Muir: advocate for the wild

At a bookstore in Portland in July I purchased a biography of John Muir by history professor Donald Worster. An excellent book, I gradually read it over the last few months. For a decade Muir has been a significant role model for me. My first substantive introduction to his writing was towards the end of graduate school when my mom bought me a book with a collection of his writings. Muir's romantically-infused view of nature, his attentiveness to natural history details, his wit regarding our own species, and his deep love of nature's beauty all resonate deeply with me.

President Teddy Roosevelt and John Muir at Glacier
Point overlooking Yosemite Valley in 1906. Image
in the public domain.

Muir is widely regarded as the godfather of Yosemite, of the National Park System, and of wilderness as a human value. He grew up in Scotland in a stern religious household, immigrated with his family to Wisconsin during childhood, and began to study science at the University of Wisconsin, though he did not complete his degree. The youthful Muir was an inventor and interested in mechanical innovation and efficiency. For instance, he built several versions of an alarm-clock bed that would rudely tip him to his feet at the appointed time early in the morning! His early career was spent in factories where his proclivity towards innovation bore fruit, but that left less time for indulging in his interests in science. An alarming accident in the factory that nearly blinded him helped him re-evaluate his life’s direction. Muir soon thereafter gave up factory work, moved to California – and scarcely giving any attention to the shiny city of San Francisco where his ship landed – headed for the Sierra Nevada.

Muir would end up spending years living in and exploring Yosemite and the nearby Sierra range. Though he lacked higher academic credentials, he would eventually help decipher from the rocks that the great valleys of the Sierra were formed by the slow action of glaciers, even though leading geologists of the time tended to favor other, incorrect theories. Muir also traveled beyond his beloved Yosemite to other regions of the west - to Mt. Rainier, to the Great Basin, and on seven different trips, to the recently acquired US territory of Alaska.

A panorama of forest in Sequoia National Park, August 2014. Crowns of giant sequoias (Sequoiadendron giganteum) in Muir Grove can be seen at top center. From a glacier to a wilderness area in the Sierra, to a beach, Muir has numerous natural landmarks named after him throughout the western United States.

Worster’s biography shed some light on aspects of Muir's life that I didn’t know or that I under-appreciated. By hard work and financial thrift, he gradually grew into a life of significant financial and social comfort by his later years. This was an interesting point of contrast for a man who was perfectly happy to sleep outside below the stars or who packed little but tea and bread for several days of wandering in the wilderness. In addition to his exploration throughout the western US, he also took several long international journeys (traveling to most continents) and he spent a significant amount of time in the deserts of the southwest, though he is mainly known as the patron saint of the Sierra. Finally, I learned that he actually camped with not one, but two, US Presidents who made visits to California (Roosevelt and Taft).

Muir's life was a celebration of nature, and on the time scale of history he had a tremendous impact on conservation and natural resource protection, but his life ended on a sad note. For years, he was involved with others in a political battle to save the beautiful Hetch Hetchy valley in Yosemite National Park from drowning under San Francisco's uncompromising push for urban growth and consumption. For a time it seemed that the proposed dam Muir strongly opposed would be put on hold for at least a generation, but in the end other political forces prevailed and Yosemite Valley’s northerly twin granite cathedral was allowed to drown to become a reservoir. The valley remains underwater today.

Muir epitomized aesthetic love of nature, but he was a pragmatist too and did not object to mankind’s use of natural resources or natural areas. His lifetime spanned a great period of technological and engineering advances (the mid 1800s to early 1900s), which perhaps accelerated the pace and degree to which human intervention in the natural world could leave lasting imprints. He was favorable to industrial advances, but he advocated for a much greater emphasis on conservation than most of his contemporaries. He didn’t see industrial or agricultural progress as an enemy, but rather recognized that true human progress depended on a deep reverence for, and sufficient protection, of nature. Today, he would likely be astounded at just how far humankind has impacted every ecosystem on earth, but perhaps he would also be relieved that his successors have set aside some of the most inspiring natural places as wildernesses and national parks.

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I stumbled upon Muir’s old mansion in Martinez, California inadvertently this summer while car shopping. Just off the highway, a National Park Service sign appeared across the road which marked the house and orchards where Muir spent the last decades of his life. It was originally owned by his father-in-law but eventually came to be owned by the naturalist. After an uneventful visit to the car dealership, we stopped at the visitor’s center and then toured the house and grounds.

The Muir mansion in Martinez, California. The photo at right is Muir's office, which he called his "scribble den".

