Marsh Marigolds

Day 260: I will make no attempt to justify the common name "Marsh Marigold" as it applies to Caltha leptosepala, but one source suggests that "marigold" derives from the expression "mare's-galls" and refers to the gall-like shape of the buds. That said, the plant is not even remotely akin to garden marigolds (Tagetes). It doesn't even belong to the same taxonomic family (Tagetes is in Asteraceae, Caltha in Ranunculaceae). "Marsh" is accurate; it is a denizen of wet pockets and seeps in the subalpine areas of the Pacific Northwest. The newly emerging buds exhibit brownish-pink petals on the exterior, a colour which persists on the adult flower, although this tinting is not readily apparent in a top view. To me, Marsh Marigolds are one of the species most evocative of mountain meadows, moreso even than Western Anemones or Avalanche Lilies, and perhaps rivalled in my mental accounting only by Bog Gentian. They always make me smile.

Half Rack

Day 259: I'm sure there are a number of locals who'd like to know where this half-rack was found, but I hasten to remind people that removal of anything from the Park is strictly prohibited. I might be asked, "But why can't I take it home?" I don't expect my explanation to be accepted with good grace, but the fact of it is that this antler will become home and food to a number of different insects, insects which will in turn become nourishment for birds, frogs and other critters, and will contribute minerals to the soil ecology which supports plant growth. It might even be possible that some rare species depend on its biodegradation in order to proliferate. Certain lichens and fungi only grow on decaying antlers. Mycorrhizal affiliations are present in many of the Park's rarer plants. Is there a connection? We don't know. The bottom line is that we humans do not fully understand how things are connected in our environment, and already, our interference with natural processes has disrupted the mechanisms in uncounted ways both small and large. We have ripped and torn the flesh of our Mother Earth when we should have been walking quietly beside her, drawing our lessons from her to ensure our continued survival.

Watch Your Step

Day 258: Travelling cross-country in lower-elevation forest presents a number of hazards. You never know when your projected route is going to terminate in a devil's-club thicket (although if you're near a spring, it's pretty much guaranteed). You must be alert for small holes which might indicate ground-nesting bees. You must watch for ankle-grabbing vines, shin-cracking stobs, spidery drop-nets, eye-poking branches, slippery slopes, animal dens...in fact, I'm convinced that if the list was numbered, it would be equivalent to the number of steps taken during any one adventure. In other words, you must always, always, always watch where you are going. And that bit of woods-lore is precisely what saved Junior. Joe looked behind the log before he threw his leg over it, and therefore didn't step on the fawn.

We'd heard mom bounding up the hill a little earlier and didn't give her a second thought. The forest is home to all sorts of wildlife, and unless it's huffing or growling at you, the sounds it makes are pretty much just background noise. Small birds chirp and chatter, squirrels drop cones, grouse drum...silence in the forest is rarer than you might think. You become familiar with the normal noises of the woods even as you're attuned to notice something out of the ordinary. The thump of a deer's hooves on thick forest duff are one short phrase in the woodland symphony. Mom Deer has a different definition of "music appreciation." To her, the sound of three humans discussing the potential for Phantom Orchids occurring in pockets of her habitat were as glaring as a cymbal clash. With Junior still too unsteady on his legs to follow her with any speed, she imparted to him the cues which meant "stay still, don't move," and he froze in place, not even blinking during the brief time we spent cautiously taking photos.

Even when walking on an established trail, it's wise to mind your step. Little critters will be crossing that pedestrian highway, be they caterpillars, mice or voles, snakes, frogs or other species. Many of them can't get out of your way quickly, so the burden of their welfare is on your soles.

A Team Biota Day

Day 257: Team Biota had a field day yesterday in two senses of the phrase. We spend 9.5 hours in a variety of habitats, including lowland and subalpine forests where hiking ranged from clambering over logs, weaving through devil's-club thickets, slogging in bogs and navigating cross-country over snow-covered terrain. We documented a total of six Phantom Orchids still in bud and a new location for Myriosclerotinia caricis-ampullaceae (a whopping 29 specimens), and managed to rule out several other potential sites for the latter. Muddy, wet, tired, the three of us (Joe, Sharon and I) reported our findings to Arnie at the end of the day, thoroughly satisfied at having observed not one but two rarities in the space of a single field trip.

