But No Aurora

Day 275: For the first time in at least 15 years, I was away from home overnight, sitting in a parking lot at 6000' with my botany partners Joe and Sharon in the hopes of witnessing the aurora borealis. To make a long story short, it failed to appear, but we were rewarded with a spectacular display of alpenglow at sunrise from Sunrise. Yes, you read that right, and there were a ton of people who had come to Sunrise Point with the same vain expectations. After full light, we began the botanical portion of the expedition, collecting herbarium specimens for two species, checked our Mystery Plant for flowers (none) and locating an uncommon/rare orchid. Once our tasks were done, they dropped me off at home where I am now trying to make amends with a little Boy who is rather upset at having been left alone.

Botanizing With Bears

Day 275: Uncle Walter may go waltzing with bears, but he's got nothing on Joe, Sharon and Crow who go botanizing with them. Yep, today my botany partners and I made our first excursion since the pandemic closed us down in March 2020. We spent a fantastic 11 hours searching slopes, ditches and bogs for the rare and unusual species found in Mount Rainier National Park and came home with hundreds of photos between us and two mystery plants which have so far eluded identification. I'll be focusing on those over the next few days, but my readers can expect a week or more of wildflower posts, and although all of them may not be of rarities, I hope to impart some bit of knowledge to you about each. As for Bear (Ursus americanus, black bear), he/she was stopped traffic on the Sunrise Road for the better part of twenty minutes while enjoying a leisurely lunch at the meadow smorgasbord.

Forest Bathing

Day 86: Between traffic and weather, my freedom to take walks locally was severely curtailed in early June. After being nearly struck by a careless driver on three separate occasions, I was unwilling to test my luck any further. For a while, I shifted to the exercise bike to stay in shape, but when wildfire smoke made even that impossible, I pretty much just crawled into the cave-like confines of my house and only ventured out into the yard. Traffic was at record levels through the summer and only backed off slightly as cooler temperatures set in. Rain kept people home, but it also kept me inside. Now whether or not it had anything to do with the political unrest yesterday, when I woke this morning, one of the first things I noticed was silence. Even at 4:30 AM or earlier, the road has been busy every day. Five minutes went by before I heard the first car. "Maybe," I said to myself, "maybe I can take a walk today."

A short but little-known trail near my home has felt the tread of my boots over the years I've lived here, whether I was participating in the Park's fitness challenge, walking just for the sake of walking, or on a botanical mission of one form or another. Of course, I don't always stick to the path when I'm botanizing, but today, I found enough treasures for a week's post material. Equally important, the experience of "forest bathing" was sorely needed by a stressed-out Crow. I feel green again.

Myriosclerotinia Caricis-Ampullaceae

Day 257: The botany mission which compelled me to break voluntary isolation for the third time in four months had in fact three parts. The first was to document Corallorhiza maculata var. occidentalis. The second and third parts were conducted at the same location: photograph and identify a specific fungus which we believe may be associated with some of the rarer mycoheterotrophic species, and to check for possible soil disturbance where one of those species is known to occur, i.e., to ascertain whether it might have been dug out by an unscrupulous collector. However, as I was driving up the road, it occurred to me that I could also visit an old friend who I knew to be at home from a report from my botany partner, Joe. A rarity worldwide, Myriosclerotinia caricis-ampullaceae occurs in half a dozen locations as recorded by Team Biota over the last several years of exploration. It is parasitic on a narrow group of sedges, although in our observations, it is not affecting the sedge population at any of the documented sites. Myrio, as we lovingly refer to him, is a cute little thing...well, not so little, actually, but very difficult to see in situ, hiding behind sedge foliage or moss. Our largest specimen measured roughly 50 mm in height with a cup width of almost 20 mm. The largest I found on this trip was +30 mm in height, 15 mm in diameter. The size alone differentiates it from other similar species, as do other characteristics not readily visible in attached specimens. Myrio is also ephemeral, which is to say, "Here today, gone tomorrow." While some cups may persist for several days, the "season" for this fungus is a 14-day window at best. Certain factors can be used to predict its eruption at individual sites, which was why Joe checked on it last week. Had I waited until next week to visit the location, I might have missed the timing. All three missions plus one accomplished, I returned to isolation without having come into contact with a single human being, my need for contact satisfied by touching base with some of my dearest friends.