The Muir-Strentzel mansion is perched on the top of a small hill. It is spacious with several stories, a large kitchen, a green-house like room on the east side of the building, and a small bell tower. There are fancy chandeliers. Muir had an office on the second floor across from his bedroom where a desk sat below windows that open up to the Alhambra Valley to the north. Here he worked on patching together old field notebooks and other scraps of text into the wonderful nature writing we have today.

Out on the grounds the fruit trees have been preserved by the Park Service, perhaps including some of the original trees that Muir, his family, and hired workers tended. He was a successful and hard-working business man, turning a good profit on the property. The mansion and grounds are not the expected scene of a lover of all things wild. Yet, down the slope from the house also grows a single tall Sequoiadendron giganteum specimen too, planted by Muir.

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Writing apparently came with great difficulty to Muir, though in books like My First Summer in the Sierra, I've felt his words flow with grace and ease. He frequently used superlatives, even religious language, to describe the landscapes impressed on his mind. To Muir, the geologic labor that built cathedrals like the Yosemite Valley was superior to anything humankind could construct. His early writings consisted of articles for periodicals published on both the east and west coasts. He was able to introduce the marvelous natural areas of the west to eastern readers who had never seen the less-densely populated areas of western North America. His books tended to emerge later in his life (or even shortly after his death); in some cases they were re-workings of his shorter essays.

A photo of Hetch Hetchy Valley in Yosemite National Park taken by Isaiah
Taber in the first decade of 1900s, before the valley was flooded. Image in
the public domain.

One of the refreshing hallmarks of Muir’s writings is his near complete avoidance of politics, and even of human actors and voices. He was intimately involved in the politics of conservation towards the end of his life, but that was a necessary evil to protect his beloved wild places, not a manifestation of a propensity towards the political life. Muir’s pen focused on nature, and if there is a lesson to be had from his approach for my own attempts to write about nature, it is the power of letting the organisms have the main voice in the narrative.

Muir had a profoundly different perspective on the natural world than many of his contemporaries, or even of many people alive today. As I came to the conclusion of Worster’s biography, it seemed to me that Muir's greatest concern over how humans interacted with nature was the inability of most to see beyond money. Such a narrow focus could afflict both the poor and the rich of his day - the rich because they were willing to sacrifice the irreplaceable beauty of nature for short-term monetary gain, and the poor because they were confined to a system that kept them focused on economic concerns for their very daily survival. Muir advocated for recognizing the true wealth of nature and its irreplaceable value to humankind. Nature is the wealth of eons of history, accumulated by slow but ruthless and elegant forces of biology and geology. Nature reminds us of what is insignificant and unimportant. Nature inspires our aesthetic and spiritual aspirations as a species.

“How fiercely, devoutly wild is Nature in the midst of her beauty-loving tenderness! – painting lilies, watering them, caressing them with a gentle hand, going from flower to flower like a gardener while building rock mountains and cloud mountains full of lightening and rain. Gladly we run for shelter beneath an over-hanging cliff and examine the reassuring ferns and mosses, gentle love tokens growing in cracks and chinks. Daisies too, and ivesias, confiding wild children of light, too small to fear. To these one’s heart goes home, and the voices of the storm become gentle. Now the sun breaks forth and fragrant steam arises. The birds are out singing on the edge of the groves. The west is flaming in gold and purple, ready for the ceremony of the sunset, and back I go to camp with my notes and pictures, the best of them printed in my mind as dreams.” John Muir, 20 July 1869, My First Summer in the Sierra.

References

Muir J. 1911. My First Summer in the Sierra. Penguin Books.

Worster D. 2008. A Passion for Nature. The Life of John Muir. Oxford University Press.

So it turns out to be a threesome

Lichens are amazing organisms, drawing out our curiosity both because of their aesthetic appeal and their novel ecological and evolutionary characteristics. For over a hundred years, biologists have supposedly known about their basic composition: they are one of nature’s best examples of a symbiosis, a tight coupling of two or more evolutionarily distinct organisms that can function like a single unit. In the case of lichens, the two coupled organisms are a fungus and a photosynthetic alga.

Encrusting lichens at Newberry National Monument, Deschutes Co., OR, June 2011.

That basic understanding of lichens as an evolutionary marriage between alga and fungus remains fact. However, a paper published this summer significantly expanded the overall picture. Lead author Toby Spribille and his colleagues provide evidence in the journal Science that many lichens are symbioses of not just two groups of organisms, but three! How could such a basic aspect of lichen biology go undetected for so long?

