Oligoporus Petticoats

Day 143: Just to ensure that none of my readers think I am an insufferable know-it-all, I present to you one of the all-too-frequent botanical puzzles I've come across recently. I have spent several hours trying to move from genus (Oligoporus) to species with a growing sense of futility. In the first place, the visual information I could extract from the specimen was inadequate, but more obstructive yet is the fact that there simply aren't field guides which cover the less common species of bracket fungus, and any scientifically detailed on-line information is locked firmly behind academic blockades which only allow access to those with research-level credentials. My files are full of images titled, "Unknown" or "Identify." Equally, they occupy pages in my mind so that should I happen to stumble across some obscure clue or secret pathway leading to a conclusion, I can follow it. I do not forget these "unknowns"; they haunt my dreams and keep me awake at night.

Why, you might wonder, is this so important to me? For one thing, I believe that knowledge should be easily accessible to everyone, but that isn't at the root of the matter. The seminal reason is that I feel knowledge of Nature increases our connectivity with it, even when that knowledge is something as artificial as a taxonomic designation (in practice, much of botanical taxonomy demonstrates morphologic and/or genetic links, but the regrettable current trend is moving more toward naming species for people). We are more likely to consider "John Smith" a friend than we are "that guy with the glasses and brown hair"; we are more likely to be interested in the habits of a Varied Thrush than we are of "that whistling bird which looks kinda like a Robin." The name...the application of specific syllables to a thing links us to it more strongly than does the simple observation of it.

Monday night, I had dinner with a friend who is an ecopsychologist. In the course of his pursuit of a doctorate in the field, we exchanged many letters exploring Homo sapiens' connections with Nature (or lack of them). Our conversation over the meal set me to thinking once again about the scope of Man's growing disassociation with the natural world. I don't have an answer to the problem, but I intend to do what I can to increase the knowledge of it, even when it means I have to admit I can't identify a species.

Physcia Adscendens

Day 89: Well, I can't count this one as a life-list species because I was introduced to it on a field trip with Katherine Glew, but it was the first specimen of Physcia adscendens I've found on my own. It's recognizable by helmet-shaped lobe tips as well as having "eyelashes," and although you can't tell from the photo, it is quite small. The lobes are under half a millimeter wide, and the whole lichen does not exceed two centimeters in diameter. How did I find it? When I am out shopping as I was today, I always try to park next to a tree so I can find my car again. Cars are so hard to identify! Most of them are silver-grey in colour, and 99% of them have four black tires, white lights in the front and red ones in the back. I do not have a Field Guide to Common Vehicles, and since I don't usually carry my GPS when I go in town, I frequently spend an inordinate amount of time studying license plates in the hopes of coming across the distinguishing feature which sets mine apart from the others. And yes, I have tried to get into one belonging to someone else. Fortunately, there were no consequences attached to that event. On the other hand, a tree is something I will recognize, even from a distance. I pulled up to a small ornamental which was lavishly covered in green and gold lichens. "Xanthoria!" I said, "But what's the grey-green stuff? That's not a Parmelia." I took the main photo in the composite above and then broke off two small pieces in different stages of development. I sat for a few minutes in the car examining them before driving away just in case I needed a larger sample, and that was when I discovered the "eyelashes." Thinking back on recent finds, I assumed Parmotrema, but when I got home and put the specimens under magnification, I realized I was off base. Eventually, having gone forward and backward through several dichotomous keys in both Brodo and McCune, I narrowed it down to two choices: Physcia adscendens or P. tenella. The shape of the soredia-bearing lobe tips and absence of apothecia clinched it: adscendens, predictably the more common of the two. I'll never forget that tree now, even if I can't remember where I put my car or if the person I just spoke to had a moustache or wore glasses. Priorities. You just gotta keep 'em straight.

The Joys Of Rediscovery

Day 92: After several days of suffering with the flu, this morning I felt sufficiently recovered to take a very short walk out into the yard to hunt for a "blog shot," i.e., my photo for today's post. I made a circuit around the house and had gotten as far as Big Doug's nearest root when something caught my eye. "Oooooh," I said. "What's this?" It was certainly nothing I'd seen in the yard before, so I took photos where it lay and then moved the specimen to better light for the image shown above. In sunlight, I could see that it was yellowish-green, not light grey-green as it had appeared in the shade. Knowing that I'd have to inspect it more closely to make an ID, I brought it in the house and set it down beside me while I referred to Brodo. The magnifier revealed some telltale structures along the lobe margins while other minor details narrowed it down to three species. I ruled out two, settling on Platismatia tuckermanii...waitaminit...Platismatia tuckermanii? Isn't that the lichen Patty sent me from Maine? Ah, the joys of rediscovery! Yes, referring to my pictures from last fall, it was the identical specimen. Boy, did I feel silly! What can I say? I've been sick. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Identifying Usnea

Day 38: One of my favourite tools for introducing beginners to lichen identification is provided by the family of Usneas: a stretchy "rubber band" or "spinal cord" which reveals itself when a section of the lichen is stretched gently to open the cortex. Even the tiniest branches possess this elastic core (note upper arrow in the microscope view), but of course they're thicker in the main branches.

