escorting me on my hike. "Pipit! Pipit!" Sometimes even experienced birders forget to listen to what their little friends are telling them. "Pipit! That's me! That's me!"

Roving Crow

Day 347: I had a wonderful opportunity today to combine duty with pleasure and did a stint as a Meadow Rover on the Moraine and Nisqually Vista trails out of Paradise. I found plenty to keep me occupied, making 45 visitor contacts in three hours. It was a great day to be on the Mountain, with perfect temperatures, a light breeze and an impeccable blue sky stretched above meadows filled with heather. Life, ladies and gentlemen, is good.