Pentaglottis Sempervirens, Green Alkanet

Day 208: Tiny bright blue flowers always command my attention when I am looking for invasives. There are a lot of species with similar blooms, and people generally dismiss them as "forget-me-nots," not understanding that they could be from different genera. Most fall under Myosotis, the true forget-me-not often cultivated as a garden plant despite being considered invasive. Then there are Hackelia and Lappula, both "stickseeds," both native, but thoroughly obnoxious as their common name might suggest. There is also Brunnera, another garden plant which is easier to control than Myosotis and touted as a substitute for it. And then there is Pentaglottis sempervirens (above, also known as Green Alkanet or Evergreen Bugloss), with its prickly stems and lush foliage which forms large clumps. It is a member of the Borage family, and is also invasive. I was not happy when I found it in a small park in Eatonville. All of the above produce flowers which are pink upon opening, and which mature to a bright, attractive blue. The flowers of each are followed by tiny burr-like nutlets which attach to socks and animal hair with a vengeance. This mechanism facilitates the plants' spread, and is another example of why it is important to "de-seed" your clothing before leaving an area where the plants occur. "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure," as the saying goes.

Lecanora Pacifica, Multicolored Rim Lichen

Day 40: If you are in the slightest way trypophobic, I apologize for today's post. My mother was one of those people who got the heebie-jeebies if she saw pinholes in paper or little bumps on the surface of something, so I'm sure she would have run screaming from Lecanora pacifica, one of the most common Lecanoras to be found in the Pacific Northwest. Perhaps fortunately for her, the disks of this species are quite small, i.e., 0.7-1.2 mm, demonstrated here with my handy-dandy measurin' stick for reference. Multicolored Rim Lichen prefers smooth deciduous bark as its substrate, notably that of Red Alder and some willows. In my area, it's most commonly seen on alder. The centers of the disks give it its common name; in any given patch, they may range from yellowish through black. Each apothecial disk is emphasized by a prominent rim of light grey-green. I think they're quite attractive, but obviously, I did not inherit the gene for trypophobia.

Mobile Home

Day 222: Look into the clear waters of the Mashel River at Eatonville, and you may see evidence of the good work being done by the Nisqually Land Trust upstream. Caddisflies and their larvae are sensitive to pollutants. Their presence is an indicator of water quality.

We called them "periwinkles" when we were kids, not knowing that the term actually applies to a small snail. Possibly someone's parent was misinformed and thus the error was spread to my generation of friends as one of those things learned from peers. In any event, the correction to my lexicon didn't come until I was an adult, and I still use the word in the full knowledge that it's being misapplied. Thus it was that yesterday morning, I went "periwinkle hunting" in Smallwood Park.

Caddisflies are members of the order Trichoptera. There are many species, but all their larvae build cases from small stones and bits of vegetative matter such as this one. Some anchor themselves on rocks and twigs; others are unattached and do their hunting from their "mobile homes." They eat algae, rotting vegetation and even smaller insects. In turn, they are eaten by fish, both as larvae and as adults. The fish are then eaten by fly-fishermen, who know that a well-tied caddis will sucker even the most wary trout. The occasional fly-fisherman may be eaten by a bear, but not sufficiently often to include them in a description of the food chain.

Please Don't Tread On Me

Day 221: I had some free time this morning while waiting for the library to open, so I took a walk through Eatonville's Smallwood Park. The park is boxed in between the Bud Blancher Trail and the Mashel River and the habitat it provides is fairly generic, i.e., salmonberry bushes, ferns, Douglas-fir and Western Hemlock canopy, Indian Plum and Snowberry understory, not the kind of place one expects to discover anything out of the ordinary. That's not to say it doesn't afford some surprises, such as this little garter snake. I think it's Northwestern (Thamnophis ordinoides), but I reserve the right to be wrong. In any event, he/she very nearly became a snake pancake by virtue of blending in so well with the leaf litter. In fact, when I first noticed it, it had its head buried under a leaf, making it look even more like a twig. Last night had been fairly cool, so my little reptilian friend was rather torpid. Even when I carefully teased away its blanket of leaves, it barely budged. I hope no one else follows that side trail until it manages to warm up enough to move out of the path.

Update: confirmed that this is Thamnophis ordinoides. Only Northwestern Garter Snake will show a red vertebral stripe like this one does, although it is a less common colour variation. Thank you, little snake, for being distinctive!

