Yelm Weeds

I don't get out a lot these days, mainly because of gas prices, but when I do, I try to pack as much into my "out" time as possible. In this case, I had business in Yelm yesterday, so threw my bicycle in the car with the intention of riding the extension of the Yelm Prairie Line Trail and picking up a few geocaches on the way. It was a lovely morning for it: cool at last, even a little sprinkly for a second or two at a time, and the ride didn't take as long as I'd expected (yes, I found all the caches I'd put on my list). With time still left to kill, I decided to go for a walk in a little "pocket park" which has occasionally yielded up some interesting botanical finds. I hadn't walked fifty feet before I spotted these two plants. The leaves of the top one suggested "geranium" to me (wrong!), so I took photos of it, figuring it to be a weed. Likewise, the pink one was undoubtedly a weed as well, but it was new to me, so pictures were in order. When I got home, I put both in my photo files captioned "Identify" and then went to work with the field guides. As it turned out, the "geranium" was a Malva (mallow): Malva neglecta, aka Dwarf Mallow. The pink one was a little more difficult to narrow down to Erodium cicutarium, Common Stork's-bill or Red-stem Filaree. I should have known. Many years ago, I identified it as such in a different location. I added the photos to the Burke Herbarium's image collection, bringing my total photos to 246 covering 138 different taxa. Turned out to be a pretty good day!

Polycauliona Polycarpa

Day 190: I liked this lichen when it was Xanthoria polycarpa, but then the taxonomists got hold of some research showing that it wasn't actually a Xanthoria and needed a different name. They dubbed it Polycauliona polycarpa, and now I like it even more because that's just so much fun to say: "Polly-collie-own-a," as if your parrot was trying to tell you it had adopted a dog, but couldn't quite get the words in the right order. Anyone who has hadd a parrot or macaw companion has likely experienced the issues birds have with English grammar structure (sidebar: my mother's parrot Turkey used to sing "Happy birthkey, dear Turkday!"). In any event, however delightful "Polycauliona" is to pronounce, it still tends to slip my mind when I see it on a tree, and although I remember that it's no longer "Xanthoria," its new name tends to elude me. Its new name tells me nothing which would assist with field identification other than the fact that it is very fruitful (meaning it has a lot of apothecia, i.e.,  the little round disks filling much of the central portion of this specimen). When it was Xanthoria, I could assume it was yellow (xanthous). However, the human mind being the strange thing it is, wandering off to form wild connections in its recesses, perhaps I can remember "Polycauliona" by associating it with Turkey, a Yellow-naped Amazon.

Burdock, Arctium Sp.

Day 189: Two species of Burdock are known to occur in western Washington, Arctium lappa (Greater/Great Burdock) and Arctium minus (Lesser/Common Burdock). Both are introduced species and are considered invasives. As one might expect from the name, Common Burdock is the most frequently seen of the two. Both species have thick, strong taproots which, if you've ever tried to dig one out, you'll have discovered is anchored near its geographically antipodean point. The hooked burrs of this plant were the inspiration for Velcro, and anyone encountering the fresh or dry plant should take pains to "de-seed" themselves before leaving the area. Green burrs may mature off the plant wherever they happen to detach from an unwitting carrier.

Killdeer, Charadrius Vociferus

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Day 188: With gas prices being what they are ($4.89/gallon for regular!), I have to maximize my trips out. Today's venture included lab work for my doctor, picking up my grocery order, a site steward visit for the Land Trust, two invasive-plant patrols and an unexpected encounter with a Killdeer who did their best to lead me across the street, into a gutter, and far, far away from where there must have been at least the beginnings of a nest. These large plovers have a penchant for paved surfaces and gravel, and even when nesting in short vegetation, may line the bottom of the nest with rocks, preferring white to darker colours. Presumably, this helps keep the nest warm, the pebbles retaining some of the body heat generated by the parents who take shifts during incubation. Although the chicks leave the nest within a day or two of hatching, they cannot fly for the first month of life. Either parent may attempt to lead predators away from the young by feigning a broken wing. Although this bird didn't try to fool me into believing it was injured, it was definitely trying to lead me away from the area where I first saw it. And for those of you who wonder why it is called a Killdeer, the term has nothing to do with the slaughter of cervine animal. It is the call of the bird, and can be heard on western Washington's prairie lands, "kill-DEEER! kill-DEEER!" as vociferously as its Latin name suggests.

