Cephalanthera

Day 273: Navigating trailless forest in pre-dawn twilight presents a few challenges most hikers will never experience, but in order to be through the gate before casual Park visitors started lining up and to have the strenuous portion of my hike behind me before the heat of the day, I was out well before sunrise, pushing through the devil's club and clambering over tangles of logs and limbs en route to the only location in Mount Rainier National Park where Cephalanthera austiniae is known to occur. The sun still had not climbed above the horizon when I spotted the first one. As I unshouldered my pack and set up the tripod to capture its pristine whiteness in the flat light, a second one caught my eye, then a third and fourth together, and a fifth beside them. The census eventually reached fifteen: not a record, but definitely a respectable number, and all within a plot of land generously estimated to be 150' x 75'. Why here? What mycorrhizal component exists in this pocket ecology to support these plants? The Phantom knows, but I do not.

Pinguicula Vulgaris, Butterwort

Day 256: Every time my botany partners refer to "Butterwort," I experience a moment of confusion. Butterwort? Do I know that plant? Oh, Pinguicula! Why, when the Latin option is such a delightful word, would anyone call this delicate insectivore by an English name? The suffix "-wort" means "plant." Okay, that's easy. Perhaps "Butter" refers to the yellowish foliage and, extending that logic with no particular validation, the fact that flies stick to it when they land on it. Anyone who's ever been to a picnic can see the sense in that. In fact, the Latin nomenclature derives from "pinguis," meaning "fat," and indeed the leaves have an oily sheen to them due to the secretions produced by specialized glands. One secretion lures and ensnares insects and, as the insect struggles to free itself, another type of gland is stimulated to produce digestive enzymes. The insects' soft tissue is dissolved and absorbed into the leaves, leaving behind their hard exoskeletons, like those visible in this photo. Like many other "carnivorous" plants, Pinguicula likes moist areas where insect life is abundant and temperatures stay on the cool side even during heat waves.

Lathyrus Torreyi

Day 299: I just had to have a pea. I can't take credit for this find of Lathyrus torreyi (Torrey's Peavine), a plant on the state's list of rarities. No, the information on where to find it came to me from the manager of the Burke Herbarium who got it from one of his colleagues. She had reported it from this SECRET location previously in 2017 and had seen it again recently. She alerted David, David alerted me, Arnie and other Park staff, and I emailed my botany partners, afraid that I wouldn't be able to document it myself, thanks to a Post Office screw-up which failed to forward my license tab renewal to me before my tags expired. I've been waiting for the new ones to arrive, which they did late yesterday. I was so excited about L. torreyi that I couldn't sleep last night and bounced out of bed at 4:30 this morning, grabbed a quick breakfast and was out the door a little after 5 so that I could arrive on site without risking contact with another human.

Don't let the photo fool you. This is a small, vetch-like legume, not a full-sized "sweet pea" flower. Most of the blossoms had withered since the plant had been sighted by David's colleague, but I was able to find two still fresh, if perhaps a little pale. They are normally somewhat darker blue. The site where L. torreyi occurs is at the extreme northern edge of its range, and as I said, it is considered rare in Washington. I'm glad I got to see it.

Cephalanthera Census

Day 270: Cephalanthera austiniae is only known from one location in Mount Rainier National Park. Since the Park's establishment in 1899, it has been observed by a mere handful of people, almost all of whom belong to Team Biota. Yesterday, we did an extensive inventory and came up with a census of eleven stems. Because of the nature of this unique plant's growth pattern, we estimate that that census represents no more than five plants. Why is Phantom Orchid so rare? There are a number of factors. First of all, it is an obligate mycoheterotroph, i.e., lacking chlorophyll, it cannot photosynthesize and relies on soil mycorrhizae to provide its nutrition. Second, it depends on specific mycorrhizal species (or perhaps just one). Third, those mycorrhizae only grow where a certain type of decaying vegetative matter is present. Cephalanthera may also depend on the presence of certain species of vascular plants (what we call its "associated" plants) and I believe it may also require a specific soil regime and/or that it tolerates only a narrow range of soil pH. These factors all come together in a tiny, secret pocket of forest at Mount Rainier, a spot where the only sounds are the trickling of a thready stream and the voices of Team Biota saying, "Four...five...I've got another one over here."

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.