Tentative ID: Physcia Phaea

Day 101: Sometimes you go in pursuit of one thing, only to return with something different. Desperate for blog material, I'd pulled into Smallwood Park to see if there were any "garbage pigeons" (Bald Eagles) in the trees. Personal opinion of the species aside, Baldies are usually a hit with my readers, particularly those on the east coast where the obnoxious things aren't as common as sparrows. Yeah, there was one sitting in a customary spot, so I hopped out of the car and wove my way through the brush to a spot where I could get a clear view, but Eagle had other ideas. As soon as I stepped into the open, he flew off upstream. Still not feeling exactly well, I wasn't inclined toward even a short hike, so I headed back to the car. As I went past one of the boulders lining the driveway, a tight cluster of little black spots tugged at the tail of my eye. "Oh, some of that stuff," I said to myself, referring to something I haven't been able to identify, and was about to walk on, but for some reason, I did an about-face and took a closer look. Definitely not what I'd thought, and definitely not something I was going to dismiss without further analysis. I figured a few minutes in drizzle wouldn't kill me, so I snapped some photos and lifted a small specimen to bring home. I checked the other rocks on the way out. Nope, only on the one. Best guess? Physcia phaea. And now I know where it lives.

Leaf Litter, A Monochrome Study

Day 56: One definition of "hoarfrost" is "a crystalline deposit of frozen water vapor formed on vegetation and other objects at temperatures below the freezing point." It has been particularly lush during our recent cold snap here in the damp Pacific Northwest. It can take a number of different forms from fine needles to crystals resembling those of sugar "rock candy." It differs from "frost" only semantically; the term "hoar-" is appended when the crystals become more distinct than a thin film of ice. On the other hand, "depth hoar" occurs at the base of snowpack, building on existing snow crystals and frequently attaining much larger dimensions than "surface hoar." The word "hoar" derives from an Old English term meaning gray or old.

Waiting For Dead Salmon

Day 97: On my way out of Eatonville yesterday, I noticed four Bald Eagles perched in the customary trees alongside the Mashell River, two adults and two juveniles. "Yeah," I said to myself, "they've dumped another load of salmon carcases." Noble bird, my eye! These iconic birds are nothing more than glorified pigeons, scavenging whatever scraps they can get: dead salmon after spawning season, elk remains, garbage from the local landfill. I see them perched by the dozen in the trees alongside the dump almost every time I go to town. The clever crows or ravens can easily get the better of members of this rather dull species, one bird distracting the eagle while another steals its prize. The eagles don't seem to understand the concept of teamwork and cooperation, and if the metaphor of their gullibility and affinity for garbage was ever more fitting than now, I couldn't say when.

Big Blonde Sparrows

Day 98: My east-coast friends get very excited when they spot a Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus). I keep telling them, "I see 'em almost every time I go to town. Out here, they're like sparrows...big blonde sparrows." These photos show three out of the sixteen I observed in the space of twenty minutes. Two were juveniles, one near the confluence of the Nisqually River and Ohop Creek, and the other alongside Alder Lake. The others were in Eatonville, drawn by a "fish dump" of salmon carcases (a habitat-restoration practice) in the Mashel River, nine at Smallwood Park. Iggles, schmiggles...what's the big deal? I'll trade you east-coasters a half dozen for just ONE Chickadee who will hold still long enough for me to get a picture!

Late Chicory

Day 4: I had a little time to kill a few days ago and decided to go for a walk through Smallwood Park and along a short section of the Bud Blancher trail just to see...well, lots of things. My Shaggymane spot has overgrown with blackberries, popping the balloon of imagination which had mushroom soup on the night's menu. The trail was empty of Woolly Bears and the river had washed away the last of the caddis-flies' stone "shells." The lichens hadn't seen enough rain to be happy, although they seemed to be trying to muster a small bit of enthusiasm for the cooler temperatures and autumn overall. I had nearly decided to call my walk a bust, if a walk in nature could ever be called a complete waste of time, when I rounded a corner and found the single blue eye of a late-waking Chicory plant winking at me from the brush. That moment of colour drew me into its cheerful glance and transformed my mood into the sudden whimsy of its hue. Who says weeds don't have a bright side?

Boulder

Day 105: I've only managed to walk the Bud Blancher Trail once this year to date, largely because I don't feel like hiking in the rain and we've had very few decent days in January. It seems like my schedule and weather work at odds with each other, invariably a commitment falling on the same day as sunshine. That said, this nice walking route nearly always turns up something of interest, whether it's fungi, lichens, frogs or even a lonesome boulder on the bank of the fishing pond in Smallwood Park. I like rocks with personality, and this old fellow seemed to be waiting for derby day and the hordes of young anglers who turn out for the event. For now, though, he has no one to keep him company except the strolling photographer who thanked him quietly for posing before leaving him to his private thoughts.

Spotlight On Cladonia Bellidiflora

Day 46: C. bellidiflora is a fairly common Cladonia here in the Pacific Northwest, and perhaps its success is due to the abundant squamules which typically cover its podetia. Okay, I threw a couple of unfamiliar words out there and to save my readers from having to scramble to their dictionaries, I'll explain. A lichen's stems are called "podetia" (singular "podetium") and the squamules are the little leaf-like structures growing along them. These "leaves" allow the lichen to trap nutrient-laden moisture and conserve it in the dry season. "Apothecia" are the fruiting bodies of the lichen (in this species, bright red knobs). Cladonia bellidiflora is particularly showy, although generally, most people walk right by colonies unless the apothecia are readily evident and happen to catch a hiker's eye. It is one of several "lipstick" lichens you'll find in our forests, and in my experience, seems to have a preference for decaying cedar stumps and logs.

