Invasive Alert - Meadow Knapweed

Day 261: Recently, the Invasive Plant Council asked me to lead an introductory walk for new members, and after some discussion of potential locations, we settled on Eatonville's Bud Blancher Trail with the option of continuing into Pack Forest. Since I walk Bud Blancher quite frequently in the winter months as part of the Park's fitness challenge, I expected that the trainees would find very little (if anything) to report. I figured we'd practice by taking GPS readings on ivy, holly and Stinky Bob (Herb Robert). Since these species are so prevalent, we don't include them in our surveys unless there's a good possibility that they can be controlled easily by the land manager for the area, except to make a note in our reports that they are present.

Due to the distance from urban centers, I only had one trainee sign up for my walk: a young botanist/teacher from Puyallup. I arrived on site early, and while I was waiting for him to arrive, I noticed something purple growing at the top of the berm beside the trail. It was obviously not a thistle, so I climbed up for a better look. Aaaaggghhhh! Meadow Knapweed! There were several instances of it along a little side-trail on city property, so when Ian arrived, I announced that we could start the day off with a "positive," i.e., we'd found an infestation. As we walked down the first half-mile of the trail, we found several more occurrences, including one patch about 40' in diameter.

Meadow Knapweed (Centaurea debeauxii) is a hybrid of two other species of knapweed, Centaurea jacea x nigra (Brown Knapweed and Black Knapweed). There are eight species on the list of invasives in Washington. They are best controlled by using a combination of techniques to prevent their spread. Pulling is often not enough and must be followed by chemical treatment. However, if you see knapweeds on your property, pull them from the base and bag them to prevent the heads from going to seed.

Erythronium Grandiflorum, Glacier Lily

Day 260: Like their well-known white cousins Avalanche Lilies, Glacier Lilies (Erythronium grandiflorum) follow the receding snow-line, often flowering right at the edge of snow patches or sometimes poking their heads straight up through. In fact, the blooming cycle of both Erythroniums is closely tied to the depth of snow-pack. Their corms not only require a period of chill but of darkness. When the snow-pack is lower than normal, a small amount of sunlight passes through the snow. Given a low snow year or an early melt, fewer Glacier and Avalanche Lilies will be seen in the meadows the following spring. At Mount Rainier, Glacier Lilies are more likely to be found on the east side or below Paradise, while Avalanche Lilies dominate the western portion of the Park.

Gregor Samsa Revisited

 Day 259 (Part B): Team Biota's finds are not limited to vascular plants, lichens and the occasional Fungus Of Worldwide Concern. We're searching for the rare and odd in Nature, regardless of species; case in point: this Cicada chrysalis, a discovery which put me immediately in mind of Franz Kafka's "Metamorphosis" and protagonist Gregor Samsa who woke one morning to find himself transformed into a "hideous vermin" (interpreted by many translators to mean a giant bug).

I had not known we had Cicadas in Washington until we found this abandoned husk, although in hindsight, I realize now that I've heard them as a nearly constant background sound on many hikes. Often referred to as "periodic," our local version has a life cycle of four or more years, with much of that spent in the nymphal stage. The adult female uses her ovipositor to pierce a twig where she lays her eggs. The eggs hatch into nymphs, dropping to the ground where they will spend their next several years of life in the soil. As the nymph reaches adulthood, it emerges from the soil to climb a tree, where it then emerges as a fully-winged adult, leaving behind its exoskeleton. The adult does not feed. It lives only to mate, and thus the cycle begins again, Cicadas buzzing in the trees, humming to hikers on the trail.

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!

Hoary Marmot

Day 258: Even seasoned photographers can't resist taking pictures of the Park's most commonly observed mammal. Hoary Marmots are natural "models," ready to strike a pose or hold perfectly still. Marmota caligata is a member of the family Sciuridae, i.e., a squirrel on steroids. A full-grown marmot may weight up to 30 pounds! They live in dens dug as deeply as six feet into the ground and subsist on a variety of herbaceous plants. Hikers in the high country often see them with mouthsful of wildflowers, or sitting up on their haunches surveying their surroundings, but marmots are not exclusive to the subalpine areas. Although generally seen near tree-line, they have been reported at elevations near sea level. Their call is distinctive: a high-pitched whistle which gives rise to their nickname of "whistle pig."

The Future of NPS

Day 257 (bonus post): According to the folks at LEGO, the LEGO National Parks series wasn't "global" enough to put into production. I understand that logic, but I was unhappy because I really wanted one of those ranger mini-figures. Then I discovered that they were available as a limited edition, made from "repurposed LEGO parts" and not actually a LEGO product. I ordered two, and then set about finding a way to convert one of them into ME. I ordered a head with glasses and an additional Peter Capaldi wig (the only grey hair they had available), and from my small stockpile of spare parts, figured out a way that my avatar could hold her hat in her hand.

Of course I was duty-bound to insert her into my "Doctor Who" set, and within seconds of the time I submitted the photo to Facebook's "National Park Service LEGO Vignettes" page, the administrators contacted me with a resounding "Awesome!" and permission to post it to the page. I captioned it "The future of the National Park Service is in your hands."

Triantha By Any Other Name

Day 257: I don't know that there's an International Taxonomic Conspiracy, but if there is, I'm sure their motto is "A rose by any other name." I am finding it difficult to keep up with the changes being brought about by genetic research: new species names, moves of one species into a new genus. Aster species are now Oreostemma, Arabis has become Boechera, and beautiful, uncommon "Tofieldia glutinosa" has been completely recategorized as Triantha occidentalis. I'm sorry, guys...I can accept Tofieldia becoming Triantha, but "glutinosa" told me something about the plant that "occidentalis" fails to convey. In the field, I want to know that I'm looking for something sticky, not something which "occurs in the west."

Among my botanical colleagues, there are varying degrees of resistance to the changes in nomenclature. The largest camp voices complete rejection. Some of them have published field guides which will now need extensive revision before the next reprint. Others simply don't want to annotate the field guides already in their libraries. Some say, "Okay, you'll have to remind me of that the next time we see it," and a few are like me, trying hard to stay current with the science, even though the notes in our field-guide indices have demolished all hope of looking things up alphabetically. The hardest adjustment, however, is going back through our electronic records of the last decade or more to change the titles we've ascribed to our photos. It pains me to say it, but in my case, that's not going to get done.

Fortunately, we have ITIS (the Integrated Taxonomic Information System). If we remember to use it, we can save ourselves the embarrassment of correction when we present a plant publicly. That said, several of my recent photos of Triantha occidentalis were submitted to the WTU Herbarium under the title, "Tofieldia glutinosa." What you thought you knew on Tuesday may be different when you get up on Wednesday morning, and for that, you can thank a taxonomist.