Tree imprints at Craters of the Moon

Our last point of outdoor exploration as we looped through the Pacific Northwest this summer was Craters of the Moon National Monument in south central Idaho. The monument, a large expanse of black rugged volcanics, interrupts the otherwise dry brown Snake River plain that stretches across the southern part of the state.

A relatively short road leads through the most easily-accessible part of the monument. It is perfect for a visit of only a few hours, which it turns out was all the time we had that day, and which it also turns out was plenty of summer sun exposure in a landscape mostly devoid of shade.

We first stopped at Inferno Cone, a smooth black cinder cone. My two boys dashed up the slope and I followed a few minutes later. The mountain is a smooth cone of volcanic ejecta, mostly black with an outcrop of some reddish rock near the top. Some of the lightweight black cinders were especially iridescent. The top of the cone provided panoramic views of the volcanic monument and mountains to the west. A strong wind blew gusts of warm dry air from the south. Inferno Cone wasn’t unlike the larger Cinder Cone at Lassen National Park that I described in an earlier post.

Three views of Craters of the Moon National Monument from Inferno Cone.

Pines and shrubs near the trail to the tree imprints.

The next stop was a short trail at the southern end of the road. The trail led south through dry shrubland with occasional occurrences of five-needled pines, most of which were probably not more than 10 meters tall. At some point along the trail we entered the Monument’s wilderness, which apparently is the first wilderness area that was ever designated in any National Park Service unit in the country.

The end of the maintained trail featured some usual imprints of ancient trees – technically fossils I would assume – that were immortalized in past flows of hot lava. The tree “molds” as they were called were of two types. The first type was trunks that were encased in lava and which later decomposed, leaving a cylindrical vertical hole in the newly hardened rock. The second type was horizontal impressions of fallen logs. In the more impressive examples of this type of mold, the texture of the tree’s bark was exceptionally preserved. The patterns in the rock looked much like the bark of pines and I wonder if the species immortalized in the lava could possibly be identified by carefully comparing the prints with modern species. 

Two types of tree "molds" preserved at the Monument.

This volcanic rock looked like a skull or a turtle shell to me.

Avalanche Lake

While at Glacier NP, we camped at Avalanche, where a popular but scenic trail leads from the campsite deeper into one of the mountain valleys in the park. I had hoped to gain a view of the Sperry Glacier from the vicinity of the lake, but the steep topography didn’t allow such a view from the lake basin.

Two views of Avalanche Lake: looking east towards several waterfalls (at
left) and looking west (at right).

Leaving the Avalanche campsite, the trail ascended at a mild slope along Avalanche Creek through a dense conifer forest and after a few kilometers it intersected the oblong lake at the west shore. Here the water was shallow and clear, exposing a dense underwater graveyard of logs covered with the brown ooze of the lake bed. The lake is set in a basin with steep rocky slopes to the north, east, and south. Towards the west end of the lake, the rocky slopes had remnant snow fields feeding several waterfalls and water cascades.

A graveyard of logs in the shallow western
side of Avalanche Lake.

The trail continued along the south shore of the lake with views revealing a splendid turquoise color. The formal trail ended at the southwest corner but by using makeshift log bridges and doing some shallow waling through the icy streams feeding the lake, I continued a bit beyond the trail to the eastern shore.

There were wildflowers at the lake shore - Penstemon, Clematis, asters, and Campanula – and some tiny wetlands at the edge of the forest. The beds of the icy streams were comprised of large cobbles. New snow melt tumbled from the streams sending plumes of turbulence into the otherwise tranquil waters.

References

Phillips HW. 2012. Northern Rocky Mountain Wildflowers. 2^nd ed. Falcon Guides, Guilford CT.

Several flowering species at the east end of Avalanche Lake. From left: Prunella vulgaris (Lamiaceae), possibly Mimulus sp., Campanula rotundifolia (Campanulaceae). 

Two blooming asters (Asteraceae) at Avalanche Lake. Left: unknown. Right: Anaphalis
margaritacea (pearly everlasting).

Rapids along Avalanche Creek.

Interesting rock in cobble bed at shore of Avalanche Lake.

Glacier wildflowers

Flowers were abundant throughout Glacier, from the lower elevations at Apgar and St. Mary’s to above 6500 ft at Logan Pass.