Eatonville's New Trail

Day 35: From working with the Nisqually Land Trust, I knew that plans were in the works for Eatonville to extend its trail system up into Boxcar Canyon and eventually further on to meet up with the trails in Pack Forest, but I was not expecting a new section to crop up almost overnight. As I drove into town a few days ago, I noticed a sign reading, "Bud Blancher Trail," and a parking area at the head of a sloping, gravelled path about eight feet wide. Rather late in the day today, I stopped and followed it until it crossed the Mashel, bringing me out at my favourite lichen stump in Smallwood Park. It continued on along the old road which I've walked many times, so in the interest of keeping my nose out of Jack Frost's reach, I turned around and went back to the car. Only then did I notice the map which showed this newly completed section following the boundary of Pack Forest on the north for another half-mile or so beyond Smallwood. I'll have to go back in warmer weather to explore that section!

A New Character

Day 25: My regular readers will have seen me in any number of disguises, some of which (Morgan Corbye, for example) have distinct personas. Most are recurring roles, but even so, not all are named. Lest anyone think I have a multiple-personality issue, be assured that almost every character is simply a closer focus on some particular trait of the "whole me"; a macro view, if you will, which only shows one portion of the greater subject. That said, the Beatnik is new, and was born out of desperation when I needed a costume I could wear while planting trees in the soggy soil of a wetland area. Long skirts were obviously out of the question, and I didn't want to spoil any of the items in the Captain's copious wardrobe. I'd gone zombie for last year's event because that was its specific theme. This year, it was open to the imagination.

After an uninspiring visit to Goodwill, I turned back to my own closet for ideas. When the black turtleneck surfaced in my t-shirt drawer, Maynard G. Krebs made a dash across my mind. I had the trousers and beret...what else did I need? Since I couldn't very easily work in non-prescription sunglasses, I dragged out an old pair of specs with a dark frame. A second trip to Goodwill brought the costume almost to perfection with the addition of a black velvet jacket, but during a dress rehearsal, I still felt that something was missing for the stereotype. And then I realized what that one item was.

It just so happened that several years ago, I mooched a handful of bearskin trimmings from a taxidermist to incorporate into a crafts project. I still had quite a bit left, so it was just a matter of selecting a piece which would work as a goatee and trimming it to shape. A combination of mousse and spirit gum worked to conceal the thick hide's edges, and once it was tacked to my chin, it looked like it had grown there. Of all the costuming I've done, this was the first time I'd ever cross-dressed for a part!

Frog Watcher

Day 34: One of the main attractions in Eatonville's Smallwood Park is a man-made pond approximately half an acre in size. This tiny pothole of water is stocked annually and is designated "Fishing for juveniles only." The wording makes me laugh. I've always wondered what type of bait is required to catch a ten-year old. In any event, the little pond usually gets fished out in the few weeks following Opening Day, but when the human anglers disappear, the real experts move in. Heron doesn't care if he catches a fine rainbow or a scrawny frog as long as it satisfies his hunger. I don't think this bird was having much luck, or perhaps he knew something I didn't. He certainly didn't want to give up his spot on the bank as I edged my way closer. His attention was on something, to be sure. I clicked my tongue and made squeaking noises to entice him to look up, but only succeeded when I quacked like a duck. He gave me a disdainful glare and returned to his task, only flying away when I got within about twenty feet.

Pacific Northwest Deciduous

 Day 25: While the East Coast revels in color in the Autumn, Pacific Northwesterners enjoy (if I may use the term loosely) a surfeit of earth-tones in the lowland deciduous woods. You'll notice I don't refer to Flatland's thickets as "forest." That is a word I reserve for the stately evergreens which dominate the mountain ridges from 2000' to timberline. There, by and large, the canopy is dense and the understory thin. That's not to say that there is no deciduous growth at the higher elevations. It makes incursions up stream and river beds, colonizes open space and puts up ramparts at the margins of forested stands. However, in Flatland, it grows thick and fast, and sheds a litter of leaves each fall which in turn support a variety of vines and brush, making cross-country almost impossible without a machete. The jungle-like tangle is a paradise for a wider and less specialized wildlife population than those species which inhabit the restrictive alpine and subalpine regions. Here, food is plentiful and protection from predators is readily available to small critters of all sorts.

That said, the deciduous Pacific Northwest is nothing if not brown in Autumn. There are some reds, but they are rarities amid blander hues. Yellows quickly fade into the murk of browns from tan to chocolate, returning to the Earth without flamboyance, without a shout. When fall comes, the lowland forest curls up quietly and goes to sleep, trusting the evergreens to keep things in line until the spring.