Polycauliona Polycarpa

Day 111: Well, I hit my brakes, heedless of the guy behind me for the split second it took to remember I was on a busy street, whereupon I put my foot back on the gas pedal and pulled into the next parking area. Then I hopped out of the car, camera in hand, to run back to the lichen I'd spotted while driving. Some things simply can't be ignored. But alas, once I got home and ran it through the field guides, the bit I pared off the tree with my thumbnail proved it to be something I'd seen before, although a somewhat older and more developed specimen. That said, it has a new name, and that makes it worth mention: Xanthoria polycarpa is now known as Polycauliona polycarpa, and if you don't feel like a parrot after saying "poly" that many times in succession, I'll be even more surprised. I'd rather hoped it might have turned out to be Xanthoria parietina (which for some odd reason is still placed in Xanthoria), but its lobes are too narrow. A second whoozamawhatsit, strongly sorediate and green with dark brown apothecia liberated from a different tree continues to elude me. As if I didn't have anything else to do with my time...

Coprinopsis Lagopus/Lagopides

Day 342: For all of the fact that my scientific friends regard me as a keen observer, I am usually quite oblivious to my surroundings insofar as other human beings are concerned. Thus it was that I surprised a man walking his dog in Yelm's Cochrane Park with a loud exclamation of my favourite scientific phrase, "What the hell is that?" In the next instant, I was on my knees in the wet grass, camera focused in on the healthiest of a dozen specimens of a thin-fleshed translucent mushroom shaped rather like our friend Myriosclerotinia. I soon discovered a few deteriorating examples which gave me a clue to the identity. If not a Coprinus (Inky Cap), at least they were related. Examining the area more closely revealed more with flatter caps; the upturned rim appeared to be a function of age. Man and dog joined me. "They're beautiful, aren't they?" he said. "Yes," I replied, "and I haven't ever seen them before." We talked for a while, but his curiosity seemed to end at identifying them as a "mushroom" as opposed to something else (what, I can't imagine). As soon as I got home, I hit the books and Google. Edit: my initial identification was in error. This is either Coprinopsis lagopus or C. lagopides, the latter being the most likely to occur in this area.

With A Teaspoon

Day 329: My day had only just begun when I took this photo, and by the time it ended, I had packed the bow of the kayak so full of Lake St. Clair's Jewelweed that I barely had room for my feet and gear. Given that in one small corner of the lake the infestation covers more than an acre of shoreline, I feel like I'm dipping the ocean dry with a teaspoon. That said, I'm winning in a couple of spots, doing a "maintenance run" on them whenever I go out, pulling any stragglers or new growth. I've singlehandedly rescued one log from the evil weed, and have a fifty-foot stretch of shoreline almost free of the nasty stuff. Do I have enough years left to me to clean the lake? I sincerely doubt it, not even if I worked 365 days a year. Call it a "permanent job," if you will.

What to do today was a toss between kayaking and chanterelling, having had a report of "mountain gold" from Arnie. Wildfire smoke kept me housebound for most of August, and there was still too much in the air today for me to think about hiking up one lesser-known and very steep trail after mushrooms, so I loaded the 'yak on the car and took off for Lake St. Clair, honestly only intending to paddle a bit, visit the Sundews and come home. Consequently, I forgot to put a weed bag in the 'yak, an omission which left me prime prey for ants and spiders by the hundred. They like Jewelweed. And I won't say the evil weed is without purpose. An inadvertent encounter with a patch of nettles provided an opportunity for scientific study. Jewelweed is purported to be good against poison oak/ivy, and a previous nettling during a weed patrol had made me wonder if I hadn't reacted as strongly because I was already covered with the sap. When I got my arm in the nettle patch today, I immediately rubbed the spot with a crushed Jewelweed leaf. Voila! Instant relief! Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to work against ant and spider bites.

Helluva Hive

Day 319: Let me state for the record that there is a 50' stretch on the eastern shore of Lake St. Clair which I did NOT check for invasive weeds, sundews or lichens. I think I heard this before I saw it; in any event, something made me look up to where it was hanging, almost concealed by cedar boughs 15' above the surface of the water. Only then did I notice the flurry of activity around and on it, dozens/hundreds of paper wasps engaged in their daily chores. By far the largest nest I have ever seen, it would have filled a two-gallon bucket easily, probably 14-16" in diameter and 20" tall. It was a magnificent piece of architecture to be sure, but like the works of Frank Lloyd Wright, best appreciated from the long view.