Bear grass (a misleading common name since the species is in the lily family) was probably the most spectacular species, with dense concentrations of flowering plants covering high elevation hillslopes, especially near the Weeping Wall. This is a relatively new species to me. I first encountered it at Mt. Rainier last year. The inflorescence is an elegant spire of white flowers sitting atop a hemispherical bunch of grass-like leaves. The flowers are lightly aromatic.

Bear grass, Xerophyllum tenax. Left: aspiring inflorescences. Right: close up of flowers.

Dotted saxifrage, Saxifraga bronchialis.

Along the Highline Trail that led north from Logan Pass, there were flowers of all colors. Species along the trail included Saxifraga bronchialis, Trollis albiflorus, Myosotis sylvatica, Ribes lacustre, Zigadenus elegans and Calochortus apiculatus. In common with western Washington and Oregon, there was also blooming twinberry (Lonicera involucrata), and thimbleberry (Rubus parviflorus), the latter species with its large palmate leaves and showy white flowers.

Aquilegia flavescens, a yellow-flowered columbine, was an exciting find at Glacier. I’ve long been familiar with the red-flowered sister species, A. formosa, which can be found frequently in a variety of habitats in the Pacific states. A. flavescens has a very similar flower shape to its sister species, nodding flowers and with spurs that protrude at the back of the flower. It is also found in some locations in British Columbia, Washington and Canada.  

Columbines. Left: Aquilegia flavescens at Glacier NP, July 2017. Upper right: A. formosa at
Mary's Peak in central OR, July 2010. Lower right: A. formosa from Big Sur, CA, July 2015.

References

Phillips HW. 2012. Northern Rocky Mountain Wildflowers 2^nd ed. Falcon Guides, Guilford, CT.

Turner M, Gustafson P. 2006. Wildflowers of the Pacific Northwest. Timber Press, Inc., Portland, OR.

Other wildflower species at Glacier NP. From left: Rubus parviflorus, Calochortus apiculatus, and possibly Anemone sp.

Zigadenus elegans, commonly known as "showy death camas", a common
name apparently obtained because the plant is poisonous.

Possibly Myosotis sylvatica.

End of an (ice) age

Jackson Glacier at Glacier National Park.

Several National Parks, including Redwood, the Grand Canyon, and Glacier are named after their most iconic feature. They were established with an eye to the future to protect unique or superlative biological and geological features. In protecting a park’s namesake, whether that is old-growth redwoods or a pristine snowy peak, a whole ecosystem and its diverse components can also be protected from exploitation or excessive degradation. But at Glacier, the glaciers are disappearing.

A glacier is essentially a perennial slow-moving river of ice, formed from the long-term compaction of snow, flowing slowly down a mountainside. The weight of the glacier gradually propels it downslope, while its mass is renewed by new annual snowfall. Technically “official” glaciers have a minimum size of 25 acres. Glaciers are fantastic geologic agents: they carved out Puget Sound in Washington and the stunning Yosemite Valley in the Sierra Nevada for example.  

About a century and a half ago, there were estimated to be nearly 150 glaciers present in Glacier National Park. But by 2015, that number had declined to only 26. The trends at Glacier in northwest Montana track patterns elsewhere: glaciers are shrinking and snowpack is declining. Data from several benchmark glaciers in the northwestern US show mass loss of glacial ice over the last four decades. In the uneven distribution of climate change impacts across the globe, high latitude (particularly Arctic) and alpine regions appear to be warming to a greater degree than other regions.

Left: Map of some of the named glaciers in Glacier National Park and the adjacent Flathead National Forest. Right: Change in the area occupied by Chaney Glacier between 1966 and 2015. Map and figure from USGS.

Change in the Clements Glacier at Glacier NP.
Images from USGS Repeat Photography Gallery.

Glacial growth and retreat is a natural geologic cycle. Currently, the Earth is in an interglacial period, at the warm peak of an alternating cycle of cooling and warming that has alternated periodically over the last 2.6 million years. About 10,000 years ago the last major glacial period ended and the glaciers that covered much of the land in the northern hemisphere melted and retreated, sending sea-levels hundreds of feet higher.

So is the loss of glaciers today part of a normal cycle? Probably not, because today’s rate of atmospheric CO₂ increase (due to human production of greenhouse gases) is unprecedented in recent geologic history. A global increase of 1 to 2°C that may have occurred over centuries or millennia in the past is now on our doorstep in a matter of decades. And because large-scale biological and geological processes can temporally lag the events that drive them, we have probably locked in additional warming for years even were we to cease all additional greenhouse gas emissions tomorrow.