Tubifera Ferruginosa, Raspberry Slime

Day 251: If you only knew what it takes for me to bring you these daily excursions into the marvelous realm of botany! With voluntary isolation de rigueur (at least for me), the area within walking distance of my home has become my playground. I'm taking the opportunity to explore it in depth, and by that, I mean waist-deep in ferns and prickly Oregon grape. These woods are trailless but for the short sections where deer or elk have avoided the tangle of fallen trees, walking single file for fifty yards or so, then to disperse and browse at leisure. A deer's legs are much longer than mine, and what they might step over becomes a gymnastic exercise for me, heaving myself from one side of a log to another, uncertain of what might or might not afford me a step down where I hope to find it. Nor do I go in a straight line from Point A to Point B, navigating instead on a tack port or starboard to avoid insurmountable obstacles and impenetrable thickets. I cover a lot of territory, if not any great linear distance, and it is this which keeps my ramblings interesting. That said, I decided to explore a new section of forest which in the past I have only visited in Chanterelle season (and then, only in part). I call it the "middle terrace," one of three levels between the highway and the river.

I spent the better part of two hours in examination of the middle terrace, and as the morning wore on and I had seen not a single thing worthy of a photo or botanical essay, I began to despair. When I poured myself out through a hillside of Oregon grape and landed in the maintenance area, I was seriously rethinking the need to breach the next section to try to re-find Tarzetta so I could mark it with the GPS (I'm good...I found it...a  single 10 mm white marble in acres of woods). I dived back into the woods at the Ceratiomyxa Stump, found Molly Eye-Winker's log and a nice crop of Lycogala epidendrum, and then...hang on...what's that orange bit? Right in the middle of my line of travel, dotting a decaying branch I'd stepped over less than 48 hours previously, was a slime mold. As it turns out, it's a new one for me: Tubifera ferruginosa, Raspberry Slime.

Now the interesting part of this is that while I was scouting the middle terrace, I found nothing worth note except perhaps for a common facultative mycoheterotroph, and only one specimen of it. Yet within 100 yards of the Ceratiomyxa Stump, I had four slime molds (Tubifera, Lycogala, more Ceratiomyxa and previously, Fuligo septica) plus fungus Molly. What IS it about that locale? That question will likely remain unanswered, but I do know one thing: there's no need to go back to the middle terrace until it's time for Chanterelles.

Stamen Count - Shadbush, Amelanchier Alnifolia

Day 211: Shadbush, Serviceberry, Sarviceberry, Saskatoon...whatever you choose to call it, Amelanchier alnifolia and dwarf A. alnifolia var. pumila are both known to occur in western Washington. The extent of the toothed portion of the leaf margin may be helpful in separating the two, but the real telling point is the number of stamens. Having taken photos of several different specimens during my morning walk, thinking only of getting an acceptable exposure in the pre-dawn light, I found myself faced with a dilemma. I had three different leaf forms, and several references described them as "highly variable." The following morning, I left home with a hand lens hung around my neck and returned to each and every Shadbush I'd photographed the previous day to conduct a stamen count. As it turned out, I didn't need the magnifier. One, two, three...hey, they're kinda in little groups of five! Yup, 20 in every case: Western Serviceberry. The fruits of both types are edible and reminiscent of blueberries, and are great in muffins or waffles if you can get them before the birds do.

Finn River Raven

Day 3: Sound & Fury Morris danced yesterday at Finn River Cidery in Chimacum. After the first set, I happened to notice an old friend in the audience: Raven, carrying his customary bit of the sun's fire, perched on a branch above the plaza. There could have been no better omen for the day.

Chimacum is a long way from home, so I had planned an Expedition to include a little geocaching and botanizing on the way up the Olympic Peninsula. The two go hand-in-hand. Caching often takes me into the woods, and I assumed that the more marine environment along Hood Canal would provide a wealth of lichens. It didn't take me long to figure out that I had entered a lichenological dead zone instead. Even the maples were bare of colonies. Botanically, the only thing worth noting was the presence of a few cascara trees in an area I would have thought was too heavily shaded to support them. At the cidery, I found minor lichenization of maples which included a Xanthoria and a Parmelia. Still, I had managed to get out into nature to experience a different ecological niche even if I hadn't made any amazing discoveries.