Indigestible Bits

Day 316: Although the principle reason for my recent kayaking adventure was the removal of Spotted Jewelweed, no trip to Lake St. Clair is complete until I've visited my kids, i.e. the Sundews which occupy the logs adjacent to one homeowner's dock. Jack (the homeowner) knows me by sight now, and this time came out to ask, "How're they doing?" "Just fine, Jack," I replied. "They've been eating well and they're going to seed now." I went on to explain that I've been keeping tabs on them since early spring, watching them progress from initial emergence from hibernation through their blooming period. It was interesting to note how thoroughly they're managing to digest the abundant damselflies; only the gauzy wings are left behind, the "chicken bones" of Drosera's summer picnic (seen here most easily at top center). Even as I watched, a damsel made a fatal mistake, stepping from the safety of a blade of grass onto the sticky glands of Drosera's paddles. Its feet became entrapped immediately, another meal to sustain the Sundew colony.

A Boatload Of Bad

Day 315: Since I had to be in Yelm anyway yesterday morning, I threw the 'yak on the top of the car with a mind to going out on Lake St. Clair to remove the small infestation of Jewelweed (Impatiens capensis) which I'd discovered growing on a floating log about a month ago. Little did I realize how the rest of the day was going to progress.

It only took a few minutes to remove eight plants from the log, the tallest of which was about 2', but as I proceeded close to shore en route to the Sundews, I spotted a mound of the nasty stuff about 10' on a side and 6' tall nestled among thick blackberries. There was no way I could access it from the boat, and someone approaching from the heavily wooded land would need to machete a path through the thorns to reach it. Sighing heavily, I realized that I have my work cut out for me for as long as I'm able to paddle unless the rules regarding development along this side of the lake are relaxed. Jewelweed is an aggressive invader. As long as one plant exists on the shore, it will continue to spread to other areas of the lake. Further on, I noted another heavy infestation, this one covering close to 1000 sq. ft. Again, I could not access it from the water.

As I made my way along the shore, I noticed more places where the weed occurred to lesser degrees. For the most part, it was in spots I couldn't reach, but there were a few exceptions. At the location shown above, I was able to get out of the 'yak and stood in thigh-deep water to pull over 100 plants from the log shown just beyond the bow of the kayak. I was wishing I'd remembered to bring a bag, because the plants were covered in ants, and as I continued on my journey, I kept picking ants off myself and the 'yak by the dozen.

I was heartened when a sweep up the far east side of the lake seemed to prove Jewelweed-free, but when I reached the north end of the lobe, I found more of it growing on a piece of dock which had broken free some years ago and was now a "raft" of sorts, similar to the original Sundew Island, free-floating and now lost somewhere among the tangle of weed and wood along the shore. It seemed the Jewelweed had found an enterprising means of transport, rafting to new locations to release its future generations. Not on my watch! I forced the kayak onto the wood-and-styrofoam structure and pulled every Jewelweed within reach. By the time I got back to the car, the bow of the 'yak was packed with roughly 10 pounds of Jewelweed, enough to fill a large garbage bag. Even so, those inaccessible groves of this persistent plant will continue to disperse seed. A catch-phrase comes to mind, as applicable in this scenario as in the one which birthed it: "Still she persisted." Yes, that will serve.

Drosera Rotundifolia: A Profile

Day 282: I began yesterday's kayak trip with a visit to the Sundews, only to find that while some of them appeared to be in the flowering stage with white petal tips showing, none of the flowers was open. Closer analysis revealed spent blooms, the withered, browned petals visible above the calyces. Some of the older inflorescences demonstrated developing seed pods, and some younger stalks carried full cymes of unopened buds. The accumulation of evidence led to a conclusion: the little buggers had closed up for the night and would open later in the day. Early bird that I am, the proverbial worm wasn't out of bed yet. I did the only sensible thing: took photos of the various stages and then went off for a paddle on the rest of the lake. When I returned in the afternoon, I found several open flowers, and it was interesting to note that when a cloud drifted across the sun, they closed quickly, responding rather more slowly in comparison as they re-opened when the sun emerged.

