Forecast Missed Mist

Day 345: It was certainly not the wettest or the coldest hike I've taken, but it was also not precisely the pleasant 45-degree, 20 percent chance of precipitation the forecast model was bold enough to suggest. Joe Dreimiller and I started out for Sheep Lake in thick mist in all our available layers of clothing: rain gear, gloves or mittens, warm hats and longjohns, shedding only one layer halfway there when we both began to overheat. "Just let me have one moment of sun at the lake," Joe implored the Weather Gods. They obliged with a two-minute break, but then followed it up with an increase in moisture and gusty winds. Sheep completed the first portion of our day's mission. There, I was able to gather a few specimens of lichen on the list of those I plan to demonstrate to participants in an upcoming indoor "nature walk" for the Nisqually Land Trust. A MeadoWatch circuit of Naches Loop Trail filled out the day, my last for the season. In total, we spent six hours in drizzle and hiked eleven bracing miles.

Spike

Day 344: After much digging into books and the internet, and consideration of the butterfly species known to occur in the specific area, I am tentatively identifying Spike as the caterpillar (fifth instar) of Speyeria cybele, the Great Spangled Fritillary. Again, we have a taxonomic readjustment. Formerly called Argynnis, members of this group of North American fritillaries have been distinguished from the European genus with their own nomenclature. Update your field guides, folks! And as always when venturing outside botany (and sometimes within it), I reserve the right to be wrong. Butterflies and moths are not my long suit.

In any event, when Spike is all growed up and his/her wings have come in, he will nectar on members of the Violet family, notably our common Viola rotundifolia. Or that's the plan, anyway. Those of you who have Buddleia (Butterfly Bush) in your yards because "the butterflies love it" are doing more harm than good. Great Spangled Fritillaries are drawn to Buddleia like kids to candy, but it doesn't sustain them any more than a diet of chocolates and butter-mints would a human. Not only that, if the butterflies fail to nectar on the Violas, pollinating them in the process, then there will be fewer Violas to sustain the Fritillaries who haven't discovered butterfly-bush smack. Planting non-native species in your "butterfly garden" is a Bad Idea. Plant natives instead, those things which are known as hosts or food for species in your area. There's a circle here, people. Stop messin' with things you don't fully understand.

Closing Window

Day 343: The window on hiking season is creaking closed as wet-weather systems stack up along our coast and a chance of snow at higher elevations sets the Mountain to shivering. But all things considered, it has been a greener year than most others in the last decade, meadows remaining lush right up to the last, the first "typical" Pacific Northwest summer we've seen in a long time. I have one more MeadoWatch patrol to do on Naches Loop and then like many other high-country mammals, I'll begin moving down in range as temperatures drop and snow depth pushes me onto lowland trails. Rabbie Burns said it, and I'll be humming his words when you find me on Bud Blancher or in Pack Forest:

Farewell to the mountains, high-cover'd with snow,

Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;

Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods,

Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;

Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,

My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

Watch Your Step!

Day 339: It wasn't the first time I'd almost stepped on a grouse because I didn't see it, nor is it likely to be the last. Grice (as I like to call them, because the plural of "mouse" is "mice") blend in beautifully with the particular shade and grain of gravel popular with our trail crew. And they know it (the grice, that is). They stick to the shadows whenever possible, and if it wasn't for the fact that they will eventually move when you're almost on top of them, you might never know they were there. Once alerted to the first one, I realized I had two birds the size of nice laying hens in front of me...no, three...no, waitaminit, that piece of trail moved...four!...and for a few minutes, I thought I was going to be the one who had to step off into the meadow because they were holding their ground. Let me tell you, when one of these well-camouflaged birds lifts off unexpectedly a foot in front of you, you jump out of your hide. That's a lot of chicken to get airborne, and the sound of a Sooty Grouse beating its wings isn't too unlike the whup-whup-whup of a helicopter rotor (or at least it seems like it when you're in close proximity). As it happened, everybody but me skootched off trail about three feet to continue nibbling whatever it is grice nibble, hanging out in an open stand of subalpine fir until I'd gone by. Oh yeah, and one other thing: hikers in grouse country should be advised against wearing light-coloured footwear, and that includes exposed socks. Especially during breeding season, white socks or tennies may instigate a grouse attack.