Thrifty Scot that I am, I decided that to avoid a $6 toll-bridge crossing at the expense of $3 in gas and 45 minutes of my time, I'd drive home the long way, i.e., down Highway 101 through Shelton and Olympia. It was a good choice. A canopy of green and gold filtered the slanting light of sunset as I drove through the National Forest, a far more pleasant way to end the day than barrelling along a freeway.

Finding Team Biota

Day 259 (Part A): Don't be misled by what appears to be a trail in the center foreground. That relatively brush-free strip of ground was only about eight feet long and was probably the remnant of an old elk trail. For the most part, Team Biota's assault into the Myriosclerotinia bog could best be described as a "penetration." It was rare when we could catch more than a glimpse of another team member even though we were only 15-20 feet apart. Sucky mud, tangled slide alder, fallen logs and hidden ankle-grabbers are just a few of the hazards keeping anyone but the most dedicated researchers out of the area. All but three of the 51 specimens of the rare fungus seen just six days ago had completed their ephemeral life cycle and no evidence of them remained. That said, we discovered two vascular plant species which had not previously been reported in this location. Science ain't for wimps!

Joe And Myriosclerotinia

Day 252: Joe dropped me off about twenty minutes ago and is en route home as I write this, and I think neither of us will sleep a wink tonight. Our primary goal for the day was to bushwhack into the site at which in 1948 Myriosclerotinia caricis-ampullaceae was last seen in Mount Rainier National Park. We had noted a small clearing in which Carex was growing, a known host for this rare species. A narrow stream of trickling water ran through the center of the mini-meadow, so we began patrolling its edges with our eyes peeled for even the smallest cup. Joe went up a secondary stream which fed into the main flow and was about fifty feet away when I suddenly shouted, "Oh, my gawd, I've got one!" I honestly had had no expectations of success, and immediately pulled out my GPS to mark the location. I got down on my knees and began taking photos from different angles, and in viewing my specimen from the side, I saw two more near it. Then the hunt began in earnest, Joe on one side of the stream and me on the other. In the course of the next hour or so, we found a grand total of fifty-one specimens. Although none were as large as the ones we had found in the first location on June 2, these appeared to be newly emergent and still growing. Many were only about 3 mm. in diameter. As we studied the area for clues into Myriosclerotinia's habitat requirements, we noted that the fungi only grew on the south bank of the stream and never more than 8 inches from moving water. All but one occurred in a strip approximately 8" x 30', and nowhere else in the meadow. Two are visible in this photo if you have keen eyes, and Joe is photographing another cluster of three hidden in the sedge. Fifty-one!!!

Collinsia Parviflora - A Penny Perspective

Day 242: The flowers of Blue-Eyed Mary (Collinsia parviflora) are not easy to spot, but they are worth a closer look when you find them. The tubular corolla is bent at an angle to the stem and terminates in four lobes, the upper two white or pale blue and the lower two a cheerful sky-blue. The foliage consists of slender, opposite leaves on the lower portion of the stem, but often appears in a whorl on the upper part. Flowers emerge at the tips and at leaf axils. Shown here in a Penny Perspective, Blue-Eyed Mary is a tiny treasure waiting to brighten your next hike...if you can find her.

Suksdorfia Ranunculifolia, Buttercup Suksdorfia

Day 240: Buttercup Suksdorfia takes both its common name and the second half of its taxonomic binomial from the shape of its leaves, i.e., the fact that they resemble those of buttercups (a different family). Its range within Mount Rainier National Park is broad, but nowhere does it occur abundantly. Freshly open flowers exhibit a yellow eye which changes to red with age, both often evident in the same panicle. After finding a few rain-battered examples in one location, I returned under better weather a few days later, only to discover that the flowers had already withered. Thus began the Great Suksdorfia Hunt of 2016, a process which covered a substantial number of hours and miles on foot before I found a satisfactory specimen in bloom, never mind that it was several feet above my head and required some minor scrambling up a rock wall. In my attempt to hold the camera steady, my left arm and leg were perforce positioned in a small trickle of unpleasantly cold water, and by the time I'd gotten the shot, I was soaked on one side, dry on the other. Suffice to say, botanizing isn't for wimps!

Myriosclerotinia caricis-ampullaceae

Day 235: Updating this: Originally identified from the photos as Myriosclerotinia dennisii by one mycologist, this specimen was referred out by my botany partner Joe to another mycologist who in turn brought in several other experts to study the images. Based on their replies (and they did not necessarily agree with each other), I am amending the identification to Sclerotinia sulcata.