Drosera rotundifolia (and indeed other Drosera species) presents a fascinating natural history. They thrive in an ecology where other vascular plants might starve, and do so by supplementing their nutritional requirements carnivorously. Additionally, they survive in low pH (acidic) conditions where soil is almost non-existent, their shallow root systems serving largely to anchor them in place. Their laminae (paddle-shaped leaves) are covered with gland-tipped hairs which secrete a sticky substance containing digestive enzymes capable of dissolving all but the exoskeleton of insects including gnats, mosquitoes, beetles and even damselflies (see yesterday's post) as well as arachnids. They prefer high-moisture conditions, often growing right at waterline. In winter, the laminae curl up tightly to form a basal rosette called a hibernaculum. This structure conserves heat and prevents the plants from freezing. It's the only phase of their life-cycle I have yet to photograph, but then, botany ain't for wimps.

Trachemys Scripta, Pond Slider

Day 234: On a previous trip to Lake St. Clair, I spotted three turtles basking on adjacent logs in the southeast arm of the lake near the shore of a small island. They were rather shy, and it was only with great difficulty that I was able to maneuver close enough to them to get a photo showing enough detail for an identification. The red marking on the head told me that they were Pond Sliders (Trachemys scripta), an introduced species. In searching for more information about them, I discovered that they are not considered invasive, due to the fact that before their numbers reach a stage where they out-compete natives, large die-offs keep the population in check. It has been suggested that the species is not suited to Washington's climate. At this time, there is no plan in place to remove them from Washington waters; however, WDFW requests reports of any sightings (particularly of nesting females) so that they can monitor any issues which may arise. Two days ago, I again spotted all three in the same location, making me wonder if they were "pets" released from captivity by someone living on the near shore.

Zen Master

Day 232: The Zen Master strikes a pose. To all purposes, he becomes a stick: grey, angular, motionless on the bank and remaining so, at least seemingly. A keen eye may notice that he drifts slightly with the breeze which lightly ripples the water, motion measured in the merest fraction of an inch. He settles onto his forward leg, the lightest change to his center of gravity. The muscles of his rear leg relax, the angle of his knee changing imperceptibly. His stance is a poem of tai chi balance and form, flowing with grace over a five-minute span to reach a new position. His rear leg is now forward, and the observer wonders how the transition occurred because she has not taken her eyes off him and registered no movement. Suddenly, there is a thrust of his beak downward, piercing the water like a blade. He tosses his head back and gulps a hapless amphibian down in a lump. There is a moment's pause, and then the Zen Master spreads his wings to take off in an incongruously ungainly flight, sweeping through the branches to look for another hunting ground.

Let's Dew Dinner!

Day 231: Good weather convinced me I needed to make another kayak trip to check on my kids at Lake St. Clair. I'd hoped I might find them in bloom, but my records indicate I have at least four more weeks to wait for that event. In fact, I searched for any sign of blossom stalks arising today, but found none. On the other hand, I couldn't help but notice that the Sundews aren't suffering for lack of food, or for variety in their diet. Mosquitoes, wasps, beetles and even spiders provide a veritable smorgasbord of tasty treats.

But Sundews weren't the only interesting things I encountered during this trip. Over the next couple of days, I'll show you a few more reasons I love kayaking on Lake St. Clair.

Out And About In A Boat

Lest my word-play pass over the heads of readers outside the PNW, I must explain that when pronounced by a we't-coast Canadian, the phrase "out and about in a boat" makes no distinction in the round vowel sounds; "ooout and abooout in a booout" serves as a yardstick by which to measure Vancouverian origins as surely as a fondness for poutine. In addition to pronouncing "lichen" to rhyme with "kitchen," I am often found to be going ooout and abooout in a booout whenever the weather invites me, or rather, in a kayak.

For the most part, the shoreline of my favourite lake is either developed or too steep to "put into port" for a stretch break. I've managed to find short-term moorage in all but one arm of the X, although at high water, exiting the boat can be a little tricky. This location gives the easiest access to dry land, but on my most recent trip, I noticed that the big cedar tree on the right had had the lower three feet of its bark clawed off by some kind of varmint. There were no tooth-marks to indicate a beaver at work, and the size of the scratches eliminated even the smallest of bear cubs. Discussion of the anomaly with Kevin brought the culprit to light: porcupine! From this point forward, I will be more cautious when I steer my little craft into this secret pirate's lair.