Letharia vulpina on tree bark at Diamond Peak
Wilderness, OR, May 2013.

Their surprising discovery came about by careful observation and testing of what might otherwise pass as a rather mundane question in lichen biology. The authors were investigating differences in two closely related species of lichen, Bryoria tortuosa and B. fremontii. The former species produces a compound called vulpinic acid that causes the lichen to have a yellowish color. B. fremontii, however, lacks (or has reduced production of) the acid and is brown in color. What had baffled researchers, however, was the failure to find genetic differences between the two supposed species. Both the ascomycete fungus and the photosynthetic partner (a green alga called Trebouxia simplex) in the two species had identical sequences when several genes were studied. Species are expected to have fixed genetic differences even if their phenotype (their appearance) is very similar.

Spribille and colleagues decided to study the genetic structure again of the two species by sequencing the mRNA transcriptome. They confirmed the genetic similarity that had been observed before and also found little difference in gene expression between B. tortuosa and B. fremontii. However, when the researchers broadened their search to consider whether the transcripts they sequenced might match any other types of fungi, they found that the acid-producing B. tortuosa produced sequences associated with basidiomycetes, a very different group of fungi than are typically seen in lichens. The evidence pointed to a third symbiont in B. tortousa!

Apothecia (spore-producing structures) on encrusting lichens. Left: Alpine bloodspot, Ophioparma ventosa, Deschutes National Forest, OR, May 2012. Right: Ochrolechia sp., Bear Valley, Tahoe National Forest, CA, Dec 2009.

Usnea longissima, hanging from a vine maple in the
Menagerie Wilderness, Linn Co., OR, Oct 2012.

With this new finding, the researchers asked whether other lichen species might potentially harbor basidiomycetes as well. Surveying a variety of other lichen lineages, they found basidiomycete sequences in 52 different genera distributed across six continents! The basidiomycete lineages in the lichens seemed to be diverse group of fungi, but they were associated with specific species. The new group of basidiomycete symbionts is called the Cyphobasidiales.

Up until now, it had been known that some lichens deviated from the classic model of two partners in the lichen symbiosis. For instance, some species have two algal hosts in addition to the fungal partner – both a green alga and a cyanobacterium (Henskens et al. 2012). However, Spribille et al.’s research suggests that the typical lichen association is made up of two distinct fungal lineages and one or two algae. Thus, lichens may typically be threesomes, and sometimes, even foursomes. As if this wasn’t complicated enough, DNA sequencing work by Bates et al. (2011) showed that lichens can also have bacterial communities associated with them. They found unique groups of alpha proteobacteria associated with the lichen body in 4 species they studied. Apparently the more that lichens are studied, the more we could describe these remarkable organisms as comprising their own little ecological worlds!

The lichen Cladonia in a residential yard, Humboldt
Co., CA, Dec 2009.

With the relative ubiquity of the third symbiont evident in sequence data, why haven’t previous researchers seen these basidiomycete symbionts when looking through the microscope at lichen specimens? It turns out that the cells are difficult to detect by microscopy. They are small, and on the periphery of the lichen body, being embedded in a matrix of polysaccharides. Using florescent molecular tags on rRNA sequences specific to the basidiomycete partner, however, the new cells and their location in the lichen thallus (body) became readily apparent.

Interestingly, the new results explain one of the mysteries that lichen biologists have confronted for a long time, namely that it has been difficult to recreate the lichen symbiosis in the lab by combining only a single fungal host and alga. The typical lichen shape was hard to reproduce with only two partners.

It is fascinating to ponder the evolutionary history that could lead to such a complex and intimate association of distinct organisms. Green algae, cyanobacteria, and fungi are not closely related. During the early evolution of lichens, how did algae first become associated with the body of fungi? Did early lichens start with two fungal partners plus an alga, or were today’s lichen ancestors more simple in composition?

Lichens covering a rock in coastal scrub near
Muir Beach, Marin Co., CA, Oct 2016.

Whatever the exact evolutionary sequence of events, the lichen symbiosis appears to have proved to be very successful in terms of survival and reproductive success. In fact, fossils suggest that associations of algae and fungi are at least a half billion years old, stretching back to about the time that invertebrate animals diversified in the Cambrian Explosion, and before the arrival of vascular plants on land (Yuan et al. 2005). Today, there are many thousands of species of lichens, inhabiting ecosystems as diverse as deserts, coniferous rainforests, and coastlines.