The glaciers and snowfields of Glacier National Park provide the source waters for rivers that flow to the Pacific Ocean, the Gulf of Mexico, and Hudson Bay. The park straddles the continental divide, the cross-roads of the watersheds that collectively cover most of North America. Glacial melt is a particularly important source of water to mountain ecosystems in the late summer when the non-glacial snowfields have already melted.

Long-term change in snowpack throughout the western United States. Red circles indicate areas
 with snow decline. Image from EPA.

Change in the size of the Grinnell Glacier at Glacier NP.
Images from USGS Repeat Photography Gallery.

Driving through the park this month, I saw the lingering snowfields of the higher peaks, with perhaps a glacier or two tucked into the mountains. The melting water fed rapidly flowing streams, waterfalls, and lakes. The only glacier I definitively saw was Jackson Glacier from a viewpoint along the “Going-to-the-Sun” road. Views of other glaciers required more committed backcountry hikes that I didn’t have the time for on the trip.

By emitting so many greenhouse gases into the atmosphere in such a short time, we may be ushering in an era of unprecedented warming across the planet that may affect everything from species distributions to ocean acidification and sea-level rise. The threats to glaciers are a global phenomenon, requiring global action to address. More locally, at Glacier NP and other alpine ecosystems, it remains to be seen how the loss of glaciers will affect ecosystem processes over the coming centuries.   

References

Glacier National Park website

National Snow and Ice Data Center. 2017. All About Glaciers.

US Geological Survey. Retreat of Glaciers in Glacier National Park. 

US Geological Survey. Repeat Photography Gallery.

Snowfield and Bird Woman Falls as seen from the
"Going-to-the-Sun" road at Glacier National Park.

Wildlife at the continental divide

Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep (males).

While national parks are often treasures of biodiversity, I saw more large animal species at Glacier NP this month than any other park in the western US that I’ve visited to date. The first wildlife encounters were at Logan Pass early on the first day of hiking. Logan Pass is along the “Going to the Sun Road” that crosses Glacier National Park from the southwest to east side of the park. Here the Continental Divide is at an elevation of over 6000 ft separating watersheds draining to the Pacific from rivers that are eventually bound for Hudson Bay or the Gulf of Mexico. Leading up to Logan Pass from the southwest, the Sun road is narrow and winding with rocky cliffs looming above.

At Logan Pass we had barely started along the Highline trail when we encountered the first species of large animals: a group of 11 Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep grazing in a meadow dotted with yellow glacier lilies. Their thick corrugated horns curve backwards, down, and then point forward, forming a nearly complete circle on either sides of their heads. The animals leisurely grazed on the short plants and occasionally lightly tousled with each other.

Not much farther along the Highline trail the next species encountered was the snow white mountain goat. The first animal was perched on a rock near and above the trail, unnerved by the hikers passing by. It was probably well accustomed to the crowds at what seemed to be a very popular park trial. Further north, a second goat approached me from behind through the shrubs, as I was intently photographing small flowers on the upslope-side of the trail. When I turned because of the sound, there was the goat at a distance of no more than 10 feet from where I was standing. I froze in place while it scampered a bit along the trail and then disappeared.

As per park rules, one is supposed to remain a certain distance from wildlife, not approach these large animals, and of course not feed them. These are all very understandable for both human safety and wilderness considerations alike, but unfortunately, the distance rule isn’t always the easiest to comply with. One faces a conundrum when an animal parks it close to a trail that one has intended to hike. Worse, some animals simply ignore the park rules completely as when they approach a plant enthusiast minding his own business taking photos of the charismatic flora. There was also the chipmunk that scurried to within a foot of where I was sitting in sand by the edge of a lake hoping to get a handout.

The Highland Trail left a good impression as far was wildlife was concerned so I returned to Logan Pass in the early morning of our final day at Glacier with the hope of seeing a goat again (from a safer distance). The sun rose coloring the clouds to the east in pink and then in yellow. Only a few cars and people were present in the large parking lot next to the visitor center, a significant change from the visit two days prior during mid-day.