Portrait Of A Carnivore

Day 203: Some wit once remarked that while we accept that bugs eat plants, it seems almost a violation of natural order for a plant to eat bugs. Drosera rotundifolia (Round-Leaved Sundew) has the practice down to a fine science. Each of the tiny hairs on its thumbnail-sized leaves is tipped with a gland which exudes a sticky, sugary fluid. The fluid serves to attract and trap insects, the soft parts of which are then digested by proteolytic enzymes and reduced to nutrients which the plant can utilize.

Since discovering Sundews on Lake St. Clair several years ago, each time I go kayaking on the lake, my first priority is to check on their status. One month ago, they were just beginning to emerge from hibernation. During their winter rest, new leaves can be observed only as tightly curled buds in a rosette. As temperatures warm in the spring, the leaves unfurl and begin to grow, to be followed by significantly taller scapes (flower-bearing stalks) in early summer (mid-July at the St. Clair location). The inflorescence may consist of up to 15 white five-petalled flowers. The plant propagates both by seed and vegetatively, but true to its name, the species is very intolerant of shady conditions. The colonies on a free-floating "island" of old dock timbers which drifted into a sheltered cove have declined radically since I first saw them. However, those growing on two logs anchored in full-day sun are thriving.

Visiting The Kids

Day 173: At last we come to the story of the kayaking trip! It was my first excursion of the year, and of course that meant I had to pay the "kids" a visit. For the most part, they were just beginning to unfurl, but a few nice rosettes were apparent, although still small. I didn't check the second site; the raft is now in shade for most of the day, slowing the plants' development. I covered six miles of shoreline, trolling as I paddled, but the fish were entirely uncooperative. I didn't get a single bite.

My Favourite Marsh-ians

Day 275: By now, my readers should know what to expect when I go kayaking on Lake St. Clair. Sundews are a given! I was afraid I might have missed their flowering period, but was happy to see that many of them were still in bloom. They also appear to be enjoying a wide variety of bugs in their diet, everything from flies to spiders, mosquitoes, wasps and the occasional beetle. Mycoheterotrophs and rare orchids aside, Drosera rotundifolia was one of my "bucket list" plants. Finding them in the wild was arguably the finest moment in my history as a naturalist. I still get excited about visiting them!

Sundews In Flower

Day 245: I had wondered if I'd missed the Sundews' blooming period by getting a late start on the kayaking season this spring, but I saw no evidence of flower stalks during my outings. Today, I found them largely in bud. However, a patrol of all their known hideouts turned up a couple which were fully open.

It's no easy task to take good photographs from a kayak rolling on the water. It's even harder to get a shot using a macro filter which requires you to be within a foot or so of your subject, as I was when capturing these images. At one point, I penned myself in after a log I had nudged out of the way closed off my exit route and locked the gate by becoming stuck on a submerged staub. Needless to say, maintaining a good center of gravity is always necessary when kayaking, but even moreso when you have one leg over the paddle, the paddle blade hooked over a log, and you have one hand on the log for stability and the other is crossed over your body, attempting to hold and trigger the camera. I'm sure you never thought of the occupation in this light, but I'm convinced naturalists should be on hazard pay.

Braggin' Up The Grandkids

Day 228: You know how it goes...every grandmother you know carries a pocketful of the latest photos of the grandkids around, showing them to friends and other relatives, anxious to share stories and recount antics. I'm no different. I just don't have the kind of "grandkids" you're used to hearing about. Mine eat bugs. Oh, your human grandchildren do too? Then we have more in common than I thought.

Anyway, I spent a delightful day visiting my Sundew fosterlings by kayak, checking on their health and well-being, happy to find that most of them were very well-fed. The batch on Sundew Island were a little wan from lack of direct sunlight, but Jack's lot are absolutely vibrant. The individual colonies are very dense and appear to be spreading along the logs despite having to compete with moss, grass and the occasional Pseudacorus. Many of the traps held large insects or multiple smaller ones, everything from big flies and spiders to tiny gnats and mosquitoes. I did not observe any flower stalks or blossoms, but new disks were abundant.

It's nice to have a happy, healthy family. I just wish they lived a little closer.