A couple of years ago, I had occasion to take a troop of Scouts on a lichen walk in Longmire Campground where Alectoria (a different family) is present in abundance. I explained how to differentiate it from the Usneas and unbeknownst to me at the time, one of the boys took it as a challenge. As we progressed around the campground, he kept picking up bits and stretching them. After what must have been a few hundred tests, he came rushing up to me in excitement. "Crow! Crow! I found an Usnea!" Sure enough, as he carefully stretched the section, the "spinal cord" was revealed. His diligent pursuit of the elusive lichen had paid off, and I knew in that moment that I'd inspired the spirit of scientific curiosity in that young man. When I'm down and feel that nothing I do matters, I try to remember those occasions when my labours paid off. Damn, but I was proud of that kid!

Penny Perspectives - Rockcress, Arabis Furcata

Day 221: With my three best field guides open on my lap, I found myself growing more and more frustrated at not being able to pin down an identification for this plant. It didn't key with the limited number of field characteristics I'd noted, and none of the pictures looked exactly right, so I packed off a couple of images to a group of my "best experts" for analysis, but none of them could tell me any more than what it was NOT, based on the suggestions I'd offered. Over the next few days, we eliminated more possibilities, and in the end, two new resources were added to my growing list of like-minded associates and references with a final identification of Rockcress (Arabis furcata).

While this edition of Penny Perspectives shows a tiny native wildflower which inhabits rocky areas in the lower elevations (specifically Westside Road), it also gives another valuable perspective: in science, the ability to say "I don't know" is more important than any amount of knowledge you may possess. It goes hand in hand with an even more difficult phrase we'd all do well to practice: "Okay, I'm wrong." A good scientist recognizes both of those expressions as doorways to learning. Rockcress made me use both until we got it right.

When Experts Disagree

Day 178: I do not claim to know much about amphibians, so when I captured a portrait of a frog of unknown species, I referred it to an expert for identification. It wasn't the best photo as far as being a "field guide" shot. It failed to show enough definitive features, but my expert said she thought it was a Cascades Frog. She offered to refer it to another expert who reported back, "I think it's a Red-Legged Frog based on what we've observed previously in that location."

I'd like to point out something I learned early on in my career as a naturalist: never assume that your specimen is Species A simply because Species A is the most common in the area. My expert's expert's remark made my hair stand on end, an example of bad science if ever there was one.

Since my initial submission to the "panel of two," I have taken much better photos showing the full morphology of the frog in question, and just this evening referred them back to the experts along with this image of an egg mass. I offered my own observation and said that if I was wrong, I would appreciate knowing the points on which I failed. That said, at least I'll know I was in good company. One or the other of my experts has to be in error.

Teal Telltales

Day 140: Let's play "Spot the Differences!" There are some telltale signs you should be able to pick out if you are a keen observer. They will help you tell one male teal from another.

The top photo is of a Common (Eurasian) Teal. The lower image shows a Green-Winged Teal. Right off the bat, I know you're going to say, "But there's no green on the wings of either of these birds!" You're right. Only the females exhibit a flash of green on the wing, and are indistinguishable by eye. Now that we have that out of the way, let's move to identifying the males.

The first feature you will notice is that these birds have a green marking on the head, broken by a light-colored streak on the crown. The Green-Winged Teal (bottom) has darker cheeks, but this may be difficult to see, depending on lighting. Now look at the lower edge of the wing. Do you see the horizontal white bar on the Common Teal's wing? The Green-Winged Teal has a vertical white bar just in front of the shoulder.

Although these two specimens exhibit different body colors, color is not a reliable field marking, nor is the black band near the bird's rump. The wing bar is the most reliable field characteristic, your best "teal telltale," but be warned: the two species interbreed! You'll be lucky to find two birds as clearly identifiable as these.

Separating The Sheep From The Goats

Day 105: While it's actually quite easy to distinguish Evernia prunastri (top) from Hypogymnia inactiva (bottom) using only field characteristics, many lichens require reagent testing to achieve an accurate identification. Since some of the reagents commonly used have a shelf life of mere minutes, the amateur lichenologist is at something of a disadvantage. We often resort to placing "sp." ("species") at the end of the scientific name (as in "Hypogymnia sp.") when we are unable to test our specimens or narrow an identification down by location or substrate. That's "close enough for government work" when you don't have laboratory faciilities available.

Identifying Mount Rainier's Violets

Day 196: I thought I'd share with you a little piece of interpretive material I put together yesterday. Enjoy!

"Oh, I know that one. It's a violet." Ah, but Mount Rainier National Park hosts quite a number of different species of Violas and they can be very difficult to tell apart unless you know what identifying features separate them.

First of all is COLOR. Contrary to the name, many of our violets are actually yellow, but we have pale purple ones as well. The next identifying feature to check is leaf shape. Does it look like a heart? Is it round or pointed? The leaf margin (edge) will tell you a lot. Is it smooth or serrated? Or is it deeply incised and composed of separate leaflets? Once you've determined these things, narrowing down an identification gets a little stickier.

For the sake of this discussion, I plucked a specimen of Viola glabella (Stream Violet) from my own yard so that we could examine some of the finer points of separation. All of these observations can be made without picking a flower (which, of course, is not allowed in the Park!). It is helpful to carry a small magnifier with you for closer examination.

Some of our Violas have fine, dark lines on one or more of their petals. Some have petals which are pointed rather than rounded. Some have tiny little furry "beards" similar to those found on iris falls (you'll have to put that magnifier to work to observe them). Some have a structure called a "spur" on the reverse side of the lower petal. This spur may take the form of a pouch-like sac or a slender "tail" like you would see on a domestic Nasturtium, but much smaller. All of these points help us determine the true identity of those little yellow faces smiling up at us from the streambanks and beside the trails.