Sundews Waking

Day 210: As I approached their log in my kayak, I was beginning to worry about my "kids." I could only see a few blushes of red in the moss and grass, and small ones at that. I wasn't thinking about the persistent cold weather which had carried winter into April until I got close enough to see that the Sundews' little sticky, insect-trapping paddles were still quite small, and in fact some of them were still tightly closed, looking rather like bean sprouts trapped in the moss. Then it occurred to me that they were only now emerging from their long winter's nap, having spent the cold season curled in on themselves to form a structure called a hibernaculum (plural, hibernacula). This is how they survive, husbanding their own warmth, minimizing exposure of delicate tissues to freezing temperatures. At this point, they're barely out of bed and haven't had their first cup of coffee. I have no doubt that the next time I visit, they'll be fully awake and possibly even flowering.

New Kids' Corner

Day 284: Any time I go out on Lake St. Clair, the first order of business is to visit the Sundews, and of course now I have a second group of "kids" to monitor, so I started with them. They're not easily visible in this photo, and my reason for posting it is to show you just how difficult they are to spot. See that slight red cast at the base of the green vegetation? From fifty feet away, that hue draws me like a magnet. It could just be stems of something else, but it might be Sundews. That was how I found the original Sundew Island (a piece of broken dock similar to this one): a touch of red. There are several hundred Sundews in this photo, believe it or not, but not a one of them had an open flower, which was what I was hoping for on Thursday. The sun had not yet risen above the tree tops, so I paddled around the lake for a few hours before approaching the second group I call Jack's Lot. Nope, no flowers there either. Buds, but no flowers. Still, a day on the water is better than a day at home, and a visit with the "kids" is always good.

Sundews - The Strip

Day 269: Some years ago, I took a handful of bird photos and captioned them according to what the birds' poses suggested. Birds put a lot more personality in their body language than one might expect, so this was a fairly easy task. On the other hand, plants are fairly static...or are they? Sundews in particular lend themselves to anthropomorphization rather well, what with their wild hairdos and spatulate faces. Even their curled, nodding inflorescences hint at mood and manner. And of course you can never have too many photos of Sundews, so here are a few "characters" from my most recent outing on Lake St. Clair. Regular programming will resume tomorrow.

Strategies

Day 269: If you have ever accidentally come into contact with fly-paper or a sticky trap, you can appreciate an insect's panicked reaction to becoming stuck on a Sundew. The difference is that you were in no danger of being consumed, and only had to find some sort of approved solvent to cleanse the gluey residue from your fingers once you'd pried yourself loose. You did not struggle and further ensnare yourself with each flutter of your wings or thrashing of your limbs; you did not feel enzymes beginning to dissolve your soft tissues like some bizarre form of flesh-eating bacteria. A Round-leaved Sundew is ruthless. Each of the fine hairs surrounding its spatulate disk is tipped with a drop of something far less forgiving than instant glue, creating an ambush which only the strongest can elude. The righthand photo shows a Sundew from which an insect has escaped. Notice that at the 1 o'clock position, the hairs are missing from the disk, wrenched away by a more fortunate bug than most. On the other hand, the predatory strength of Sundew "glue" is clearly indicated in the lefthand image (side view) where a single Drosera paddle has snagged a damselfly dinner. And forgive me, for as curious as those of you who have ever licked a piece of frozen metal may be, it must be stated that I have never prodded a Sundew. Sorry, kids. If you want that experience, you'll have to find your own plants.

They Hunt In Packs

Day 267: Warning: you are going to see several days of Sundew posts. It's been a year and a half since I had a chance to visit my "kids," and if I can put up with your offspring/pet posts, it's only fair that you can endure these. Besides, they are just SO CUTE! Each one displays something unique, its "personality," if you will, but don't be deceived by appearances. These creatures hunt in packs, albeit non-mobile ones.