Amanita Season

Day 338: Super Mario aside, you don't want to muck about with Amanitas of any sort, and they're out there right now, their emerging caps waiting to deceive you into thinking they're a different (and perhaps edible) species. Every year, I get photos from my readers asking, "Can you identify this mushroom for me?" or sometimes, "Is this one edible?" First of all, I am not going to identify a mushroom for you from a photograph unless it is one of the unmistakable "beginner" species like Shaggymanes or Chanterelles, or unless it is obviously a poisonous sort like the distinctive Amanita. In fact, if you ask me to identify a 'shroom from a photo, you're going to get my customary one-liner: there's a reason the Mycological Society used to call their annual dinner the "Survivors' Banquet." Even the most innocent-looking mushroom can be deadly, if not immediately, then somewhere down the line when your liver and kidney functionality starts to fail. Your organ tissues retain those toxins, and there's no way to clean them out. If you aren't "105 percent" sure of what you're picking, do NOT put it in your basket where it can contaminate other mushrooms. If when you get home, you discover that you picked one unidentified 'shroom accidentally and tossed it in with your delicious Chanterelles, throw out the whole damn batch! I'm tellin' you, you don't get many second chances where 'shrooms are concerned. As for you folks who like to get high on the hallucinogenics, your Darwin Award is waiting.

My Kind Of Place

Day 335: I had other plans for extending my MeadoWatch hike yesterday, so instead of continuing on to the end of the maintained portion of the Paradise Glacier Trail half a mile further on, I took my lunch beside this small, persistent alpine tarn. I don't recall having ever seen it dry, even in a drought year. It would be a good "bathtub" but for two factors: the trail runs right beside it and the bottom is covered with grapefruit-sized rocks. Still, it makes a good destination, just a little ways above my last MeadoWatch waypoint. That said, now that Labor Day is past, I had it all to myself for the half hour I spent there.

MeadoWatch is winding down as the plants are now mostly in the seed-releasing phase of growth. I hope to do one more hike on the Naches Loop, but I am quite keenly aware that I am at the mercy of the Weather Gods, and they are not always kind. However, September hiking always brings rewards: the fall colours are starting, the wildlife is active preparing for winter, crisp mornings and cooler afternoons are perfect for the exertion demanded by the Mountain's trails. In the course of my travels yesterday, I encountered a family of four grouse, one bear, one young marmot whose tail I nearly stepped on, and one former Park superintendent with his mate and cub. As he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, Randy King said he'd been hoping to find me on Eatonville's Bud Blancher trail. He showed me a photo. "I bet you know what this plant is, Crow!" I didn't, but I looked it up when I got home. Next time our paths cross, I'll deliver the information. It's a slower world in the Mountain's realm, my kind of place.

Mormon Fritillary, Speyeria Mormonia

Day 332: Sometimes I wonder if what first drew me to natural history was a love of words. Even as a very young child, I delighted in dropping Latin names into casual conversation, much to the annoyance of my peers who dubbed me "the Professor" (and with few exceptions, they did not mean it kindly). My affinity for the sciences was ridiculed, but that only drove me deeper into the books. I couldn't see wasting my time in styling my hair or comparing colours of nail polish, nor in soliciting the attention of boys and attending dances (not that I was ever invited). Science has always provided me a comfortable refuge, even when taxonomy drives me to screaming. Knowing my interest in the etymology of species names, Arnie recently provided me with a link to an exceptionally comprehensive compilation of Latin and Latinized botanical names from Calflora, giving sources and meanings. I had hoped to find something similar for butterflies, but alas, the only information I've been able to retrieve is that Adolph Speyer was an entomologist specializing in Lepidoptera during the mid-1800s, and the genus Speyeria was named for him. The "mormonia" portion of the Mormon Fritillary's name (Speyeria mormonia) remains a mystery, despite multiple undocumented claims to a relationship with the Mormon religion and its followers. It's not enough to pull it up on a Google search. I want to find the truth.

Hopper Heaven

Day 331: "Rainierensis" should give you a clue, and a quote from noted entomologist Andrew Nelson Caudell described them as "numerous in Paradise Valley, where they were destroying grass and small plants." If you're travelling at timberline in the Park in September, you'll find his statement entirely believable. The Cascade Timberline Grasshopper (Prumnacris rainierensis) is arguably our most abundant 'hopper, and when I say "abundant," I mean that they can be found by the thousands on the bare soil of the trails in the high country at this time of year, and you'd probably send a few million into a panic if you walked fifty feet into a patch of Subalpine Lupine. They're small, no more than an inch long, but the crackling of a mass of them sounds like electricity arcing through the meadows. Personally, I've never noted that they were particularly destructive; rather, they are an integral part of the Cascadian biosphere which includes Mount Rainier National Park.

