Erigeron Acris

Day 322: Yeah, I know...it's another DPD (Damn Purple Daisy), but in defence of Erigeron acris, I will say that its scarcity and size make it special. The flowers are thumbnail-sized, pale lavender, borne singly on branching stems. The mature seed head is a ball of fluff destined for distribution by autumn winds, although the seeds must not travel very far from this site. When I first discovered the plant several years ago, there were only a few in evidence. Now there is a thriving population which covers at least 500 square feet, wiry stems rising above thin, dry soil in a rocky draw. That said, it is not a rare plant in the Pacific Northwest by any means, just unusual for this particular location. Although it may not be as showy as other larger composites, Erigeron acris is one of my favourite native "asters."

Rorippa Curvisiliqua

Day 321: Be reasonable here. If you had a fun-to-say name like Rorippa curvisiliqua, wouldn't you consider it an insult to be called something as uninspired as "Western Yellowcress?" The Latin binomial breaks the standard rule of emphasis. Rather than weighting the antepenultimate syllable (the third one back from the end) as one would do in a single word, it should be understood that "curvisiliqua" is a compound word, "curvi-" for the shape and "-siliqua" for the type of pod. In other words, Ro-RIP-pa cur-vi-si-LI-qua bears a curved silique when it is in fruit. I may occasionally mangle the Latin, but in this instance, I'll argue my point with any taxonomist you care to bring forward.

Known for living in wet, sandy soils, at Ghost Lake, Rorippa takes habitat to a whole new extreme. Sometimes it leafs out while still under water! By the time the lake has dropped to summertime levels, it's ready to bloom. Specimens here are somewhat smaller than those found elsewhere in the Park, justifying subspecies nomenclature of R. curvisiliqua var. curvisiliqua. Rorippa may not be much to look at, but you have to admire it for the way it has adapted.

The Other Bare

Day 320: There's more than one kind of "bear" in them thar woods! Even though it isn't quite September yet, when the occasion afforded itself, I decided it was time for my annual bath. After hiking around Naches Loop (a popular and therefore populated trail), I clambered down into Ghost Lake just off Cayuse Pass for a quick skinny-dip dunk. The lake is set in a bowl, and the angle of slope deters most casual visitors from making the descent. Nor is there an established trail, so the route tends to be a little brushy. It seemed to me that there were more downed trees to navigate over, under, around or through than the last time I paid a visit, and the lake was a little low and the water was cold. I stood waist-deep for some time, gathering the courage for the final plunge, but once I was committed, I paddled out from my "marker" rock and back a dozen or so times before I was satisfactorily "cleansed of the dross of humanity," as I like to say of this ritual. Good for another year, I then faced the unavoidable consequence: what goes down must come up...back to the car and Longmire, where I spent the remainder of the day in the office.

Naches Loop Bear

Day 319: It's not just me. All across the Park, we're seeing more bears this year, although Paradise seems to be recording them in near-record numbers. This marks my third encounter for the summer, and definitely a more healthy specimen than the scrawny wretch I saw two weeks ago on the Lakes Trail. A party of half a dozen hikers had stopped at a respectable distance and alerted me to the bear's presence with loud voices (but not shouting). "There's a bear on your left! About fifty feet down!" At that moment, my view was blocked by trees, so I continued down the trail until I could spot the animal. Yep, there was a bear, contentedly munching what few blueberries it could find, doing bearish things and posing no particular threat to the humans in its territory. "Oh, hi, bear," I said (my customary reaction when I need to let a bear know it's sharing the trail with a human). Bear looked up briefly and then went right back to pulling blueberries off the bushes, but the hikers were somewhat agitated. "We wanted to wait until you got by it!" I hung around until the bear had moved out of sight and was no longer at risk of causing a less-experienced hiker to panic, not so much worried about the hikers it might encounter as I was about the poor bear who was just trying to have a decent meal without disturbance. Remember: you're in their world out there, so mind your manners and let them go about their business without interruption.

MeadoWatch On Naches Loop

Day 318: It goes without saying that on a clear day, Mount Rainier dominates the horizon in western Washington, rising as it does some 10,000' above the surrounding foothills. Our other volcanoes are similarly situated: Baker, Adams and St. Helens commanding the view from the lowlands around them. Mount Rainier is of course the tallest at 14,410' and nothing near it approaches its height or size. From north, south, east or west, "The Mountain" thrusts its glaciers up from the green forests and alpine meadows, its position in the geology of the area as indisputable as that of any monarch. Today, I hiked a MeadoWatch transect around Naches Loop directly east of the Mountain, counting wildflowers, being distracted by butterflies, passing along cautions to visitors lest they surprise a foraging bear. Naches Loop is a short hike, 3.7 miles with minimal (800') elevation gain. It starts at Tipsoo (a sorely abused spot of once-great beauty) and encircles rocky Naches Peak, bypassing several small ponds and the larger Dewey Lakes to the south. It is partly forested, but for the most part, it passes through subalpine meadow, an ideal location for phenological monitoring with both eastside and westside ecologies at work on the plants. What might be just setting seed on one side may be full-blown on the other, or several phenophases might be apparent within a mere half mile. Likewise, herbivory (munching by critters) may be prevalent on the west and absent on the east. I had done the pre-season hike of the Loop to report problem snow patches or difficulty in finding waypoints, but had not done another MeadoWatch patrol on it until today. I'll be sharing what I saw over the next several posts, so I hope you'll tag along for the walk.

Postman's Knock

Day 317: As we do in celebration of May Day, Seattle's Morris sides gather at some point near Labor Day to acknowledge the closing of the summer season. In past years, we've performed at Seattle's Alki Beach, but an unexpected conflict with another event necessitated a last-minute move to Greenlake, the requisites being a large flat space on which to dance and a view across water toward the sunset. Together in rotation with the Mossybacks and North by Northwest, we danced the sun down and then retired to a nearby pub. We still have several events on our calendar for the upcoming months. We'll be at St. Luke's in Renton on September 14 and at Finn River Cidery (Chimacum) on October 13 for World Apple Day.

Blackcaps!

Day 316: Mmmmmmm, blackcaps! Even half-ripe Rubus leucodermis will stop me in my tracks for a quick nibble. Nature's provender includes a number of very tasty things in abundant quantities (blue huckleberries, for example), but in all my travels, I have never discovered a patch of Blackcap Raspberries large enough to satisfy my craving for them, and certainly never sufficient to collect for jam. The blue-stemmed vines are easy to recognize, one here, one there, each with a handful of fruit. Gathering them reminds me somewhat of eating sunflower seeds, i.e., a lot of work for very little in the way of caloric value. Still, they are such a special treat that I carry a mental map of where they occur within easy walking distance of the office. Oddly, only a very few of my Park colleagues bother with them. They don't know what they're missing!