Chasing Phantoms

Day 270: Putting this in perspective, the three people who make up the core of Team Biota are three of only six or seven individuals who have ever observed Phantom Orchids (Cephalanthera austiniae) in Mount Rainier National Park. Two others are Park colleages, and the sixth is a former Park employee and friend of Arnie's. The seventh observation was made before the Park was established in 1899 and only describes the location as in the "upper Nisqually Valley," a broad term which could refer to anything above the former town of Alder. That first sighting was of a single stem, as was the one made by Arnie's friend. Even Joe and Sharon have not seen as many stems as I have: a total now of 23 (14 in 2017 and 9 this year). You can't blame me for being a bit jazzed!

Yesterday, we found three stems in two new spots, although still within the 100' circle we feel represents the mycorrhizal network. One of the older plants was broken (possibly trampled by a certain young fawn of our acquaintance), another had the terminal buds nipped off. The specimen I dubbed "Bitten" last year has emerged this year whole and healthy, proving that its root system and mycorrhizal connections were undamaged. The lower flowers on several of the stems are beginning to open, and if you look closely at the image, you may spot a tiny aphid in the center of the lowest bloom. Are these what pollinate Cephalanthera? If so, I say hurray for aphids!

Butterwort

Day 245: The space of a week saw the Butterwort (Pinguicula vulgaris) go from bud to lavish blossom in its isolated niche in a wet rock wall. This little carnivore is rare in the Park and elsewhere. I know that it occurs in at least one other area, but unfortunately, that location is at one of the furthest possible removes from my home. It's not that it's distant geographically. In fact, if this Crow could fly, it's less than twenty miles, but to make the connections by car, it's close to a three-hour drive. In this photo, the foliage on the right belongs to a different plant. The insect husks on the paler green leaves on the left mark the foliage of the hungry Butterwort.

First 2018 Phantom

Day 231: Perhaps even more exciting than Team Biota's other recent finds, if perhaps not as showy, the first Phantom Orchid (Cephalanthera austiniae) has made its appearance in 2018. Although we thought it was too early for them to be emerging, Joe Dreimiller and I visited the site in the hopes of seeing any sign of new growth. This rare species has only been recorded in the Park three times (a single specimen in 2005 and now twice by Team Biota), with a fourth historical mention prior to the establishment of the Park in 1899. That fourth record is suspect; the location given is very vague and may have been from outside the Park. Last year during an extensive survey of the area, Plant Ecologist Arnie Peterson and I recorded an incredible total of 14 stems which, due to the nature of the species probably only represents five or six plants. Needless to say, the location of these treasures is a highly guarded secret, but I can share them with you via photos. We'll be keeping an eye on the patch.

Crow And Arnie's Excellent Adventure

Day 268: Park Plant Ecologist Arnie Peterson and I met up Friday morning, left my car on one side of a hill, drove around to the other side in his car and hiked into the site where Team Biota had discovered seven Phantom Orchids, a rare and endangered plant found only in the Pacific Northwest. Arnie wanted to see them for himself, and my last visit had shown him that they were almost fully open. We arrived on site and after GPSing and photographing the plants, we split up and began exploring the surrounding area. I had not gone more than about twenty feet when I yelled out, "Arnie! Arnie! I've got three more! No, four...no, five! No, SIX! There's a young one in the ferns! I swear these were not here Monday. I KNOW they weren't! I stepped over this log right there!" Arnie came across to survey my finds and then said, "I'm going to check this drainage," with a gesture uphill. I reminded him that I'd been up there on Monday and had found nothing, but he said he wanted to look. I kiddingly commented, "You just want to find one all of your very own, don't you? I'll just stay right here and take more pictures of these." Off he went. I took more pictures, then patrolled the banks of another small intermittent stream but found nothing. On my way back to "orchid base," I heard Arnie: "I've got one! And where this one is, it changes everything we thought we knew about the habitat!" "Hang on," said I. "I'm coming across."

Upon reaching Arnie's specimen, I understood what he meant. It wasn't near water. There was none of the greenery we'd come to associate with the other specimens: no Oxalis, no Enchanter's Nightshade, no moss. More importantly (to our theories, anyway), there was no Red Cedar near the plant. Both of us addressed the innocently-offending orchid with the same question, "What are you doing here, little guy?" At this point, our census of "rare and endangered" individuals had grown to fourteen, all within a hundred feet or so of each other. "One plant couldn't be expected to thrive," said Arnie, "but we have a healthy population here." That said, we agreed that the numbers weren't large enough to sacrfice one of its members for an herbarium specimen.