Sectional Marmot

Day 330: Marmots (Marmota caligata) are common in the subalpine zone and are quite acclimatized to hikers, so I wasn't the least bit surprised when one sitting on the left side of the trail allowed me to approach to within a few feet before moving. It crossed the trail directly in front of me and dove into a burrow, and I expected it to continue out of sight, but it stopped with its tail and part of its hindquarters sticking out. Seeing a photo opportunity, I moved in a little closer and snapped several pictures using flash, but I was so focused on the tail that I didn't immediately notice that the head was only a foot away, looking back at me as if to ask what I found so compelling. The "burrow" wasn't a tunnel; it was a bridge about a foot in width, and I was afforded both north-facing and south-facing views of a northbound animal, its center section concealed beneath meadow flowers and earth. Mr. Marmot was obviously well-acclimatized to human presence, and seemed to want nothing more than to doze off while I made a portrait of his sunnier end. The sectional marmot!

Where Chip Belongs

Day 329: The summer of 2019 seems to have been exceptionally kind to furry wildlife. As previously reported, I've personally observed nine black bears and also an astonishing abundance of marmots, and where I'm used to finding a fairly large number of squirrels and chipmunks, I've never before seen as many young Townsend's chips. Particularly along lower Skyline Trail between its junction with the Lakes and Paradise Glacier trails, baby chips are all over the place, some small enough to make me think they're only a month or so out of the nest, scampering here and there, running up trees to scold me as I pass. It makes me wonder: is this a "boom year," to be followed by a "bust?" Or is it a trend, critters from the lower forest moving up in range as global temperatures rise? Mammals, birds, insects and others follow their food sources; plant ranges are shifting, both geographically and seasonally. Many of the target species I'm monitoring for MeadoWatch are blooming earlier, setting seed earlier, and while this might seem like good news for some critters, it's bad for those who can't adjust or are slower to respond to change. In some cases, a shift in period may initiate a "meltdown," for example, if Pedicularis blooms before its species-specific pollinators arrive, it won't set seed. Even if the pollinators arrive early the following year, there will be fewer plants to support them, and the decline will continue. Our 2019 boom of mammals may tax the food web. Then what? I'm simplifying, yes, but there has to be balance in order to maintain a healthy biota. This isn't a foot-race with only one winner. Humans aren't going to "come out on top." It's a community. We all depend on each other, and we all have to do our share.

A Six-Bear Day

Day 325: Well, this sets a personal record. Today, I saw six bears (SIX!) during a MeadoWatch hike on the Lakes Trail. SIX!!! There was a mid-sized adult of indeterminate sex, a sow with two cute little cinnamon cubs, a yearling, and this healthy, husky gentleman who was a bit closer than I would have liked, given his size and age. But there were visitors to protect, so I escorted two terrified young women past him, a dicey situation because it involved us disappearing behind a stand of trees for a minute and a half, then reappearing directly in his line of sight. I hoped he wouldn't think we were trying to sneak up on him. He gave us a reproachful glance and took a few steps toward the trail, but then resumed eating wildflowers. No wonder I was checking off the box for "herbivory" at so many of the target plots! My previous daily and/or yearly record for bear sightings might have been as many as three at once (probably a sow and cubs). So far this year, I've encountered nine.

Parnassia Fimbriata, Grass-of-Parnassus

Day 324: Grass-of-Parnassus is an excellent example of how confusing common names can be. First of all, it is not a grass. Purportedly named for its abundant occurrence on Mount Parnassus (Greece), the species actually growing there is a botanical cousin. Also called "Marsh Marigold," it is not related to the Marsh Marigold (Caltha leptosepala) known and loved in PNW alpine wetlands. Yes, it prefers a similar habitat, and thus comes a third common name, "Bog-stars." This is why I prefer Latin. There can be no doubt when Parnassia fimbriata is specified. Whatever you call it, its fringed one-inch flowers are highly photogenic. Look for it along the margins of perennial seeps and springs in the subalpine zone.

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.

