September Ramble

Day 353: Yesterday, my friend Maggie and I celebrated the season's end by taking a short hike to Dege Peak above Sunrise. Maggie had finished her seasonal term in the Park and I'd worked in some capacity or another for ten days straight, so you might have thought we'd go in town for a movie or something, but that's not the way of those of us who love the outdoors. It was the proverbial "busman's holiday," and cool temperatures, a slight breeze and grey skies provided near-perfect conditions for the walk. The only thing missing was a view of the Mountain, its dominating figure almost entirely hidden beneath a dark-bottomed cloud.

The brooding skies provided an additional benefit of ideal light for photographing Harebells (Campanula rotundifolia), a subject which invariably glares under any ray of sun. These delicate flowers are one of the signature species in the subalpine zone and can often be found in groupings, their bells pendent from thready stems and trembling in the lightest current of air. They frequently persist right up until first snow, as if trying to hold the last traces of summer sky. For us, they rang out September and the season's close.

Callospermophilus Saturatus, Cascade Golden-Mantled Ground Squirrel

Day 352: Squirrel! You might easily mistake Cascade Golden-mantled Ground Squirrel (Callospermophilus saturatus) for a chipmunk due to its size and lateral stripes. However, the broad, dark saddle and eye ring tell the story. Chipmunks and squirrels are members of the same family (Sciuridae). The easiest way to tell them apart is that chipmunks have a light stripe running through the eye and squirrels have only a ring of lighter fur surrounding it. Ground Squirrel's "racing stripes" may be more pronounced than those exhibited by this individual, giving it an even stronger resemblance to the chips of the area, so check that eye! Both can be very persistent pests in the backcountry, gnawing holes in packs and tents to get at food, or even chewing on sweaty boots and other clothing for the salt.

MeadoWatch Patrol

Day 351: My favourite month slipped by with little time for hiking or any other outdoor activity, so I was grateful to get out on my last MeadoWatch patrol of the year without having to don rain gear. It was a little chilly when I set out, but that's one of the things I love about September: it lets you work out without getting too steamed. The sky was mostly overcast and although clouds obscured the Mountain, the seasonal colour was stunning in the meadows. There was suprisingly more data to record for the target wildflower species than I'd expected this late in the season. Even at this high point (the last stop on my patrol from Reflection Lake), Western Anemones were releasing their seeds and some lupine pods had not yet burst. That said, it seemed to have been a poor year for Sitka Valerian, at least in this local micro-ecology.

Dissection And Discovery

Day 350: After a phenomenal 10-day blooming run, the points of Huernia zebrina's star-shaped inflorescence folded in on themselves, hiding the raised red "donut" in its center (refer to my September 15 post to see the open bloom). Now it was time for some science.

I've been curious about what purpose the "donut" might serve, so I removed it carefully from its point of attachment and made a transverse slice just above the sepals which also removed the reproductive structures. These were not examined. I then sectioned the "star," removing two of the points in order to have a clear view of the tissue of the "donut." I was somewhat surprised to find that it was simply thicker but otherwise appeared to be identical to the tissue of the points. Based on this discovery, I believe that the "donut" serves to restrict access to the reproductive structures to specific pollinators, i.e., those small enough to enter the chamber or those with long tongues (butterflies, bats, humingbirds). To date, I have not noticed any fragrance in the flowers which might draw nectar-feeders, but given the apparent limitations imposed by the "donut," I am inclined to believe that "Lifesaver Plant" is pollinated by nectar-feeding species.

The Way It Was In 1932

Day 349: The photo in yesterday's post was taken from the site of the historic Sunrise Auto Camp, shown here in a two-panel panorama created by my maternal grandfather in 1932. His images were shot from a higher vantage point which I have not been able to identify in the field and shows Mt. Fremont faintly in the background beneath the overlaid blue sky as well as the unmistakable profile of the west end of Sourdough Ridge. I captured Sourdough's horizon from my photo, reduced it in size and pasted it over Gpa's shot at 80% opacity. The parking area shown here is the site of our revegetation efforts. Quite a change!

Sunrise Reveg

Day 348: With National Public Lands Day projects on the horizon, I have been watching the weather forecast with some anxiety for the last two weeks, seeing it progress from a threat of rain to the promise of sunny but chilly conditions at 6400' where our revegetation efforts would be concentrated. Consequently, when I left home yesterday, I was kitted up in my thermal underwear, expecting to be kneeling on frozen ground at least until mid-day. It was brisk where we gathered in White River Campground at 8 AM, 2000' lower, but by the time we had hiked to our staging area near Sunrise, the temperature had risen to a point where it was refreshingly cool and kept us sweat-free as we whellbarrowed flats of wildflower seedlings and "cubies" of water to the site of the 1930s Sunrise Auto Camp.

Meadow restoration is a long-term endeavour, and work has been going on at this location for at least a decade. Several of this year's crew (including me) were returnees. Reveg is compelling because it is a tangible labour. You begin with a bare patch of ground (an old campsite, a social trail) and with each seedling bedded, the trails disappear; the campsites fill in. Taking a step back, you observe a measurable progression of your work. If you were part of a previous year's work party, you may even be rewarded by seeing your prior plantings now releasing the seed of their first season. Every hole you dig and fill with a young plant reinforces your connection to the site, to its history, to the Park, to the Earth.

Before the snow flies, some 50,000 plants will have been put in place...not all today, but over the course of the autumn weeks. People may ask, "But are they really wildflowers if you raised them in a greenhouse?" Of course. The seeds from which they were grown were gathered nearby to maintain the local genome. We're just giving them some help in reestablishing their territory, repairing damage we inflicted.

As for the weather, by mid-day, our jackets had come off and some of us were regretting the added insulation of long johns, although when the sun slipped behind a cloud, a bit of chill returned. When we finally called it a day, I was in a sweat and had planted something between 300-400 Potentillas, asters, Partridgefoot and assorted sedges, a figure equalled by every member of the team. As a final step in ensuring their survival, we watered our charges well, then wheeled our tools and empty seed flats away and, with wistful, backward glances to our handiwork as we hiked over the last roll, consigned our green "children" to the Mountain's keeping.

The Maw

Day 347: Without having seen "Little Shop of Horrors," it took me a while to find out what my friends meant when they'd say, "Feed me, Seymour!" in response to my posts about the collection of carnivores living on my back porch. I finally watched the original movie a few months ago, and although I now understand the reference, I can't for the life of me figure out how such an obvious plot twist and cliché filmography earned the film cult status. At some point, I will watch the modern version, although I suspect that it will offer more gore (something I can do without), but nothing to improve the premise. Let's see...the original Rod Serling "Twilight Zone" must have had a version, and its precursor "Tales of Tomorrow" certainly did. Both pre-dated "Little Shop" by a decade or more. Fun if you're 11 or 12, not so attention-grabbing once you've passed through adolescence.

So...movie critiques aside, this is Sarracenia x Carolina Yellowjacket, my "other" Sarracenia. It has wider but shorter pitchers than Sarracenia rubra (background), but their unique, somewhat portly shape suggests that this plant can consume a lot more bugs. Like rubra, its pitchers are lined with downward-pointing hairs which guide insects first into the throat and then into a pool of digestive enzymes at the bottom. There's no escape for the hapless fly who lands here! To date, Yellowjacket has not bloomed for me, but it has filled its pot to the point that I'll have to divide it next spring. Say bye-bye, bugs! You're doomed!