Cephalanthera austiniae

Our main goal accomplished, Arnie thought we should do an extensive survey of a couple of other drainages. The largest of these was attacked bilaterally, Arnie on one side, Crow on the other. When it yielded nothing in a quarter mile, we decided to abandon it for another potential site on the other side of the hill. Please bear in mind that this is old and trailless forest. Every five or ten feet of travel meant heaving our aching bones over another fallen tree or series of fallen trees. There were occasional open patches which we greeted with great enthusiasm, but on the other hand, there were those devil's-club thickets which are part of the definition of "drainage" in the Pacific Northwest.

While going through one particularly nasty section of devil's-club, I stepped in a hole. My unavoidable collapse occurred in slow motion, but at the end of it, I found myself with my feet uphill of my head, on my back in the devil's-club. I was grateful for the pack which saved me from becoming a human porcupine, but the position was awkward and any hand-hold I could reach was covered in thousands of spines. I writhed and wriggled while Arnie, drat him, looked on, encouraging me with comments in the nature of, "I should get the camera out!" It was not the only such occurrence during our transit. I fell two more times, although in slightly better circumstances. Arnie also fell twice, at which point I reminded him of his camera threat. Unfortunately, he righted himself too quickly for me to make good on the idea.

Route-finding was governed by density of devil's-club, at times driving us up hillsides we'd hoped to avoid climbing, and somehow, somewhere along the line, we went awry and got on the wrong side of a hill. We wound up laying a new course to waypoints I'd pre-installed on my GPS, points which took us a quarter mile back the way we'd come, and then down some rather steep terrain until we finally reached my car. The distance we had travelled from the orchids was roughly two miles. It is a measure of its ruggedness to say that it took us six hours to complete it. I came home, took a bath, and promptly fell asleep in my chair.

Chasing Phantoms

Day 264: First, let me correct the dates I gave previously. Until recently, Cephalanthera austiniae (Phantom Orchid) had only been seen in Mount Rainier National Park on two occasions, both times as a single specimen. The first occurrence was in 1892, the second in 2005...a gap of 113 years. Last week, I found two with my botany partner Joe Dreimiller. Yesterday, I did a wider survey alone and discovered seven specimens, one of which had been cropped of all but its lowest blossom by a deer. The tallest of the plants was roughly 16", the shortest about 8". I took many photographs and GPSed the three locations in which they occurred, and further exploration up the drainage revealed what to my eyes looked like ideal habitat, but no more orchids. Still, seven individuals is not a bad score for a "rare and endangered" species.

Spotted from a distance

Like many other members of the Orchidaceae, Cephalanthera is a mycoheterotroph, i.e., it relies on the cooperation of a specific fungal component in the soil in order to grow and flower. Unlike some other orchids which are capable of photosynthesis on their own because they are possessed of some chlorophyll (partial mycoheterotrophs), the Phantom is an obligate mycoheterotroph, which is to say that it cannot exist without its mycorrhizal partner. Consequently, its survival depends on its ability to lay dormant for many years, waiting for the proper fungus to become active. That's why it is so rare.

Can you find all four?

Over the last five years or so, I have noticed a dramatic rise in the bloom rate of a number of mycoheterotrophic species in the Park. They have long been of special interest to me. I suspect this increase may have its origins in the milder, wetter winters we've experienced over the same period of time, as well as the warm springs which have followed them. Many fungi have been appearing in growing numbers as well. The wet weeks of early June and warm conditions later in the month set the stage for chasing Phantoms, and seems to be bringing out other mycoheterotrophs as well (notably Indian Pipe, which is beginning to erupt). However, the census of Corallorhiza maculata is down, although the count C. trifida was up substantially. Clearly, there is a fungal backstory here which I don't fully understand.

Joe and Sharon knew exactly what I meant when I shot a cryptic one-word post to Facebook last night: "Seven." Joe is recovering from shoulder surgery done only a few days ago and will be out of commission for the rest of the season. At least he got to see two.

Cephalanthera Austiniae, Phantom Orchid

Day 258: About a year and a half ago, Park Plant Ecologist Arnie Peterson gave me a challenge: every week, I was to find a new plant (i.e., a species occurring in a previously unrecorded location). By the time last August rolled around, Team Biota (Joe and Sharon Dreimiller and I) had given him enough to fill out the remainder of the year. The challenge resumed this spring, and we're already ahead of schedule.