Arnie recently sent me an article which described a different species of Drosera and its behaviour: D. makinoi, which is found in Japan. The researchers who studied it ran a statistical analysis to determine if closer-packed communities of plants captured more or less prey species, and the size of the prey they obtained. They found a correlation between plant density and larger captures which, if you think about it, makes perfect sense. They posited that D. makinoi's long, slender leaves helped multiple plants snag a shared meal. On the other hand, though, they found no such correlation with Drosera rotundifolia (Round-leaved Sundew), and that's a point with which I will take firm issue. I have seen too many damselflies captured in the tightly-packed rosettes of Lake St. Clair's Sundew colonies, and will argue that plant density most certainly does work as a hunting strategy, at least there. In fact, I think damselflies are the primary food source for the group I've dubbed "Jack's Lot," shown in the photo above. One damsel may find herself helpless in the clutches of four or five hungry little Droseras at once! And when there has been a hatch of damsels, the Droseras gorge.

In a sidebar, I am pleased to announce that I found a second population of rotundifolia on the lake. It was near where I first discovered the broken, floating remnants of a dock I called "Sundew Island." During the winter several years ago, Sundew Island went adrift. I was able to find pieces of it for a couple of years, but eventually, all traces of it disappeared. The new population occupies another bit of broken dock which may some day go wandering, but I'll be looking for it, wanting to keep an eye on my "kids," wherever they may roam.

Jack's Lot

Day 274: An unseasonably wet June conspired with Park duties and other commitments to keep me from getting out in the kayak until yesterday and naturally, my first priority was to check on my "kids" at Lake St. Clair. The original Sundew Island (a bit of dock gone astray) has long since disappeared, but the colonies on one homeowner's breakwater logs are vigorous and spreading. I call them Jack's Lot, Jack being the homeowner under discussion. True to form, he spotted me taking photos and hollered down from his deck, "How they doin'?" "Fine, Jack!" I shouted back. "They're in bloom. I'm getting some new photos for a talk I'll be giving in the Park next month." After repeated encounters with me, Jack now realizes that he has something very special in his care, so he replied, "Don't tell anybody about them! They're our little secret!" I gave him my assurance, as if he really needed it.

Drosera rotundifolia (Round-leaved Sundew) has disappeared from one location within the boundaries of Mount Rainier National Park, shaded out by the encroachment of young alders. I have never visited the second Park site where this insectivorous plant is known to occur, so cannot speak for the population there. In the longer view, Sundews are relatively rare in Washington overall. A second species (Drosera anglica) has been reported from a tight handful of locations in the state. Some day, I hope to see it as well. That said, the surprise of unexpectedly coming across rotundifolia in the field while on an ordinary kayak trip is one I will never forget: a snap of my head toward a blur of red and an uncontrolled vocal outburst of "Is that Sundews!?" The sudden recognition of a species I had only dreamed of finding was most certainly one of the high points of my botanical career. You can have your birthdays and anniversaries. These are my Life Events.

Sundew Rosette

Day 333: The primary motivation behind any kayaking trip on Lake St. Clair is paying a visit to my "kids," the burgeoning Sundews which have colonized two breakwater logs on either side of Jack's dock. Jack, the homeowner whose last name is unknown to me, sometimes comes down to the shore for a chat, and always assures me that he's taking good care of them (even if he does refer to them as "those Venus Fly-trap things"). Part of his maintenance is to keep the logs free of other growth which might snuff them out. To this end, he goes out on the logs on foot, cutting small alders and rooting out Pseudacorus as well as other weedy species, but unfortunately, this means that there is always a certain amount of attrition in the Sundew population as a trade-off for his diligence. If the Sundews were any less numerous, this would give me cause for concern, but they are doing well, and each year, I see new colonies springing up as they gradually claim more of the logs as their own. They obviously like the habitat, as evidenced by this year's crop of seed capsules.

Sundew Triptych

Day 267: Between weather and schedule, it had been a while since I got out and about in a boat (kayak), so my choice of destination was a given: visit the Sundews on Lake St. Clair. I thought I might have missed their blooming period, and when I arrived at Jack's dock at 10 AM, it seemed my suspicions had been correct. But wait...those look like buds, not pods. Could it be that I just need to wait until later in the day for them to open up? I took photos of the foliage and then paddled off to pull Jewelweed from one of the few pieces of shoreline I can access from the 'yak. Jewelweed is a nasty invasive. I'm winning the war on a 2000' stretch, but the lake is heavily infested, and I'm essentially trying to dip the ocean dry with a teaspoon.

