Rob and Mike at Reflection Lake

Day 261: Yesterday was Rob and Mike's last full day here, so we went on a whirlwind tour of the west side of Mount Rainier National Park, hitting iconic sites such as Christine Falls and Reflection Lake (above). Even at 8:30 AM, the parking lot at Paradise was jam-packed and people were already parking a mile down the Valley Road, but I had expected that. Visitation to the Park has grown exponentially since covid. We walked the loop at Box Canyon, took photos of the Mountain from several spots, including Backbone Ridge which was our turn-around point. Rob was intrigued by the engineering, particularly of the stone bridges which occur throughout the Park. Mike (an avid gardener) and I talked botany while Rob studied bolts and welds. A brief visit to the Longmire gift shop finished the tour except for a stop at Kautz Creek and again at the Nisqually Entrance which they had not yet seen (I'd brought them in through the "employee" gate), and of course Rob took photos of the arch framing the entrance. We stopped at home for an hour or so, and then it was off in a different direction to have Chinese food after viewing Mossyrock Dam from both sides. It was a long day for us all, but hopefully, it will have been an unforgettable experience for them.

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.

Sickletop Lousewort, Pedicularis Racemosa

Day 288: I find the Louseworts to be intriguing for the wide range of flower shapes exhibited within the genus. Some are vaguely reminiscent of snapdragons. Some are beaked, including one which takes it so far to the extreme that the flower resembles a tiny purple elephant face, the trunk curving gently upward. Sickletop puts me in mind of a poem from my childhood: "There was a little girl / Who had a little curl / Right in the middle of her forehead. / When she was good / She was very, very good / But when she was bad / She was horrid." Sweet Sickletop, of course, is the good girl in the verse, and I've never seen her naughty. In fact, she's rather shy, nodding beneath her leaves when other Louseworts show off their flowers on a spike. Eight species of Pedicularis can be found in Mount Rainier National Park. Look for them in subalpine meadows.

Blue Ribbon Winner

Day 282: As far as I am concerned, Mountain Bog Gentian (Gentiana calycosa) takes the prize for "blue." Normally emerging as one of the last flowers of the season, they are already appearing in the subalpine zone, dotting the meadows like bits of shattered sky. Bumblebees in particular are drawn to them. It's not uncommon for early-morning hikers to see fat, fuzzy bees emerging from the cups of the flowers after having had an unintentional "sleep-over" inside.

In this photo, you can see a furled flower at the one-o'clock position. The blossoms close at night or when the sky clouds over and rain threatens, and bees frequently find themselves trapped inside until the flower opens up again. A canny observer may hear buzzing among the buds when first light comes to the meadows and the bees begin struggling to throw off their "blankets," wanting to be out and about, collecting pollen. That said, I can't think of a better place for a Bumblebee to shelter from the rain than under a tightly furled sky-blue umbrella.

Canby's Lovage, Ligusticum Canbyi

Day 279: I am embarrassed to admit that had it not been for a friend who is a botanist, I would have passed by Canby's Lovage without as much as a nod in its direction. Of the two Lovages found in Mount Rainier National Park, Canby's is much less common than Gray's, and both occur in the subalpine zone. But who pays attention to white umbels when the meadows are filled with Sitka Valerian? Fortunately, my friend is a good observer. She alerted me to the presence of Canby's at Reflection Lake where undoubtedly, I've walked past it dozens of times before.

Canby's Lovage may be distinguished from Gray's by a more dense umbel of 15-30 rays terminating in smaller umbelets as opposed to an umbel of 7-10 rays, and the presence of one or two leaflets on the stem (insert). Gray's occasionally bears one leaflet, but the stem is usually leafless. Despite being less common than Gray's which is only present above 5000', Canby's Lovage can be found at somewhat lower elevations (4000'). The upper range of 7000' is the same for both species.

Gentiana Calycosa, Mountain Bog Gentian

Day 278: One of the highlights of yesterday's botanizing trip was finding Gentiana calycosa already in bloom. Normally this late bloomer heralds the end of the season, not emerging until September. Like so many other wildflowers this year...

"Wait a minute, Crow...isn't Gentian supposed to be blue?"

Ah, you caught that, did you? Indeed, your typical Mountain Bog Gentian is one of the bluest things you'll ever see, but occasionally, a white individual crops up. This is not a faded plant, as you will readily note if you observe the buds beside the open flowers. Nor is it a different species. It is an uncommon colour variation of the Gentian you know and love. Dusty rose-pink specimens occur even more rarely. Hikers in Gentian country are more likely to find the "bleached denim" variation, a washed-out blue.

Like so many other wildflowers this year, the Gentians are ahead of schedule by about six weeks. Already, wildflower season has passed its peak in Mount Rainier National Park. What will the meadows look like in late August? And what does this early season portend for the pollinators, many of which are species-specific? Will they die off? Or is it possible that our written history fails to show the broader picture, omitting observations of species in similar times of stress? Will they shift to another plant, or will only the hardiest survive? Each question we ask raises dozens more. This is a fascinating time to be a naturalist, for sure, but also an unsettling one.

Textbook Specimen

Makeup Day 9: With my eye on the goal of Pinnacle Peak saddle, I walked right past this field-guide specimen of Amanita muscaria and only noticed it as I came down the last few steps of the trail before reaching the Stevens Canyon Road. Only once before have I found such a picture-perfect example, and that one fostered the name my husband and I gave to his grandparents' ranch when we inherited it. "Toadstool Acres" was what we called our place, and the photos I took during the late autumn before we moved in became the centerpiece of our Christmas cards that year. Nowadays, I laughingly call this species the "Mario mushroom," and it is easily one of the most widely recognized fungi in the world. The old hippies among my readers will remember it by its reputation as a hallucinogen, a detail which led quite a few members of that era to experiment with it despite the very high potential for incurring liver damage from ingesting the alkaloids. Although not deadly in the short term like its cousin, Amanita phalloides, this pretty little toadstool will get you in the end.

Classic Tourist Shot

Day 330: Summer is winding down. There's a nip in the morning air even in Flatland, and the sky is taking on that blue shade which typifies September on the Mountain. The wildflowers have mostly had their fling and are now husbanding their energies to survive the long months of cold and snow.

This is the time of year I love best. Soon, you'll be hard pressed to find a mosquito in the backcountry. The gentians will come, last flower of the season, blue cups capturing the sky within their depth. It is a glorious time to be in the mountains, September. Go, and get their good tidings, as John Muir once advised.