Corallorhiza Trifida, Northern Coralroot

Day 228: Northern Coralroot (Corallorhiza trifida) is listed as rare in Mount Rainier National Park. Much smaller than its relatives Western and Spotted Coralroot (C. mertensiana and C. maculata), it can be extremely difficult to see in the deep forests it prefers. A full-grown stem will seldom exceed 8" in height. This tiny orchid is partially mycoheterotrophic by virtue of containing some chlorophyll, which is to say that it is incapable of complete photosynthesis on its own, and therefore must rely on specific mycorrhizal (fungal) components in the soil to facilitate the uptake of nutrients. All Coralroots are mycoheterotrophic, however, the different species depend on different fungi.

In years past, my botany partners and I have recorded as many as 23 stems in a single season over three known locales. So far in 2019, we have observed exactly ONE. I believe this fluctuation in the census represents the overall health of the mycorrhizal system, i.e., the presence or absence of moist, warm conditions during the period of winter dormancy. If conditions are not right for the mycorrhizae, the plants will not emerge. Ironically, we are seeing C. mertensiana and C. maculata emerging earlier than normal. It remains to be shown whether their numbers will be greater than average as the season progresses.

Penny Perspectives - Corallorhiza Trifida, Northern Coralroot

Day 193: One of the most rare species of Coralroot to be found in Mount Rainier National Park, Corallorhiza trifida is elusive not only for its scarcity, but for its size and colour. As you can see in this Penny Perspective, its greenish flowers are quite tiny, making it easy to miss in the shady locations it prefers. It appears in the spring, generally before the more common Coralroots. The Corallorhizas are partial mycoheterotrophs, i.e., they only exist where certain fungi are present in the soil. In years when those fungi are abundant, the plants emerge in greater numbers.

Penny Perspectives - Heartleaf Twayblade, Listera Cordata

Day 215: If I had shown you the photo on the left, how large do you think you would have said the individual blossoms were? Welcome to "Penny Perspectives" where I'll show you some very tiny wildflowers in close-up views. This is Heartleaf Twayblade (Listera cordata), another of western Washington's native orchids. Overall, the plant stands about six inches in height, and midway on the stem bears the two heart-shaped leaves which give it the first portion of its common name. The second half of its name refers to the long, two-forked petal at the bottom of the flower. Like its Orchidaceae cousins, it likes damp, shady forests and is often found along streambanks, blooming in late spring and early summer. This specimen (one of dozens) was photographed at Longmire.

Day Of The Trifidas

Day 199: I couldn't resist the play on John Wyndham's apocalyptic novel, "Day of the Triffids." I think of the book every time I say "Corallorhiza trifida."

My enthusiasm for this rare Coralroot has become widely spread, now involving members of the Native Orchid Society and an assortment of botanists, some of whom will be making field trips to the site before this ephemeral beauty fades. It occurred to me yesterday to suggest an after-work expedition to my good friend and supervisor, Kevin. Despite a few sprinkles, we stopped on the way home to take some photos and then went orchid-hunting. We managed to turn up two more specimens near to the first, bringing the total to three and a stem. However, I failed to predict the next course of events.

My photos from that late-day session were uniformly bad. I'm struggling with the technique involved in shooting macros with an add-on lens, and low light is always an issue with my camera. Consequently, I waited until I knew the sun would be penetrating the dense overstory at the site, and made a return trip at 10 AM this morning.

First, let me explain these two photos. Other than adjustments to contrast and the depths of highlight and shadow and some minor cropping, they have not been altered. They demonstrate what occurs in the "sun-fleck" forests in which species such as these thrive. In one second, a plant and its surroundings may be fully illuminated by a ray of sunlight. In the next, it may go as dark as the proverbial London coal-hole at midnight. Throughout the day, this shifting of light creates a unique microecology. Plants entirely dependent on sunlight for photosynthesis cannot survive here; often, you will see nothing but evergreen needles and twigs on Pacific Northwest forest floors. However, the mycoheterotrophic species (obligate or partial) require very little sunlight. It is in the deep forest ..."sun-fleck" forest where competitive species would die ... that you will find them.

So, lesson done, here's the story. I arrived at the parking pull-out and pulled up in front of another vehicle. I knew that one botanizing friend was planning to come down to make another observation of our little pet rarity, and noting that the car looked vaguely familiar, I assumed it was his. However, when I arrived at the site of the Corallorhizas, no one was there. Figuring that he had gone for a longer hike, I settled in to capture C. trifida on digital film.

I took up my customary position and had been flopped on the forest floor, camera clenched tightly in my fists, for half an hour or so when a fir cone hit me on top of the head. I cast a glance upward for a squirrel, but saw nothing. Not to be distracted, I went back to taking pictures. A minute or so later, I was pecked on the head by another cone. I brushed at my hat despite the fact that the cone had bounced and landed in the duff. A few seconds later, I got hit again. I looked up and swore at the squirrel, but still didn't budge from my task. Then a mischance cone tagged me at the corner of my eye. Now grumbling audibly and volubly, I pulled my hat down and, as is my usual wont, continued giving verbal posing instructions to the specimen of C. trifida before my lens.