Arnie decided to up the stakes during the winter. He had received a photo from a botanist friend who had discovered a single specimen of Cephalanthera austiniae in 2005. Despite his long career in the field, Arnie has never seen a Phantom Orchid in the wild. He had been given vague coordinates by the friend and supplied us with a rough estimate of where the 2005 sighting had taken place, a circle roughly a tenth of a mile in diameter, off trail and into tangled forest. After our other duties were done for the day, Joe and I decided to give it a try even though we felt we were a month too early. Thus the saga begins.

My thought process after clambering over several large fallen trees, wiping spiderwebs from my face (they're sharp when they get in your eyes), and following a number of false leads ran along these lines: "That's another white stick...the ground cover is so thick in here you couldn't find an elephant...licheny bit...stick, yeah, another white stick...stick? Waitaminit, that doesn't look like a stick. That doesn't look AT ALL like a stick!"

Then as I got a clearer view, I said very loudly, thoroughly at a loss for any other words, "Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, SHIT! Joe! Joe! Joe! Shit! Oh, Joe!" to which Joe responded, "Are you all right?" I said through copious tears flowing down my cheeks, speaking rather breathlessly and not solely due to exertion, "Joe...I've got the plant!"

"What?" said Joe from 75 feet away. By then, I was crying so hard I could barely speak, "I've...got...the...PLANT!" and I knelt down beside it to pay homage. I heard Joe say, "There's another one behind you!" There was another one five feet away. Neither displayed open flowers, but we had found them, one of Mount Rainier National Park's rarest species.

I tried radioing Maureen, our contact. No response. It registered with me that I had never gotten Arnie's radio number, so I did the next best thing. I called Dispatch. "Dispatch, 442. Please call Arnie Peterson and ask him to contact me by radio." Dispatch replied, "Stand by." Less than a minute later, Arnie's voice came over the air: "442?" "Arnie, Joe and I are kneeling beside two Phantoms," I responded. Short and to the point, he replied, "GPS and photos. Check in with me later." I already had my GPS on the ground, averaging a reading.

For the most part, my photos were poor due to lack of light except for this one, but in any event, a return trip is in order next week to see if the flowers have opened. Our retreat was made somewhat easier by following a distinctive geographic feature, eliminating some of the route-finding hazards we encountered on the way in. Still, you don't want to get into a patch of Devil's Club, and even more to the point, you don't want to grab its stalks to pull yourself uphill. Nor do you want to exhaust yourself by repeatedly heaving your body over the jackstraws of blowdown. That particular exercise gets old really fast.

Some time later, we attained the truck and made our way to Longmire. As we were leaving Arnie's office after showing him the results of our search, I reminded him of the challenge he'd given us. His comment: "It'll be hard to beat this one." I've promised to guide him to the site if he can free up the time. Those herbarium specimens he was cataloguing will keep. The Phantom won't.

Three Plus One Is Four

Day 209: Imagine yourself beside me in lushly green Pacific Northwest forest. Mosses blanket the ground, ferns and other vegetation rise above them in the understory, and even the trunks of the trees are covered in greenish lichen. We have come to find a rare wonder, a tiny orchid, the smallest of the Corallorhizas. Corallorhiza trifida is also green, both in stalk and flower. We are operating from my personal memory; I know where I've seen them before, behind *that* log, hidden by *that* clump of fern. A certain one of us can't recall whether a long-time friend wears glasses or has a moustache, but can remember with great precision the lay of the land and yes, *that* log and *that* fern. Unerringly, our mission draws us to one slight depression in a woods anyone else would describe with the words, "It all looks the same to me." Then the search begins. We go down on hands and knees carefully away from the core area, and with eyes as close to ground level as the projecting ear will allow, we sight across the microtopography. There, rising a whole four inches above the soil is a miniature asparagus spear, its diameter no greater than the lead in a common pencil. Now crawling with faces to the ground, we navigate the circumference of an eight-foot circle. Yes, there are three more asparagus spears hidden in a tangle of fern fronds and stems. Three plus one is four, not the sixteen found last year...but it's a beginning.