Each observation seems to bring up a whole new set of questions: How many plants do six stems of Cephalanthera represent? Based on proximity, the answer could be any number from two to six. How far does the mycorrhizal component extend? What is the mycorrhizal component, since it seems to be different in the Park than in other areas where Phantom is known to occur? Does water chemistry have any effect on Myrio's preference for growing in some meadows where its host sedge occurs and not in others? Is there a connection between the presence of certain other plants in conjunction with Myrio? Observation suggests it, but there's no proof for a link. And how do we get answers when the Park's budget is pinched so tightly that it's even unlikely the aquatics crew's broken pH meter will be replaced in the near future?

Gathering field data is a step forward in ensuring that these rare species will eventually be better understood. That's what Team Biota does. We're the "boots on the ground," ranging the places where (hopefully) few others go. Somehow when you're on your knees counting little Myrio noses or taking a photo of a Phantom, "wet, muddy and tired" just don't seem to matter.

Weaving With Tabby

Day 256: After finishing up the table runners which I'll be entering in the Washington State Fair, I decided that my next weaving project should be something more complex. I opted for a simple, reversible overshot pattern executed in three colours on a black ground. In this type of weaving, two shuttles are used. One carries the surface floats and the other the background. Each float throw is followed by one background throw, aka the "tabby." Consequently, an over-and-under weave results in the main colour spaces between the longer float threads of the weft. The treadle action is something of a dance: tabby left, pattern, tabby right, pattern, changing the pattern throws according to the design. Too complicated to write out fully in a weaving draft, this method is usually abbreviated with the notation, "use tabby" for a specified number of throws. The technique of overshot can be an exciting adventure for the patient and detail-conscious weaver. Unfortunately, I ran short of black, and instead of making a full tablecloth, this piece will be another runner.

Doctor Kevin And The Daleks

Day 255: Obviously having won out over Doctor #4 as evidenced by possession of his famous scarf, now the Daleks face off with Doctor Kevin and his trusty sonic...um...Smarties packet. Look out, Kevin! There's another one behind you!

The Daleks were just one of over three hundred entries in yesterday's Pride Parade in Seattle. The National Park Service was represented by rangers from Mount Rainier, Olympic, Klondike (Seattle), the Regional office and San Juan National Historic Park. There were easily two dozen of us, some in uniform and others not, marching in support of human rights. It seemed like it took forever for us to begin the walk from our position near 4th and Madison to the Seattle Center, but those below us in the queue had an even longer wait. As I walked the mile back to the light-rail station at Westlake, the parade was still making its way through downtown.

Any Hue But Blue

Day 254: I say jokingly that Corallorhiza mertensiana comes in every hue but blue, and that isn't as much of a stretch as it sounds. I've seen them uniformly magenta-purple, so deep that the darker veins could barely be distinguished. Others have been coppery-brown or a greenish-bronze. I've even seen them so green, you'd have mistaken them for a giant economy size C. trifida if it hadn't been for the shape of the flower. Recently, Arnie (I'm sure you all know who I mean by now without me having to remind you that he's the Park's Plant Ecologist with whom I have taken some memorably muddy field trips)...Arnie went hiking out of Ohanapecosh Campground (an area known for its mycoheterotrophic diversity) and came across some specimens which were mostly yellow. He sent me a photo and a line of question marks, from which I inferred that he wanted a second opinion. I laughed, and sent him back a note: "Let me know when you find a blue one." Shortly thereafter, Joe Dreimiller and I made a trip on the same trail system. Yellows dominated.

For those of you who might be wondering, the flower's morphology (shape) is distinctly different in each of the four species of Corallorhiza we find in the Pacific Northwest. Mertensiana has narrow side petals, the thinnest of the four. It looks thready. Maculata's lower lobe is slightly ruffled and almost always distinctly spotted with purple. It also tends to be coppery in overall colour. Trifida is tiny, seldom more than 8" high and its blossoms are proportionally smaller. Striata...as yet not confirmed in the Park (a single herbarium specimen is misidentified), but I'm still searching for those striped, more compact flowers every time I go into the field.