Day Of The Trifidas

Day 199: I couldn't resist the play on John Wyndham's apocalyptic novel, "Day of the Triffids." I think of the book every time I say "Corallorhiza trifida."

My enthusiasm for this rare Coralroot has become widely spread, now involving members of the Native Orchid Society and an assortment of botanists, some of whom will be making field trips to the site before this ephemeral beauty fades. It occurred to me yesterday to suggest an after-work expedition to my good friend and supervisor, Kevin. Despite a few sprinkles, we stopped on the way home to take some photos and then went orchid-hunting. We managed to turn up two more specimens near to the first, bringing the total to three and a stem. However, I failed to predict the next course of events.

My photos from that late-day session were uniformly bad. I'm struggling with the technique involved in shooting macros with an add-on lens, and low light is always an issue with my camera. Consequently, I waited until I knew the sun would be penetrating the dense overstory at the site, and made a return trip at 10 AM this morning.

First, let me explain these two photos. Other than adjustments to contrast and the depths of highlight and shadow and some minor cropping, they have not been altered. They demonstrate what occurs in the "sun-fleck" forests in which species such as these thrive. In one second, a plant and its surroundings may be fully illuminated by a ray of sunlight. In the next, it may go as dark as the proverbial London coal-hole at midnight. Throughout the day, this shifting of light creates a unique microecology. Plants entirely dependent on sunlight for photosynthesis cannot survive here; often, you will see nothing but evergreen needles and twigs on Pacific Northwest forest floors. However, the mycoheterotrophic species (obligate or partial) require very little sunlight. It is in the deep forest ..."sun-fleck" forest where competitive species would die ... that you will find them.

So, lesson done, here's the story. I arrived at the parking pull-out and pulled up in front of another vehicle. I knew that one botanizing friend was planning to come down to make another observation of our little pet rarity, and noting that the car looked vaguely familiar, I assumed it was his. However, when I arrived at the site of the Corallorhizas, no one was there. Figuring that he had gone for a longer hike, I settled in to capture C. trifida on digital film.

I took up my customary position and had been flopped on the forest floor, camera clenched tightly in my fists, for half an hour or so when a fir cone hit me on top of the head. I cast a glance upward for a squirrel, but saw nothing. Not to be distracted, I went back to taking pictures. A minute or so later, I was pecked on the head by another cone. I brushed at my hat despite the fact that the cone had bounced and landed in the duff. A few seconds later, I got hit again. I looked up and swore at the squirrel, but still didn't budge from my task. Then a mischance cone tagged me at the corner of my eye. Now grumbling audibly and volubly, I pulled my hat down and, as is my usual wont, continued giving verbal posing instructions to the specimen of C. trifida before my lens.

But that bloody squirrel was not letting up! I kept getting pelted with cones, twigs and bits of debris, but I am imperturble when bent upon a goal and didn't flinch. I remained belly-flopped on the ground, talking to the light, the flower, the rocks, the roots, the camera and anything else I felt needed addressing.

Five or ten minutes passed while I endured a continuing barrage and then, thinking to get some shots of the second new specimen, I started to get up. My eyes travelled to the trail above me where I saw first a pair of legs in uniform trousers and then Kevin's laughing face. I have no idea how long he may have been there, nor how he managed to sneak up on me without my hearing his approach.

Kevin, bless his heart, has been infected with my enthusiasm for this botanical marvel, our little Corallorhiza. He had returned prepared to take photos himself, using far better equipment than I have in my arsenal, and had spent an hour doing just that before I arrived. That said, I am forced to admit that although I may and do consistently recollect rocks and trees I've met only once, I had gone up the trail without recognizing Kevin's car despite the fact that I ride in it regularly.