Pseudocyphellaria Rainierensis, Old-Growth Specklebelly

Day 118: The Bud Blancher Trail is proving to be a goldmine of lichen species from common to rare. Pseudocyphellaria rainierensis falls in the latter category. Listed in Canada as "vulnerable," it is found primarily in old-growth forest as its common name Old-Growth Specklebelly suggests. Its scientific nomenclature gives another hint as to where it is most likely to be observed: rainierensis. A closer look at the lower surface of the lobes will reveal tiny white speckles (pseudocyphellae) on a tomentose (velvety) base. Similar species for which it might be mistaken are Platismatia glauca (rhizines present) and Lobaria oregana (pseudocyphellae absent). Apothecia of Pseudocyphellaria rainierensis are seldom seen. While not a Life List species for me (I have witnessed it within the Park), these are my first good photos of the species.

The Icing On The Cake

Day 259: Yesterday, I introduced my readers to two of the most common species of Paintbrush to be found in Mount Rainier National Park. Today, it is my pleasure to show you a rare variety.

First, I want you to notice that I used the word "variety" in that last sentence. This is not a rare plant, per se, but it is a rare colour. Just like pansies, petunias and poppies can be found in a variety of colours, so can some of our native wildflowers. Their genetic differences are not sufficient to categorize them as separate species or even as sub-species despite the fact that they are visually quite different from others of their same species.

Castilleja parviflora var. oreopola is a case in point. This "Magenta Paintbrush" has white bracts. If you compare a "leaf" of magenta-coloured Paintbrush (C. parviflora) to a "leaf" of this white Paintbrush, you should be able to tell that they are identical in all respects except colour. The white form is rather rare in the Park, previously reported from the Sunrise area. Following a lead from a botanizing friend, I was pleased to be able to observe not one but two specimens near Paradise on a morning hike today.

Glorious Sundews!

Day 207: If I had checked my personal phenology records before I left home, I might not have been so surprised when I reached Jack's Log on Lake St. Clair and saw that it was carpeted in red. I'd thought I was too early to find my little carnivorous friends. Needless to say, the tenor of my kayaking adventure for the day changed in that moment, and I spent the next five hours checking their customary haunts. I am happy to report that the colonies on Sundew Island are doing quite well despite the fact that their raft got relocated into a rather shady location by accident or purpose. Jack's lot are flourishing, and at least to my eye appear to be thicker than last year. They have certainly had a varied diet. In addition to their usual fare of mosquitoes and the occasional fly, I noted one spider which had strayed too close.

Special Friends

Day 223: The Sundews are back! Their floating island/raft is still in place at the location where it came to rest after a storm last fall, and although it's shaded for most of the day, the colony seems to be doing quite well.

I have so much to learn about this fascinating plant! When I checked on the island exactly a month ago (April 13), there was no sign of Drosera growth on the logs. I did not know what to expect after the relocation, but I figured whatever happened, the Sundews had undoubtedly survived similar episodes and alterations in exposure and it was now up to me to document any changes that might occur. Interesting to note is the fact that there are none on the log where I first discovered them, the log still in place at the north end of Sundew Arm.

This, of course, was my main reason for going out on Lake St. Clair today: checking on my babies. I also found another paddle cache and did some fishing, which is to say that I caught and released an amazing twenty-eight trout in the 11-14" range!

Sundew With Seed Pods

Day 2: The heavy rain and blustery winds of last week had an unanticipated effect on the Sundews of Lake St. Clair. Three-quarters of the way through a 12-mile paddle, I swung by to say "Hi" to my little friends in Site #2 and couldn't find them or the structure on which they'd been growing. A nearby "island" was in its accustomed spot, but the chained-together logs were nowhere to be seen. Site #1 was intact, and I made many trips back and forth between the two locations as I tried to pinpoint any evidence of my precious Droseras, and only succeeded in finding one solitary specimen. Where had they gone?

The mystery was solved when I gave up searching and began paddling back toward the confluence of the lake's four lobes. A quarter of a mile south of where I'd last seen it, there was the "raft" of logs strung out but still chained together, and to my utter delight, one of them was simply covered with Sundews, far more than I'd seen last week. It made no sense to mark the location with the GPSr, not with the colony on a winter cruise. I'll simply have to remember some of the "raft's" distinctive features and search for it each time I go out.

My readers will be happy to learn that my documentation of this species has been referred to both the Rare Plant Care and Conservation Program and to the leading Washington State botanist who works with the Dept. of Natural Resources on rare plant issues. These Sundews are well on their way to having the protection they deserve.