Close Call

Day 120: I'm home safe, but it was a narrow squeak. I firmly believe that NOAA has had an intern on the board for the last couple of weeks because our forecasts have been consistently off by at least 10 degrees (the forecast has been for lower overnight temps), but also for precipitation amounts. Last night, we were supposed to have snow showers with no significant new accumulation. Taking into account the temperature error, I figured it was safe to order groceries for morning pickup. When I got up this morning, it was snowing hard. The temp was predictably 10 degrees above the forecast, and the road was snowy but not icy when I headed out. I wasn't thinking about how treacherous the hill coming up out of Eatonville might be on my way back because I'd seen the sand trucks out doing their job on the way down to Yelm. I decided to come home via Eatonville, and that was almost my undoing. Halfway up the Alder Cutoff, I went into a slide which took me from the guard rail on one side of the road to the embankment on the other. I managed to regain control by not panicking or over-steering, but by the time I was going in a straight line again, my heart rate had shot up to 200. A little bit further on, a truck had gone in the ditch and people were directing traffic around it. As I tried to avoid the guy pointing me into the other lane, I went into a second slide and came within a hair's breadth of sideswiping another vehicle. Y'know, that's 'bout all the excitement I need for February. I don't think I'll go out again until spring thaw.

Triantha Occidentalis

Day 242: The day began like any other Botany Day. Team Biota had a list of five "target plants" which either hadn't been seen in the Park for 20+ years or whose habitat was in jeopardy due to the perfectly natural process of succession. We spent a couple of hours feeding ravenous mosquitoes at one location, and only turned up one of the plants on the list: Triantha occidentalis, also known as Western False Asphodel. There were half a dozen stems, none fully in bloom, and it was all too obvious that in a few more years, their plot will be filled in by other vegetation. That said, even though we hadn't checked off the whole list, we found a few uncommon species which were not among those we were seeking. Moving along, we made a few other stops and then decided to check on some of our other favourites to see if they were in bloom.

We have a secondary goal when we are in the field, and that is to find additional sites where some of the less rare species occur. We call these "non-Biek locations" because they are not listed in "Flora of Mount Rainier National Park." At the close of every year, I turn in a report of "non-Biek locations" for addition to the Park's database. As we were walking along the edge of the road, spread out, I looked down-slope and thought I could see an example of one particular plant. I sized up the angle of incline and potential hand-holds, and in a rash moment decided that finding a new non-Biek location took priority over anything else, I started down the hill. I had descended 15 feet or so when the sandy footing gave way and sent me sliding into a clump of small alders. The momentum was such that when my toe tangled in the base of the clump, I was pitched face-first through the branches. They collapsed under my weight and I began a rapid downhill slide on my front, head first like a toboggan. When I came to rest, my first thought was, "I can see. Therefore my glasses are still on my face." I had thought I felt them pull off. Then without moving, I assessed my extremities. Nothing felt like it was broken, so then I began the process of getting turned around without sliding further down the hill, and dragging myself back up to road level. Being rather rattled by the experience, I neglected to check the damn plant to see if it was the right one as I crawled past it. On reaching the road, I discovered a broad smear of vegetative matter on my glasses which at first I took for a major scratch, but after washing it off, I saw that the underlying scratch was minor. However, my poor carcase had taken quite a beating, and by that evening, I was aching in every muscle and the bruises were beginning to colour up. I knew there was no way I could hide the evidence, and reluctantly confessed to Kevin. His utter silence was more painful than a reprimand. Worse than the injuries to my various parts and ego is that inflicted on his trust in my judgment. That's going to take a long time to heal.