September's Gentians

Day 341: There is a story I like to tell...not a myth, not a legend, just a story...about how Gentians got their color. As you may know, Bee is a creature of the sky, particularly the blue summer sky. Bee was given a very important task: to make sure that the sky couldn't slip away from the Earth and go somewhere else. This job puzzled Bee until he remembered the deep white cups of Gentian where he often gathered precious pollen in the autumn when all the other wildflowers were gone. "I know!" said Bee. "I'll take hold of the sky, and slip down inside a Gentian blossom. When the flower closes up at night, the Wind won't be able to pull the sky away because I'll be holding onto it, and the Gentian will be holding onto me." Bee put his plan into action, but when he woke up in the morning, he saw that the blue sky had stained the blossoms. That's why our Gentians today are blue.

Hikers in the autumn backcountry may encounter support for this tale by taking time out in their travels to sit by a patch of Gentian and wait for the "minarets" to unfurl. It's not uncommon to see a surprised Bee take wing from deep inside the cup where overnight, it has been trapped.

Whistle-Pig

Day 338: If ever a critter could be said to be iconic of a National Park, the Hoary Marmot would surely take first prize at Mount Rainier. You cannot hike alongside a talus slope or through a boulder field without seeing marmots perched on rocks, often sitting bolt-upright on their haunches. You'll hear them as well, giving the high-pitched, double-toned pipe which supplies their nickname, "whistle-pig." Able to dart away in less time than it takes to say "Wauhaukaupauken Falls," marmots often allow hikers to come within a few feet of their resting places, but please, don't approach the wildlife. They have long, sharp teeth and needle-like claws and, like other members of the squirrel family, are not as cute and cuddly as people might like to believe.

A mature Hoary Marmot may weigh up to 25 pounds. Some larger individuals have been reported. Unlike Pikas (another denizen of talus fields), marmots "bulk up" through the summer in order to hibernate through the winter months when their normal forage is covered by snow. Young are born in the spring. The photo, taken above Summerland in Mount Rainier National Park, shows a first-year juvenile.

An Abundance Of Geology

Day 337: Once above verdant Summerland, hikers enter a bleak terrain where trees do not grow, wildflowers are sparse, rocks are abundant and snowfields linger all year. Many would say that this landscape is ugly and boring, but in fact it is one of the most geologically-rich areas of Mount Rainier National Park. Here, ancient glaciers have scoured exposed domes and prehistoric lava flows have congealed into hexagonal columns of andesite which tower above the rugged floor of the landscape, and metamorphic processes are in evidence at every turn. One of these processes was what engaged my interest on this day: a matrix studded with quartz-filled vesicles known as amygdules poised somewhere between Summerland and the spine of Panhandle Gap.

My attention had been caught by this marvel of geology over forty years ago when I passed through the area for the first time during a hike of the Wonderland Trail. A rockhound then, I was intrigued but not sufficiently resourced to track down the mechanism which created it. Like my specimen of diaspore, this phenomenon went on the shelf (mentally, if not physically) for future analysis. Recently, it was brought to my attention again by one of our Park geologists who not only explained the origin of amygdules, but posed a challenge to seek them out below Panhandle Gap. Since I already had a speaking acquaintance with the rock in question, it seemed only logical that I should be first to meet the challenge. However, the ointment had two flies in it: weather, and the busy Labor Day weekend.

I am a morning person by nature. Holiday or not, I knew I could find parking at the trailhead if I arrived early enough. I rose at 3:30, drove two hours, hiked the first mile of the trail by headlamp and thus managed to be well ahead of the hordes. After fiddling around at Summerland for a while, I headed on up into amygdule country and once on site, took measurements and calculated strain ratios to determine how much the lava had been stretched as it cooled. I am pleased to announce that my conclusions met with the geologist's approval when I submitted them yesterday evening.

Then, because it was September Morn, I continued on to Panhandle Gap, one of my favourite places in the Park, bleak though it may be. I spent an hour there before a pair of hikers came through...and then another and another and another...and then I realized it was time to leave. Holiday notwithstanding, I'd managed to capture several hours of precious solitude, and I'd learned something in the process. What good will it ever do me? Probably none, but I have the immense satisfaction of knowing that now if I ever need to hold forth on the subject of amygdules, I can do so convincingly and correctly.