So, bow full of jewelweed, I returned to Jack's dock about an hour and a half later. Sure enough, some of the Sundews' cute little shepherd's-crook stems had open flowers. Now that I understand the daily phenology a little better, I can plan subsequent trips accordingly. Currently, Jack's dock represents the only population of Sundews on the lake, but they are amazingly healthy. In fact, when I spoke with Jack and said I was checking on "my kids," he replied, "I babysit them every day!" Despite the fact that he calls them "those Venus fly-trap things," he realizes he has something special.

It was a rather social outing for me. My other lakeshore friend Jim invited me up for lemonade. We sat for half an hour, looking out over the lake from his porch, skirting any mention of the woes of the world the better to enjoy the peace of the moment.

Seussian Sundew

Day 223: I encountered a Seussian Sundew in my patrol of Lake St. Clair today, or maybe it's the child in the poem:
There was a little girl who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good, she was very, very good,
But when she was bad, she was horrid.

Yes, I made my first trip out in the 'yak for the year, and of course my priority was visiting my kids. They are exceptionally lush this year along Jack's logs, but I still haven't been able to locate the errant Sundew Island which went adrift a couple of years ago. Some of Jack's mob were just starting to unfurl and looked very much like bean sprouts. Others were fully open and already digesting a wide variety of insects. It's too early yet for the flowering stalks to emerge, but you can bet I'll be checking on them every couple of weeks.

Drosera Rotundifolia

Day 351: I've still had no luck finding the remains of the original Sundew Island at Lake St. Clair, nor have I turned up any new locations for them in any of the lake's four arms. Their last remaining sanctuary is homeowner Jack's log breakwater, but oh, they are happy there! Two logs, one on either side of Jack's dock, help prevent the shoreline erosion caused by boat wake. There are clearly posted speed limits (variable depending on water level) but some boat owners ignore them or pilot ungainly craft which generate a wake at any speed, and many homes along the shoreline have some form of wake mitigation. Jack keeps his logs clear of young alders and invasive pseudacorus, creating a perfect maintained habitat for these insectivorous plants. While I was checking on them a few weeks ago, he stepped down to the dock and hallooed at me, "How are they doing?" "Just fine, Jack," I replied. "You're keeping them very happy. Thank you!" Never mind that he refers to them as "those Venus fly-trap things." His heart's in the right place, even if he doesn't fully understand what a rarity he has.

Indigestible Bits

Day 316: Although the principle reason for my recent kayaking adventure was the removal of Spotted Jewelweed, no trip to Lake St. Clair is complete until I've visited my kids, i.e. the Sundews which occupy the logs adjacent to one homeowner's dock. Jack (the homeowner) knows me by sight now, and this time came out to ask, "How're they doing?" "Just fine, Jack," I replied. "They've been eating well and they're going to seed now." I went on to explain that I've been keeping tabs on them since early spring, watching them progress from initial emergence from hibernation through their blooming period. It was interesting to note how thoroughly they're managing to digest the abundant damselflies; only the gauzy wings are left behind, the "chicken bones" of Drosera's summer picnic (seen here most easily at top center). Even as I watched, a damsel made a fatal mistake, stepping from the safety of a blade of grass onto the sticky glands of Drosera's paddles. Its feet became entrapped immediately, another meal to sustain the Sundew colony.

Not Quite In Bloom

Day 277: Invariably, the Sundew logs are my first port of call on Lake St. Clair. When I arrived beside them Friday morning, I observed lots of little buds at the ends of the shepherd's-crook stems, some of which showed evidence of white petals at their tips, but no fully open flowers. There also appeared to be a number of spent blooms which should have communicated vital information to me, but in my enthusiasm for the plants, I missed the message entirely. The Aha Moment came several hours later while I was paddling in the arm of the X-shaped lake farthest from my little friends. There were no open blossoms because the blossoms open in the afternoon! By then, my arms and back were too tired to make a return trip (Lake St. Clair has 11 miles of shoreline and I'd covered roughly 7.5 of it). Looks like another sail is in order, not only to pluck the Jewelweed from its anchorage but to capture the elusive flowers of Drosera rotundifolia.

