Where Chip Belongs

Day 329: The summer of 2019 seems to have been exceptionally kind to furry wildlife. As previously reported, I've personally observed nine black bears and also an astonishing abundance of marmots, and where I'm used to finding a fairly large number of squirrels and chipmunks, I've never before seen as many young Townsend's chips. Particularly along lower Skyline Trail between its junction with the Lakes and Paradise Glacier trails, baby chips are all over the place, some small enough to make me think they're only a month or so out of the nest, scampering here and there, running up trees to scold me as I pass. It makes me wonder: is this a "boom year," to be followed by a "bust?" Or is it a trend, critters from the lower forest moving up in range as global temperatures rise? Mammals, birds, insects and others follow their food sources; plant ranges are shifting, both geographically and seasonally. Many of the target species I'm monitoring for MeadoWatch are blooming earlier, setting seed earlier, and while this might seem like good news for some critters, it's bad for those who can't adjust or are slower to respond to change. In some cases, a shift in period may initiate a "meltdown," for example, if Pedicularis blooms before its species-specific pollinators arrive, it won't set seed. Even if the pollinators arrive early the following year, there will be fewer plants to support them, and the decline will continue. Our 2019 boom of mammals may tax the food web. Then what? I'm simplifying, yes, but there has to be balance in order to maintain a healthy biota. This isn't a foot-race with only one winner. Humans aren't going to "come out on top." It's a community. We all depend on each other, and we all have to do our share.

The Golden Hoard

Day 328: I went gold-mining on my way home from work yesterday and found a pretty good seam. It's still a little early for Chanterelles, but by the time I'd added a few more to this pile, I felt I had enough to share with a Park friend who had expressed a desire to try wild 'shrooms. I drove back up to the office to deliver them, only to discover that he'd gone home early. I was unable to reach him at home, so entrusted his share of the Golden Hoard to Kevin, trusting that they would not mysteriously disappear before reaching their intended destination. That said, I could tell by the glint in his eye that Kevin is hoping the scales will balance against his thoughtful produce-share contributions as the season progresses. He's kept me in veg this summer, and I hope to repay with a fungal feast or two.

Chicken and Chanterelles
Cut chicken breasts into one-inch cubes. Slice chanterelles to 1/4" thick, and cut into larger ones into pieces, leaving some of the small buttons whole. Fry unbreaded chicken and a healthy dollop of minced garlic in a small amount of shortening until the chicken is almost done, stirring to brown on all sides. Add chanterelles and cook until tender, but be sure some liquid remains in the pain. In a small bowl, combine flour and cold water until you have roughly three tablespoons of flour/water paste. Add a little of the hot mushroom liquid to the paste, and then simultaneously add the paste and 1/4 cup milk to the chicken and 'shrooms. Add salt and pepper to taste, and serve over rice.

Male Mariposa Copper, Lycaena Mariposa

Day 327: A fairly unremarkable butterfly as far as wing patterns go, there were enough of them flitting around the Cascade Asters on the Naches Loop that I felt I could safely conclude that I wasn't just seeing faded individuals. As to the butterflies' true identity, I didn't have a clue. My "best guesses" turn out wrong 50% of the time when I submit them to BugGuide.net, so I've even stopped speculating and simply label them as "unknown" until one of the experts responds, and "book education" seems to be doing no good with respect to improving my skills. I was bemoaning that fact as I moved along the trail, stopping now and then to take another photo, when a butterfly net appeared in my field of view. It was followed by a second, borne in the hands of two Cascade Butterfly Survey volunteers who quickly provided the names and sexes of the species I'd photographed during my hike, including this male Mariposa Copper (Lycaena mariposa). Now there's a thought: sign up for the training next year!

A Crow In Its Natural Habitat

Day 326: The Reflection Lakes MeadoWatch hike ends at a waypoint not too far above the intersection of the Skyline Trail with the Paradise Glacier Trail, at a transition point between subalpine meadow and alpine barren, but I cannot turn around there, not with rocky exposures calling to me only a mere half mile further on. In the days when I had two good shoulders and young legs, my preference in backcountry campsites generally took me far off trail and into this inhospitable environment. I describe my camping choice as anywhere "high, bleak and desolate," somewhere with a broad view of the forests and meadows below with nothing above me but sky and the bulk of the Mountain. One of my favourite spots was a sandy patch just large enough for a two-man tent at 7800' on Curtis Ridge, ideal if one happened to be in the mood for watching the Perseid meteor shower in August, or later in the year, admiring the silky glow of Puget Sound at sunset with the lights of Tacoma sparkling in the foreground. In this environment, I felt secure in my solitude on Curtis Ridge; any human approaching could be seen well in advance of their arrival in my camp. At the heart of it, you must understand, I am a solitary creature. If I were younger and not quite so surgically reconstructed, I would go, perhaps not "where no one has gone before," but as close as possible in the modern world. But all things said, the fact that I've been partially rebuilt limits me now to the day hikes which never succeed in taking me beyond the possibility of human contact. Still, it is those high, rocky places which draw me into going the extra distance for whatever moments of personal time I can share exclusively with my Mountain.

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.

Parnassia Fimbriata, Grass-of-Parnassus

Day 324: Grass-of-Parnassus is an excellent example of how confusing common names can be. First of all, it is not a grass. Purportedly named for its abundant occurrence on Mount Parnassus (Greece), the species actually growing there is a botanical cousin. Also called "Marsh Marigold," it is not related to the Marsh Marigold (Caltha leptosepala) known and loved in PNW alpine wetlands. Yes, it prefers a similar habitat, and thus comes a third common name, "Bog-stars." This is why I prefer Latin. There can be no doubt when Parnassia fimbriata is specified. Whatever you call it, its fringed one-inch flowers are highly photogenic. Look for it along the margins of perennial seeps and springs in the subalpine zone.

September's Flower

Day 323: A glad, good September Morn to you, dear readers. For those of you new to my posts, today is significant to me personally because it opens the "beautiful month" when mountain meadows put on their fall colours and the Bog Gentians take the blue skies of summer into their hearts to guard it through the coming winter. Of all the flowers of the field, rare or otherwise, Gentiana calycosa holds a top spot on my list of favourites. It is the last flower to come into bloom in the subalpine zone, and obviously one of the most showy. A white variant exists (not a separate species), which sometimes carries a note of grey not often seen in nature. Perhaps that's it's gentle way of reminding us that grey days are coming, to take September and live it to the fullest: hiking, roaming the hills, exploring one last rocky peak for the year. The grey also speaks of frost, soon to deliver its bracing note to our early morning wanderings. There's nothing quite like that early chill to move you along to the next point on your route. So do this, my friends: let September take you to the high country. Go, before the snows fly.