Triantha Occidentalis

Day 242: The day began like any other Botany Day. Team Biota had a list of five "target plants" which either hadn't been seen in the Park for 20+ years or whose habitat was in jeopardy due to the perfectly natural process of succession. We spent a couple of hours feeding ravenous mosquitoes at one location, and only turned up one of the plants on the list: Triantha occidentalis, also known as Western False Asphodel. There were half a dozen stems, none fully in bloom, and it was all too obvious that in a few more years, their plot will be filled in by other vegetation. That said, even though we hadn't checked off the whole list, we found a few uncommon species which were not among those we were seeking. Moving along, we made a few other stops and then decided to check on some of our other favourites to see if they were in bloom.

We have a secondary goal when we are in the field, and that is to find additional sites where some of the less rare species occur. We call these "non-Biek locations" because they are not listed in "Flora of Mount Rainier National Park." At the close of every year, I turn in a report of "non-Biek locations" for addition to the Park's database. As we were walking along the edge of the road, spread out, I looked down-slope and thought I could see an example of one particular plant. I sized up the angle of incline and potential hand-holds, and in a rash moment decided that finding a new non-Biek location took priority over anything else, I started down the hill. I had descended 15 feet or so when the sandy footing gave way and sent me sliding into a clump of small alders. The momentum was such that when my toe tangled in the base of the clump, I was pitched face-first through the branches. They collapsed under my weight and I began a rapid downhill slide on my front, head first like a toboggan. When I came to rest, my first thought was, "I can see. Therefore my glasses are still on my face." I had thought I felt them pull off. Then without moving, I assessed my extremities. Nothing felt like it was broken, so then I began the process of getting turned around without sliding further down the hill, and dragging myself back up to road level. Being rather rattled by the experience, I neglected to check the damn plant to see if it was the right one as I crawled past it. On reaching the road, I discovered a broad smear of vegetative matter on my glasses which at first I took for a major scratch, but after washing it off, I saw that the underlying scratch was minor. However, my poor carcase had taken quite a beating, and by that evening, I was aching in every muscle and the bruises were beginning to colour up. I knew there was no way I could hide the evidence, and reluctantly confessed to Kevin. His utter silence was more painful than a reprimand. Worse than the injuries to my various parts and ego is that inflicted on his trust in my judgment. That's going to take a long time to heal.