The Sundews Of Lake St. Clair

Day 254: Much to my frustration, the connection of weather, work schedule and household obligations hadn't happened in a manner which would allow me to get out in the kayak to visit my "kids" at Lake St. Clair. Yesterday, all the parts came together and I declared it "Me Day." I got to the lake about 8 and set out across its still surface, travelling around the Horn and down the Inside Passage to the site. A hundred yards out, it was obvious that they were doing well as evidenced by the amount of red I could see, but up close, the scene was even more surprising. I have never seen them as thick and lush! Many of their disks were speckled with small, easily digestible insects, but one colony had joined forces to snare a dragonfly for their mutual larder. I had been afraid that I'd missed the blooming season, but that fear was dispelled by the presence of inflorescences still in varying stages of development. Only one was close to opening. Ironically, I found it difficult to get good pictures, unable to isolate selected individuals from the mass.

After patrolling the two logs which constitute "Jack's Lot," I set a new course for Sundew Island, the raft on which I had originally discovered Lake St. Clair's Drosera population. Several years ago, it came free of its moorings and had drifted to a less-than-optimal location in a shady cove. Its Sundews had not been happy with the change, and I kept hoping that a storm would carry them to a better port. They say that you should be careful with wishes: Sundew Island has gone missing again. I could find no trace of it despite a survey of three of the lake's four arms.

Penny Perspectives - Drosera Rotundifolia

Day 364: Several of my readers have requested a Penny Perspective featuring the Sundews of Lake St. Clair. I'm more than happy to oblige because they have been one of the best finds of my botanical career. It was only by chance that I spotted them. I had gone looking for a "paddle cache" (a geocache which can only be accessed by water) and decided to explore the lake a little further with no real purpose in mind. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a hint of red on a log some 50-60 feet away from my 'yak and, like a character in a cartoon, I did the classic double-take. "Waitaminit...are those SUNDEWS?" They were one of the top three plants on my Bucket List, and I'd never expected to find them in Washington. As you can see, Drosera rotundifolia colonies are not large. This image shows a very healthy and vigorous specimen.

Hibernaculum!

Day 363: Today was a memorable day in the career of this naturalist. I paid the Lake St. Clair Sundews a chilly visit and found one...only one of many...starting to form a hibernaculum. This phase of Drosera rotundifolia's lfe cycle is one I had not been privileged to observe until today. The buds of new laminae ("paddles") will remain tightly curled until spring and the outer ones will die back. This unusual adaptation demonstrates this insectivore's winter survival strategy for conserving precious warmth during freezing temperatures.

Drosera Rotundifolia: A Profile

Day 282: I began yesterday's kayak trip with a visit to the Sundews, only to find that while some of them appeared to be in the flowering stage with white petal tips showing, none of the flowers was open. Closer analysis revealed spent blooms, the withered, browned petals visible above the calyces. Some of the older inflorescences demonstrated developing seed pods, and some younger stalks carried full cymes of unopened buds. The accumulation of evidence led to a conclusion: the little buggers had closed up for the night and would open later in the day. Early bird that I am, the proverbial worm wasn't out of bed yet. I did the only sensible thing: took photos of the various stages and then went off for a paddle on the rest of the lake. When I returned in the afternoon, I found several open flowers, and it was interesting to note that when a cloud drifted across the sun, they closed quickly, responding rather more slowly in comparison as they re-opened when the sun emerged.

Drosera rotundifolia (and indeed other Drosera species) presents a fascinating natural history. They thrive in an ecology where other vascular plants might starve, and do so by supplementing their nutritional requirements carnivorously. Additionally, they survive in low pH (acidic) conditions where soil is almost non-existent, their shallow root systems serving largely to anchor them in place. Their laminae (paddle-shaped leaves) are covered with gland-tipped hairs which secrete a sticky substance containing digestive enzymes capable of dissolving all but the exoskeleton of insects including gnats, mosquitoes, beetles and even damselflies (see yesterday's post) as well as arachnids. They prefer high-moisture conditions, often growing right at waterline. In winter, the laminae curl up tightly to form a basal rosette called a hibernaculum. This structure conserves heat and prevents the plants from freezing. It's the only phase of their life-cycle I have yet to photograph, but then, botany ain't for wimps.