Western Meadow Fritillary, Boloria Epithore

Day 314: I have to admit that I am really bad at butterfly/moth identification, but fortunately I'm good with a camera and I'm long on patience. Those two factors in combination mean that when I send a photo to BugGuide.net, the field marks are all visible for their skilled entomologists to review. Sometimes it's helpful to get a ventral view as well as the more aesthetic dorsal view for certain species (knowing which species is helpful), so butterfly photography is not a hobby for anyone who has a schedule to meet or a short attention span. I was on my way down from the end of the Paradise Glacier Trail before the Western Meadow Fritillaries had satisfied enough of their hunger to settle on Mountain Daisies long enough for me to find and zoom in on their bright orange wings, but they were very active in their exploration of each blossom, fluttering and rotating as they probed for nectar. If you'd been standing behind me, you might have heard me say, "Come on, butterfly! Just come up top and open your wings!" As if deliberately misinterpreting my request, said butterfly inevitably moved around to the back side of the flower or took off in flight. But did I know what I had when I had it? No. But I did have a submission for BugGuide which brought forth an identification of Boloria epithore, even if I did submit the image with the title, "Unknown on Erigeron peregrinus."

Morning Watch

Day 309: I leave the car with an inordinate expanse of bare skin liberally doused in bug spray. I'm in atypical dress: shorts and a short-sleeved shirt to match the weather forecast, but I'll be on trail, not bushwhacking, so other than layers of SPF-50 and Deep Woods Off, I can leave my legs and arms unprotected. It's a little chilly at 5000', not yet far enough into autumn to be at a discomfort level, but even if it was ten degrees cooler, I'd likely be dressed the same, knowing what's coming later in the day and especially since at my high point, I'll be out on bare rock where the plants aren't tall enough to shade my ankles. I love hiking in the cool of morning; best to get the climbing done before the sweaty hours. Even so, there's no dew on this meadow. It's been too warm for that, although it's been a good wildflower season. And that's what I'm out here to do: count noses, report on the phenologic phases of the species on my list. I'm MeadoWatching, hiking the Lakes Trail in this iteration, pausing at waypoints to observe and record Magenta Paintbrush releasing seeds, Northern Microseris in bud, Mountain Daisy and Bracted Lousewort setting fruit, and Subalpine Lupine engaged in every phase but pod-burst, still lushly carpeting patches in glorious purple bloom. That said, the season is winding down. Plants are rushing to fulfill their botanical imperative before the snow flies. In less than a month, this meadow will whiten; in two, it will be buried beneath three, four, five or more feet of snow and ice, sleeping cold for three-quarters of the year, surviving conditions which make my complaints about chilly legs seem ridiculous and so very vulnerably human.

Gnophaela Vermiculata, Police-Car Moth

Day 307: "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." No, but when I told Kevin I'd been chasing Police Cars, it only took him half a beat to reply, "Oh, you mean the flying kind." Clearly, he remembered reading my July 19 post which included a photo of this striking moth's blue caterpillar. Kevin knows me well. He doesn't bat an eye when I tell him I'm going over to the campground to look for Kidneys (Fringed Kidney lichens). Aside from my pursuits as a naturalist, he also knows that I enjoy playing with words. That said, my recent MeadoWatch hike engendered several high-speed chases as the Police Cars swerved dangerously across the trail, intersecting my path, sometimes coming to a brief halt on the Bistorts they seemed to prefer. Invariably, by the time I could get the camera disentangled from the GPS and my pack straps, my target Police Car would take another call. I was beginning to despair of getting a "field guide" shot showing all the relevant morphology, but then my visual radar picked up a black-and-white blip intensely involved in searching one particular Bistort head about fifty feet from my position. I edged in closer to get it within zoom range, hoping not to startle it into flight. Zoom photography is all well and good if you can find your subject and keep it centered as you pull it into focus, but when confronted with a meadow full of Bistort, it's amazingly difficult to find the right one. Fortunately, there was a Western Anemone seed-head close by which I could use as a guidepost, allowing me to bag the Police Car, photographically speaking. And then it was off, a two-inch moth with a strong sense of purpose not obvious from its erratic flight: eat, mate and die, having ensured a new generation to police the Bistort meadows of the Lakes Trail.

