Corallorhiza Trifida, Northern Coralroot

Day 222: An unexpected call took me out in the field with my botany partner Joe yesterday. He'd found three more stems of Corallorhiza trifida, the plant I had failed to find last week. Trifida is a member of the Orchid family, and is one of our favourites. While it is not scarce enough to be considered rare, it is definitely uncommon. We know it from only three locations in Mount Rainier National Park, all with the same soil regime, and likely associated with the same mycorrhizal component. The plant is a partial mycoheterotroph. It does contain chlorophyll, and therefore is capable of independent photosynthesis. The role of the fungus in its life cycle is not clearly understood, but given the soil type and its associate plants, it seems likely that the fungus is acting to release some nutrient vital to C. trifida's survival. We have noted that in years when mycorrhizal activity is low due to drought or other factors, fewer of these orchids appear. Others with a wider range of mycoheterotrophic partners are less affected. Oh, for another twenty years to live, and a team of researchers at hand!

Corallorhiza Trifida, Northern Coralroot

Day 228: Northern Coralroot (Corallorhiza trifida) is listed as rare in Mount Rainier National Park. Much smaller than its relatives Western and Spotted Coralroot (C. mertensiana and C. maculata), it can be extremely difficult to see in the deep forests it prefers. A full-grown stem will seldom exceed 8" in height. This tiny orchid is partially mycoheterotrophic by virtue of containing some chlorophyll, which is to say that it is incapable of complete photosynthesis on its own, and therefore must rely on specific mycorrhizal (fungal) components in the soil to facilitate the uptake of nutrients. All Coralroots are mycoheterotrophic, however, the different species depend on different fungi.

In years past, my botany partners and I have recorded as many as 23 stems in a single season over three known locales. So far in 2019, we have observed exactly ONE. I believe this fluctuation in the census represents the overall health of the mycorrhizal system, i.e., the presence or absence of moist, warm conditions during the period of winter dormancy. If conditions are not right for the mycorrhizae, the plants will not emerge. Ironically, we are seeing C. mertensiana and C. maculata emerging earlier than normal. It remains to be shown whether their numbers will be greater than average as the season progresses.

Not Asparagus

Day 210: Other than my usual meanderings-around, today was my first real field day (albeit rather damp) looking for rare plants this year. Erupting three weeks later than they did in 2017 due to late-lying snow, nine Corallorhiza trifida stems made their appearance at the location I call "Three-Quarter Mile." None were seen in either of the remaining two customary pocket ecologies, but eight of these were in the "asparagus" stage of early development. The solitary blooming specimen was shorter than average at approximately 4". Warmer temperatures are projected for the weekend, so the buds should be fully open in about 10 days.

Corallorhiza Trifida

Day 221: For the last two weeks or so, I have been monitoring three sites in the hopes of seeing Corallorhiza trifida, rare at Mount Rainier National Park. We discovered it two years ago and thought we'd hit the jackpot with a total of four specimens; at that time, it had not been observed in the Park since 1999. In 2016, my two botany partners and I made a concerted search for the species and turned up a whopping sixteen. In the vernacular, we were "over the moon!" Until yesterday, my 2017 total was again sixteen, all found while searching alone for threads of green no larger or longer than the lead in a standard pencil. It's slow work. Every footstep must be taken with enormous caution not to crush what might be a one-inch stem barely visible above the carpet of moss. Yesterday, Team Biota (the three of us) took to the woods again. When we emerged, we had surpassed the 2016 record by four specimens. Twenty! Only a few stalks bore open flowers, but a few more days of warm weather will bring out the remainder. Team Biota's first day in the field also turned up a new site for our favourite Liverwort as well as a slime mold I've referred to an expert for identification.
UPDATE: Joe went back up alone today and found three more, two in new locations and one at a site where we hadn't seen any yet this year. Twenty-THREE!

A Field Trip To Trifida

Day 197: Today, I had the delightful experience of taking the Park's Plant Ecologist Arnie Peterson on a field trip to see Corallorhiza trifida. After visiting the first site, we decided to hike the second trail despite impending rain. I had a little trouble relocating the specimen, but after backtracking fifty yards or so, I spotted it. At both sites, I had a little fun with Arnie, stationing him within a few feet of the plant and challenging him to find it. At the second site, I had to give a few hints: "About eight feet away...one o'clock from the maculata..." before he saw it. On the way back down, I stopped abruptly and turned to face him. "We're blind as a couple of bats," I said. Met with a blank look, I pointed. Two feet from the trail was a cluster of seven with one single off to the side. We'd walked right past them! It was a huge thrill for both of us.