Fatally Attracted

Day 281: After a busy June and early July, I finally got out in the kayak today and witnessed first-hand the capture of several blue damselflies by the Sundews of Lake St. Clair. I had wondered how large an insect they might be able to trap with those sticky little hairs, but I never suspected the degree of efficiency I observed here. Almost as soon as a damsel alighted, its feet became ensnared. As it struggled to free itself, its wings and tail were trapped by adjacent Drosera pads, and the enzymes started their work. It only took a few minutes for the insect's activity to cease as it began to be digested. Abundant evidence of prior meals remained among the hungry foliage, proof that those dainty little Sundews can take on a hefty bug despite their size. More on Drosera tomorrow!

Let's Dew Dinner!

Day 231: Good weather convinced me I needed to make another kayak trip to check on my kids at Lake St. Clair. I'd hoped I might find them in bloom, but my records indicate I have at least four more weeks to wait for that event. In fact, I searched for any sign of blossom stalks arising today, but found none. On the other hand, I couldn't help but notice that the Sundews aren't suffering for lack of food, or for variety in their diet. Mosquitoes, wasps, beetles and even spiders provide a veritable smorgasbord of tasty treats.

But Sundews weren't the only interesting things I encountered during this trip. Over the next couple of days, I'll show you a few more reasons I love kayaking on Lake St. Clair.

Bio-Blitz Big Day

Day 221: Under an ominous weather forecast, today's Bio-Blitz teams were wondering if the event was going to turn into a swim meet before they returned with their species surveys. It had been raining rather vigorously when I left home, but during the preliminary briefings, precipitation dwindled to a light drizzle. We dispersed to our various assignments, and my crew headed up Rampart Ridge. Our goal was to make the entire loop, but it quickly became apparent that we had too much to document in the time allotted to us, so after taking close to two hours to complete the first mile, we began considering alternatives. By the time we reached the overlook, we had recorded over 70 images of lichens, bryophytes, fungi and mycoheterotrophic plants and it was time to turn around. We took a brief lunch in a light shower, the only real rain we'd experienced up to that point.

Among the species we documented were Round-leaved Sundew (Drosera rotundifolia), both Pilophorus acicularis and clavatus (Matchstick lichens), and one solitary specimen of Usnea. We found two examples of a colour variation of Corallorhiza maculata (canary yellow!) and a number of emergent Allotropa virgata (Candystick) and Hypopitys monotropa (Pinesap). All in all, it was a very rewarding day, and it only started raining in earnest as we made our final approach to the Longmire parking area. Bio-Blitz was a blast!

Portrait Of A Carnivore

Day 203: Some wit once remarked that while we accept that bugs eat plants, it seems almost a violation of natural order for a plant to eat bugs. Drosera rotundifolia (Round-Leaved Sundew) has the practice down to a fine science. Each of the tiny hairs on its thumbnail-sized leaves is tipped with a gland which exudes a sticky, sugary fluid. The fluid serves to attract and trap insects, the soft parts of which are then digested by proteolytic enzymes and reduced to nutrients which the plant can utilize.

Since discovering Sundews on Lake St. Clair several years ago, each time I go kayaking on the lake, my first priority is to check on their status. One month ago, they were just beginning to emerge from hibernation. During their winter rest, new leaves can be observed only as tightly curled buds in a rosette. As temperatures warm in the spring, the leaves unfurl and begin to grow, to be followed by significantly taller scapes (flower-bearing stalks) in early summer (mid-July at the St. Clair location). The inflorescence may consist of up to 15 white five-petalled flowers. The plant propagates both by seed and vegetatively, but true to its name, the species is very intolerant of shady conditions. The colonies on a free-floating "island" of old dock timbers which drifted into a sheltered cove have declined radically since I first saw them. However, those growing on two logs anchored in full-day sun are thriving.