Newer update: this 'shroom has gone 'round the globe! The consensus among the mycological community is that it is in fact Myriosclerotinia caricis-ampullaceae, a rather rare species globally and only recorded in Mount Rainier National Park in 1948. The 1948 specimen is in the University of Illinois herbarium.

Another score by "Team Biota" (Joe and Crow), several dozen were found growing at the edge of a small seasonal pool in the Hudsonsian zone, some with their feet in the water. The height of the tallest was about 5", a 1" cup wobbling on a narrow stipe surrounded by adjacent grass. The others were in various stages of development, and those with larger cups had a tendency to fall over when the support of the grass was removed. The flesh was very thin and brittle, textured with depressions which brought to mind of the hammered metal cookware of the 1950s. Definitely one of the oddest "Freaky Fungi" in Crow's Catalogue, I'm grateful to Joe for tracking down the identity of this unusual 'shroom.

Erythranthe Breweri - A Penny Perspective

Day 233: I barely know where to begin. Yesterday, I went on a botanizing expedition with my friend Joe. He'd baited me with a report of an insectivore I'd never seen in the wild, but by the time the day was over, we had recorded half a dozen rare/uncommon species. The prize was won by Erythranthe breweri, formerly called Mimulus breweri and known commonly as Brewer's Monkeyflower. It has only been recorded in a few locations in Mount Rainier National Park, and the site at which we observed it was not one of them.

Upon referring our find to the Park's Plant Ecologist, we were dispatched on another mission: to collect a single specimen for inclusion in the Burke Museum's herbarium. I am of two minds with respect to taking herbarium specimens, one side of my head arguing that if it's rare, it should be left in place, even as the scientific part of my brain protests that being able to profile the DNA or otherwise study a rarity has great and growing value. Since we were able to count at least 36 individual specimens at this site, I carefully removed one, cleaned its hair-like roots of soil and pressed it temporarily between the pages of a notebook, laying it out as naturally as possible. Spreading the petals was no easy task since even in the space of a few minutes, they had begun to curl. Immediately upon returning home, I transferred it to acid-free paper and weighted it for drying. Once the process is completed, I will return it to the Park where it will be catalogued and archived.

Asarum Caudatum, Wild Ginger

Day 198: What began as two friends planning an outing to witness Corallorhiza trifida at a single location developed into a field trip for four and some serious botanizing. Maggie Webster and I had scheduled a short excursion for the morning, but when Yonit and Leon Yogev called to say they were in the area, I suggested that they might like to join us for what could well be a once-in-a-decade observation of the rare Corallorhiza. The trip was rather loosely organized, and Yonit and Leon eventually tracked Maggie and me down at a secondary spot, one at which I had found the species last year but not yet in 2016. By the time they arrived, Maggie and I had located five more specimens. To her delight, Yonit found a sixth we had overlooked. Meanwhile, Leon was engaged in learning about lower-forest trees and how to differentiate spruce from fir by examining the shape and texture of the needles.

The Yogevs left us at that point, and Maggie and I continued up the road (partly on foot) to investigate a report of a washout, clambering through the section of collapsed roadbed and going a little further on. At our turnaround point, we discovered Wild Ginger in bloom. It is one of my favourite wildflowers. The unusual flowers of this low-growing plant are concealed beneath its heart-shaped leaves. Each blossom bears three long "tails," as described in its scientific name, Asarum caudatum.

On the return hike, I was pleased to discover several nice colonies of Pilophorus acicularis (Devil's Matchstick Lichen) near the washout. This find was perhaps the "youngest" incidence of P. acicularis I have spotted to date, colonization having occurred less than 20 years from the time the rock was exposed.

Campanula Rotundifolia, Harebells

Day 277: "These are not the Campanulas you are looking for." Campanula scouleri remains elusive, even when I was in the company of the two friends who found it a few days ago, but an abundance of the more common Harebell (aka Bluebell) provided a bright interlude to scouring the ditch alongside Stevens Canyon Road. The three of us retired to the Tipsoo Lake area after spending an hour in search mode, there to find a number of other delightful wildflowers which I'll feature in upcoming posts. Upon a return to the search area and another two hours of patrolling, we decided that C. scouleri must have lost the petals of its only two blossoms and that looking for a solitary specimen with a leaf closely resembling that of another common plant was not likely to lead us to success, we packed it in and called it a day.