A Beary Interesting Hike

Day 306: Yesterday's MeadoWatch hike offered up a little surprise. I left home early in the morning to be on the trail during the cool of the day, and had been looking for bears on the slopes as I came up the Lakes Trail, but hadn't seen any sign of one except for one deposit of scat early on. When I got up to the monument at the junction with the Skyline Trail, I sat on the stone bench to take a short break. I'd been there for a few minutes when a piercingly loud marmot whistle (the loudest I have ever heard!) knifed through my eardrums. With no one else around, I stood up as I said, "Jesus, marmot! Deafen me, whydontcha?" and then I saw why the marmot had sent out the alarm. A scrawny yearling bear loped at speed up a draw not thirty feet from me, turning and heading down the Skyline Trail when I made my presence known with a startled, "Oh, bear! Hi!" Bear went over the side and into the valley to the east about fifty feet further on, crossed the creek, started up the other side of the valley but thought better of it when two hikers came to the edge of the slope to see what was going on. The bear then turned south and tried to climb up a steeper slope, grabbing onto a rotten stump for an assist. The stump collapsed under the animal's weight and dumped poor bear onto his hindquarters about five feet downslope. He recovered from the indignity with something less than good grace and disappeared around the knoll to the west. By this time, I'd gathered a crowd of visitors who were curious about what I was photographing, but only the two on the far side of the valley actually saw the bear. Still, it was time for some bear education, so I spent the next half hour talking to visitors, letting them know that this particular bear was both young and very thin and therefore might require a little more caution in a potential encounter. That said, my sympathies were with the poor bear who was obviously not having a good day, even without the presence of too many humans on his patch.

Naches Peak Loop Trail

Day 264: Mount Rainier National Park has over 260 miles of maintained trail. I have hiked all about 20 of those miles, and the ones I haven't hiked are on the east side, each with a trailhead at the furthest possible points from my house. The miles I've put in off-trail (my preferred hiking venue) are another story entirely. I choose to avoid the great unwashed mass of humanity whenever I can, and therefore have always assiduously avoided places like the popular Naches Peak Loop Trail. A few days ago, I was compelled by dual purposes to remedy that. As Team Biota, we were searching for four uncommon plant species within Park boundaries, and as a participant in MeadoWatch (a plant phenology program which sends out volunteers from the Park to report on specific plants' growth phases along designated transects), I had been asked to give a pre-season report on trail conditions on the Loop. Plants aside for the moment and gathering thunderheads notwithstanding, there was a lot of drop-your-socks gorgeous scenery to enjoy along the 3.5 mile trek, including this view of Mount Rainier from the east. The trail was about 90% snow-free, although some slick patches of snow/mud required careful foot placement. Unfortunately, none of our four target plants showed itself. Maybe they're along that last remaining stretch of trail I've never walked...

Tribble-On-A-Stick

Day 327: Any Star Trek fan would be happy to identify this wildflower for you. It's "Tribble-on-a-Stick" and the subalpine meadows at this time of year are a testament to their reproductive abilities. Seriously, though...Anemone occidentalis does carry the quirky common name of "Mouse-on-a-Stick" in addition to "Western Anemone" or "Western Pasqueflower." The flower is one of the first to appear in the spring, often blooming in between snow patches. Phenologically speaking, Western Anemone has one of the longest cycles between budding and "blowing" of any of the subalpine plants and may be observed in the meadows throughout the whole season in one form or another. The "mop-heads" familiar to most hikers (as shown above) are the seed-bearing phase. When the seeds are fully mature, the plant will release them to be sown by the wind, ensuring a whole new generation of Tribbles to plague Captain Kirk.

Tarn At Faraway Rock

Day 325: Hikers climb roughly 400' in three-quarters of a mile to reach Faraway Rock and a splendid view of Louise Lake from above, but for me, the Lakes Trail is more memorable for its numerous "pothole" tarns. Each has its individual appeal. The first is surrounded by blue huckleberry bushes, and later in September, the red leaves and backdrop of golden grass make it a veritable jewel of the backcountry. A dip in the trail just beyond this point gives a unique perspective of the tarn, the basin and water surface approximately at eye level to the viewer travelling downhill. Further up, other tarns serve as elk wallows and polliwog pools, the shorelines alive in season with thousands of newly emerged froglets. Many (most) of the tarns along this trail are muddy-bottomed, as anyone who steps into one with the intention of wading soon discovers as they sink up to the knees or deeper in soft goo, so although they seem clear and inviting, you're better off sticking to the trail even when your clothes are sticking to you!