But that bloody squirrel was not letting up! I kept getting pelted with cones, twigs and bits of debris, but I am imperturble when bent upon a goal and didn't flinch. I remained belly-flopped on the ground, talking to the light, the flower, the rocks, the roots, the camera and anything else I felt needed addressing.

Five or ten minutes passed while I endured a continuing barrage and then, thinking to get some shots of the second new specimen, I started to get up. My eyes travelled to the trail above me where I saw first a pair of legs in uniform trousers and then Kevin's laughing face. I have no idea how long he may have been there, nor how he managed to sneak up on me without my hearing his approach.

Kevin, bless his heart, has been infected with my enthusiasm for this botanical marvel, our little Corallorhiza. He had returned prepared to take photos himself, using far better equipment than I have in my arsenal, and had spent an hour doing just that before I arrived. That said, I am forced to admit that although I may and do consistently recollect rocks and trees I've met only once, I had gone up the trail without recognizing Kevin's car despite the fact that I ride in it regularly.

Corallorhiza Trifida, Local Rarity

Day 196: One of the most exciting moments in a naturalist's career is the discovery of a species they have not observed before. Following a report from a former Park volunteer, I made a total of four trips trying to locate and obtain a decent photograph a solitary specimen of unusual orchid, and even once I had it "in the bag," I was baffled. Since I could not identify it myself, I sent the photo out to several experts in native plants, and just before bedtime last night, I received an identification from one of them: Corallorhiza trifida, aka Early or Yellow Coralroot.

According to Susan McDougall and David Biek, C. trifida is "rare at Mount Rainier....circumboreal, but is uncommon here in the northwest and recorded a couple of times apparently at the mountain...A terrific find!" It is so unusual that they want to photograph it themselves before the blossoms fade. During a plant survey in the Park last year, they had been unable to find an occurrence of the plant.

Even more exciting for me, of course, is the fact that this rare Corallorhiza is also a partial mycoheterotroph, a group of plants in which I have a particular interest. I believe our mild winter may have allowed the mycorrhizal components of many mycoheterotrophic species to proliferate, thus bringing to the surface a greater number and variety of plants than we'd see in a normal year.

Dear little Corallorhiza trifida, if you were a bird, you'd go on my Life List, but unfortunately, I haven't kept good records of my botanical finds. Maybe you've given me reason to start!

Up Early

Day 192: They are up a month early, and the Calypso Orchids are appearing in dozens of unexpected places in the lower forest. Watch where you step if you go looking for these little beauties. From single ground-hugging leaf to tip of tallest petal, Calypso bulbosa stands but six inches in height, easy to miss despite their vivid color. I have pointed out a single flower or two to a group of people at my favourite grove of them with the response, "I see it!" Then I direct them to hunker down or get on their knees to take another look. The new perspective invariably brings the reaction, "Oh, gosh! There are HUNDREDS of them!" If perhaps not hundreds, people will be amazed that they could have been standing among several dozen without seeing even one. If you spot one Calypso, stop where you are and have a look from a lower angle before proceeding. Calypso's flower is crucial to its survival. If it is crushed or the stem is broken, the plant will die.

I'm going to throw that big word out to you again: mycoheterotrophy. Calypsos are among a very specialized group of plants called partial mycoheterotrophs. That means that in addition to photosynthesizing via the customary mechanism for plants (i.e., through a leaf). they also form a symbiotic relationship with a fungus (often one specific species) in order to extract nutrients from the soil, hence the adjective "partial." On the other hand, "obligate" mycoheterotrophs such as Indian Pipe (Monotropa uniflora) rely entirely on a fungal component to sustain them.

We experienced a very light winter here in the Pacific Northwest with a much lower than normal snowpack. Although this is purely conjecture, it makes me wonder if the abundance of Calypsos could be due in some degree to proliferation of their symbiotic fungal counterpart, a response to a warmer environment. Many plants are emerging earlier than usual, and how that will affect the wildflower season in the high country remains to be seen.

It's Calypso Time!

Day 212: Arguably one of the most beautiful wildflowers of the lower forest, the delicate Calypso Orchid is also one of the most fragile. As a partial mycoheterotroph, this plant relies on a mycorrhizal (fungal) component to aid it in utilizing soil nutrients. Unlike full mycoheterotrophs, it is also capable of limited photosynthesis, but cannot complete its life cycle without both processes (mycoheterotrophy and photosynthesis). A broken stalk, a crushed leaf or a disturbance of the soil will destroy these diminuitive "fairyslippers."

Calypsos spring up in the early season (May-June) at Mount Rainier National Park. At an average height of five inches, they can be difficult to spot in their preferred habitat alongside mossy stream channels and wet areas. The single leaf emerges first, followed by the development of the stalk and blossom. Although the magenta-pink flower is typical of the species, white blooms are not uncommon. Keep your eyes open, because it's Calypso time!