We made another stop before returning to Longmire, and were equally baffled by a composite which had been brought to my attention by a colleague. The flowers were closed, but her photos had given enough detail to rule out several things, but even the expert was stumped. I had to chuckle when Arnie said, "I'm going to have look at all my books with pretty pictures of plants for that one."

My last surprise of the day was quickly snatched and pocketed with no restrictions on its harvest. Two nice morels followed me home to be turned into cream of morel soup. Mmmmmmm, yummy!

Penny Perspectives - Corallorhiza Trifida, Northern Coralroot

Day 193: One of the most rare species of Coralroot to be found in Mount Rainier National Park, Corallorhiza trifida is elusive not only for its scarcity, but for its size and colour. As you can see in this Penny Perspective, its greenish flowers are quite tiny, making it easy to miss in the shady locations it prefers. It appears in the spring, generally before the more common Coralroots. The Corallorhizas are partial mycoheterotrophs, i.e., they only exist where certain fungi are present in the soil. In years when those fungi are abundant, the plants emerge in greater numbers.

Day Of The Trifidas

Day 199: I couldn't resist the play on John Wyndham's apocalyptic novel, "Day of the Triffids." I think of the book every time I say "Corallorhiza trifida."

My enthusiasm for this rare Coralroot has become widely spread, now involving members of the Native Orchid Society and an assortment of botanists, some of whom will be making field trips to the site before this ephemeral beauty fades. It occurred to me yesterday to suggest an after-work expedition to my good friend and supervisor, Kevin. Despite a few sprinkles, we stopped on the way home to take some photos and then went orchid-hunting. We managed to turn up two more specimens near to the first, bringing the total to three and a stem. However, I failed to predict the next course of events.

My photos from that late-day session were uniformly bad. I'm struggling with the technique involved in shooting macros with an add-on lens, and low light is always an issue with my camera. Consequently, I waited until I knew the sun would be penetrating the dense overstory at the site, and made a return trip at 10 AM this morning.

First, let me explain these two photos. Other than adjustments to contrast and the depths of highlight and shadow and some minor cropping, they have not been altered. They demonstrate what occurs in the "sun-fleck" forests in which species such as these thrive. In one second, a plant and its surroundings may be fully illuminated by a ray of sunlight. In the next, it may go as dark as the proverbial London coal-hole at midnight. Throughout the day, this shifting of light creates a unique microecology. Plants entirely dependent on sunlight for photosynthesis cannot survive here; often, you will see nothing but evergreen needles and twigs on Pacific Northwest forest floors. However, the mycoheterotrophic species (obligate or partial) require very little sunlight. It is in the deep forest ..."sun-fleck" forest where competitive species would die ... that you will find them.

So, lesson done, here's the story. I arrived at the parking pull-out and pulled up in front of another vehicle. I knew that one botanizing friend was planning to come down to make another observation of our little pet rarity, and noting that the car looked vaguely familiar, I assumed it was his. However, when I arrived at the site of the Corallorhizas, no one was there. Figuring that he had gone for a longer hike, I settled in to capture C. trifida on digital film.

I took up my customary position and had been flopped on the forest floor, camera clenched tightly in my fists, for half an hour or so when a fir cone hit me on top of the head. I cast a glance upward for a squirrel, but saw nothing. Not to be distracted, I went back to taking pictures. A minute or so later, I was pecked on the head by another cone. I brushed at my hat despite the fact that the cone had bounced and landed in the duff. A few seconds later, I got hit again. I looked up and swore at the squirrel, but still didn't budge from my task. Then a mischance cone tagged me at the corner of my eye. Now grumbling audibly and volubly, I pulled my hat down and, as is my usual wont, continued giving verbal posing instructions to the specimen of C. trifida before my lens.

But that bloody squirrel was not letting up! I kept getting pelted with cones, twigs and bits of debris, but I am imperturble when bent upon a goal and didn't flinch. I remained belly-flopped on the ground, talking to the light, the flower, the rocks, the roots, the camera and anything else I felt needed addressing.

Five or ten minutes passed while I endured a continuing barrage and then, thinking to get some shots of the second new specimen, I started to get up. My eyes travelled to the trail above me where I saw first a pair of legs in uniform trousers and then Kevin's laughing face. I have no idea how long he may have been there, nor how he managed to sneak up on me without my hearing his approach.

Kevin, bless his heart, has been infected with my enthusiasm for this botanical marvel, our little Corallorhiza. He had returned prepared to take photos himself, using far better equipment than I have in my arsenal, and had spent an hour doing just that before I arrived. That said, I am forced to admit that although I may and do consistently recollect rocks and trees I've met only once, I had gone up the trail without recognizing Kevin's car despite the fact that I ride in it regularly.