It turns out that I didn’t see a mountain goat that day, but the bighorn sheep, 11 in number again, entered the parking lot soon after I parked the car. With their noses down they were apparently looking for something delicious in this barren landscape of asphalt. A pair of animals would occasionally abut horns, sending a knocking sound through the area, or a few would intermittently dash a few meters as they otherwise casually wandered about the parking lot. At one point, a small group of sheep quickly assembled and pointed their noses to the ground upon suspecting that a fellow had found something interesting in the terrain of the parking lot.

Black bear at Glacier National Park.

The other exciting observation, because I’ve only seen them a few times in my life in the wild, was that of the black bear. Glacier has both black and grizzly bears. On the first day, farther along the Sun road en route to the east end of the park, we joined a spontaneous crowd that had gathered to observe a large black bear and several cubs walking in the distance on the mountainside through shrubs. Mom was deep black; the cubs were brown. The telephoto lens was key to getting any decent photographs of these animals, though none of my shots turned out too great.

The other mammals I observed in the park over our short visit were deer, chipmunks, shaggy marmots, and many ground squirrels, the latter busily scurrying about like seemingly all squirrels do everywhere.

I don’t normally encounter so many large mammals on my hiking or backpacking excursions, either because of circumstance, being accompanied on hikes by my less-than-quiet kids, or potentially because of the increasing rarity of large animals in natural ecosystems. Nevertheless, Glacier didn’t disappoint in this regard. 

Adult black bear and cubs, Glacier National Park.

Paradise

Mt. Rainier from the east.

The luminous peak of Mt. Rainier is omnipresent in central Washington, visible near Olympia, looming in the east from Seattle, and touching the western horizon from the edge of the desert of central Washington. At over 14,400 feet, it is the highest member of the Cascade Range and dwarfs the nearby mountains.

For my second visit to Mt. Rainier National Park, we camped for two nights at Ohanapecosh, a low elevation campsite in the southeast corner of the park. The afternoon we arrived we detoured to a short trail starting at the White River campsite on the road to Sunrise. A trail ascended from dense forest near the campsite and followed the frigid turbulent water of the White River. The Emmons Moraine Trial branched towards the south, crossing the White River with a narrow footbridge constructed of a single log. The water jumbled over boulders in such a rush that spray danced into the air. Across the river the trail continued upward along a ridge that overlooked the terminus of Emmons Glacier and its moraine. This valley to the south was barren higher up (perhaps old ground the glacier used to occupy), forested with short trees farther down, and adorned with a beautiful turquoise lake farther still. The lake wasn’t on any map I had seen of the park. I learned that Emmons Glacier is the largest glacier in the lower 48 states.

Left: Unnamed alpine lake near the White River. Right: White River and Emmons Glacier.

On the south slopes of Rainier lies Paradise, a popular stopping point and gateway to the snowy alpine. On the second morning I set out with my two oldest to wander up the slopes of Paradise looking for wildflowers. Most of the Skyline Trail area was still under snow. In street shoes, we were not well prepared, but we hiked on the firm snow anyway, gaining enough elevation to have excellent views of Mt. Saint Helens and Mt. Adams to the south.

Glacier (Nisqually Glacier I believe) on the
south slope of Mt. Rainier visible from Paradise.

When we started the hike most of the bright slopes of Rainier were still visible, framed by a deep blue sky. A few clouds tightly hugged the mountain near the summit, wisping off the east side of the peak. A large patch of grayish white clouds quickly moved in and obscured the top of the mountain. Nisqually Glacier, when it was visible, was a ribbon of ice streaming downslope from near the summit, cracked and shining aquamarine light in places.

Up to an elevation a little above the visitor’s center there were meadows of yellow alpine lilies (Erythronium grandiflorum) and white avalanche lilies (E. montanum), each species generally clustering together with its own. At somewhat higher elevations however, the main flowering species changed to Trollius laxus (American globeflower), paintbrushes, and pink-flowered alpine shrubs where snow was not covering the ground. Chipmunks scurried about; marmots foraged more casually, largely ignoring hikers crisscrossing the snow trying to follow some semblance of trails. Lines of backpackers with ice axes, helmets, and better footware streamed by us headed for the pure white drifts of snow and ice above.

References

Turner M, Gustafson P. 2006. Wildflowers of the Pacific Northwest. Timber Press, Portland, OR.

Cascade Range peaks visible from the southern slope of Mt. Rainier. Left: Mt. Adams. Right: Mt. Saint Helens.

Paradise mammals. Left: Marmot. Right: Chipmunk bounding across a snowfield.

Firs on the slopes at Paradise.

American globeflower.