A Six-Bear Day

Day 325: Well, this sets a personal record. Today, I saw six bears (SIX!) during a MeadoWatch hike on the Lakes Trail. SIX!!! There was a mid-sized adult of indeterminate sex, a sow with two cute little cinnamon cubs, a yearling, and this healthy, husky gentleman who was a bit closer than I would have liked, given his size and age. But there were visitors to protect, so I escorted two terrified young women past him, a dicey situation because it involved us disappearing behind a stand of trees for a minute and a half, then reappearing directly in his line of sight. I hoped he wouldn't think we were trying to sneak up on him. He gave us a reproachful glance and took a few steps toward the trail, but then resumed eating wildflowers. No wonder I was checking off the box for "herbivory" at so many of the target plots! My previous daily and/or yearly record for bear sightings might have been as many as three at once (probably a sow and cubs). So far this year, I've encountered nine.

Reflection Rove

Day 279: Reflection Lake is one of Mount Rainier National Park's most notable roadside attractions and as such, the lakeshore wildflowers take a beating from foot traffic despite being behind the numerous "no hiking" signs. Revegetation efforts have been thwarted by the masses of visitors who ignore the signs as they pursue their own agendas (getting a photo of the elusive reflection, picnicking by the water, wading or swimming, illegally fishing, etc.), most with no thought to the damage a single step can inflict in this fragile environment. Over the last two years, our Meadow Rover manager has asked for volunteers to patrol the fore-shore next to the road (the section which takes the most abuse). We don't have nearly enough people for the task, so after checking to be sure there wasn't a pile of paperwork on my desk waiting to be processed, I signed up for a Reflection rove yesterday. I spent five and a half hours pacing back and forth on the same half-mile section of trail, pulling visitors back from the shore and trying to give them some gentle education in resource management.

Most people tend to be cooperative after a moment of initial resistance ("It looked like a trail...I didn't see a sign...Just let me get this one picture...I'll be done in a minute..."), but inevitably, there is always one person who gives you a little guff. Case in point: the guy who had jammed his tripod legs into the leaves of avalanche lilies in order to keep the tripod stable. He didn't immediately comply with my request to move the tripod, but I thought I'd made my point and started to leave the site. I'd gone about twenty feet when something else from the scene registered in my mind. He had had a Gorilla clamp on the stalk of an avalanche lily flower to keep the wind from moving it around. Still willing to give him a few minutes to finish up and move on, I walked another hundred feet or so to the end of my somewhat arbitrary patrol zone and then went back. Sure enough, he had not removed the tripod feet from the leaves, and there was the poor little flower still held in the death-grip of the Gorilla.

As a representative of the Park, I must maintain my equanimity and professionalism when addressing members of the public, regardless of the murderous thoughts swimming 'round in my brain. While mentally placing this single-minded photographer in a similar strangle-hold, I took several minutes to explain the life-cycle of the avalanche lily to him. I imagine he thought I was being excessive. After all, there were thousands of other avalanche lilies in the meadow. But if everyone thought like he apparently thought, i.e., that one flower couldn't matter, pretty soon we'd have no flowers at all. Back and forth, back and forth, covering one-half mile of trail repeatedly, educating one visitor at a time. It's like those wildflowers. One may make all the difference in the world.

Roving Out Of Paradise

Click to enlarge

Day 288: I don't do a lot of meadow-roving, and by that I mean working per the position description of "Meadow Rover," a title which refers to those diligent, patient souls who stay within a mile or so of major parking areas, walking the same trails regularly, repeatedly asking visitors to stay on trail and off the wildflowers. Only a few times each year and generally in conjunction with another event, I manage to get in a little time as an official Rover. Today was one of those days.

The Park was hosting a naturalization ceremony at Paradise, so I went up early with the intention of roving the Moraine Trail, going up to Panorama Point, and returning via Alta Vista. It wasn't long before I realized I was going to have to abbreviate my plan based on the number of visitor contacts I'd had in the first half mile, so instead of turning off to the Moraine Trail, I kept heading up. I made it to the base of Pan Point just at turn-around time, something just over a mile from Paradise parking lot. Still, it was a pleasant hike and a gorgeous morning, mosquitoes notwithstanding. The marmots were out by the dozen even though the wildflowers weren't putting on much of a show.

Once I was back at Paradise, it was my pleasure to observe and take photos as 14 new citizens were welcomed to the United States. What better place could there possibly be to celebrate such an occasion than in a National Park?

Grass-of-Parnassus, Parnassia Fimbriata

Day 308: Strikingly beautiful and lace-like when observed closely, Grass-of-Parnassus is not a grass at all, but a member of the Saxifrage family. It was first described by Dioscorides, a Greek botanist, as found growing on the slopes of Mt. Parnassus but how its kidney-shaped leaves could have been called "grasslike" is a mystery we may never solve. It is a plant of springs and seeps, preferring to have its roots cool and damp. Thus, its specialized growing requirements limit its range. When it flourishes, it may line a streambank profusely, but only in a narrow band along the margins of the flow.

The species may be found in Mount Rainier National Park if you know where to look. A friend recently reported it to me along the 4th Crossing Trail, so today I set out to find it. My uniform and the camera around my neck often draw questions from visitors, so much of my afternoon was spent in interpretive discussion of Parnassia and other less common plant species in the Park. About two dozen people now know more about Grass-of-Parnassus than they did when they left home this morning. I love my job!

American Pipit, Anthrus Rubescens

Day 348: I like checking off new birds on my Life List and don't get many opportunities to do so because I don't travel. Therefore, I grabbed Peterson (where the List is kept) with great enthusiasm, only to feel somewhat deflated when I saw that I had placed a question mark and an "S" beside the listing. Pipit is a bird of the tundra; "S" stands for "Sunrise" in my notation system. The only upgrade I could conscientiously add was that I had documented the species with a photograph which allowed me to confirm a previous (if uncertain) sighting. Pipit ("Water Pipit" in Peterson, "American Pipit" in Sibley") was not a new bird for me.

This little character and his cohorts were staying ahead of me in a group on the Paradise Trail system, scampering along the edge of the trail, fluttering up to the summits of boulders occasionally where they made repeated, quick dips of their tails. That one behaviour was enough to narrow down the possibilities. Upon looking at the photo, I could pick out their field characteristics: the eye ring, the white throat, the streaking on the breast, the faint black smudge on the throat, the narrow and somewhat unusual bill shape. Yes, without a doubt, these were Pipits, and I'll let the authorities argue out the first part of their common name. And "pipit" was what they piped to me as they ran along ahead, escorting me on my hike. "Pipit! Pipit!" Sometimes even experienced birders forget to listen to what their little friends are telling them. "Pipit! That's me! That's me!"