References

Bates ST, Cropsey GW, Caporaso JG, Knight R, Fierer N. 2011. Bacterial communities associated with the lichen symbiosis. Applied and Environmental Microbiology 77:1309-1314.

Brodo IM, Sharnoff SD, Sharnoff S. 2001. Lichens of North America. Yale University Press.

Henskens FL, Green TG, Wilkins A. 2012. Cyanolichens can have both cyanobacteria and green algae in a common layer as major contributors to photosynthesis. Annals of Botany 110:555-563.

Spribille T, Touvinen V, Resl P, et al. 2016. Basidiomycete yeasts in the cortex of ascomycete lichens. Science 353:488-492.

Yuan X, Xiao S, Taylor TN. 2005. Lichen-like symbiosis 600 million years ago. Science 308:1017-1020.

Lichen (perhaps Amandinea) on wood fence, Pt. Reyes National Seashore, CA, Nov 2008.

Fruticose lichen in redwood forest, Van Duzen County Park, Humboldt Co., CA, 2006.

Incredible plants: tiger lilies

Lilium columbianum, near Comet Falls, Mt. Rainier
National Park, July 2016.

Lilies are a stunning group of flowering plants, and many members of that family have a strong aesthetic appeal for me. The Liliaceae are monocots, thus the flower parts occur in multiples of three. A prototypical lily flower would have six petals, six stamens, and a single style protruding from the center of the flower. Several lilies such as some members of Calochortus and Lilium have a curved perianth (petals), so that the overall shape of the flower is like an orb.

“Tiger lily” is an informal common name which has been applied to a few species in the genus Lilium that have orange spotted petals. These include Lilium columbianum (the “small-flowered tiger lily”), two subspecies of L. paradalinum (“Vollmer’s tiger lily” and “Wiggins’ lily”), and L.parvum (“Sierra tiger lily”) (Turner and Gustafson 2006; Skinner 2016). Other similar species in the Pacific states include L. bolanderi and L.occidentale, each with reddish spotted petals. 

Characteristics and distribution of five "tiger lily" species in the Pacific states.
References: Turner and Gustafson (2006), Baldwin et al. (2012), Wenk (2015).

Shoots of these lilies are typically 1-3 meters in height, green (non-woody), and have whorls of leaves emerging from the stem at regular intervals. The flowers of some species including L. columbianum and L. paradalinum hang pendant, a humble posture unnecessary for such a glorious flower.

Lilium pardalinum. Left: Ventana Wilderness, Los Padres National Forest, Big
Sur, CA, 2009. Right: Sucker Creek, Siskiyou National Forest, southern OR, July 2016.

Of the five species listed here, L. columbianum is most common, being distributed from British Columbia to northern California (Turner and Gustafson 2006). L. pardalinum occurs in California and southwest Oregon, while L. bolanderi and L. occidentale inhabit the Klamath mountains area in northwest CA and southwest OR (Turner and Gustafson 2002, Baldwin et al. 2012). L. parvum inhabits wetland or riparian areas at higher elevations in the Sierra range (Baldwin et al. 2012).

Lilium parvum, Tahoe National Forest, Sierra Nevada range,
CA, July 2009.

While visiting Oregon Caves National Monument earlier this summer, we camped along Sucker Creek, a quiet beautiful location where the shallow stream ran swiftly among rocks, close to the campsite. Riparian corridors seem to be excellent locations to find tiger lilies and I spotted some flowers along the far bank of the river. I crossed over to photograph them. The first flowers were somewhat on their way out, but farther upstream I found a cluster of several plants at the edge of the river near a rocky outcrop of serpentine, each bearing several flowers in their prime.

The green hues of serpentine rock and beautiful blooming lilies were exciting enough, but suddenly I also noticed a beautiful swallowtail butterfly visiting the flowers too. It was photographic bliss to have two such bright and magnificent organisms in the same place. The swallowtail was mostly undeterred by my close presence and spent some time visiting a few different flowers. It landed on the underside of each flower and then rhythmically bowed to the flower, each time inserting its long black proboscis deep into the flower to extract nectar.

Lilium pardalinum and a beautiful swallowtail visitor at Sucker
Creek, Siskiyou National Forest, southern OR, July 2016.

References

Baldwin BG et al. 2012. The Jepson Manual. Vascular Plants of California. 2^nd ed. University of California Press, Berkeley, CA.

Skinner MW. 2016. Lilium parvum, in Jepson Flora Project (eds.) Jepson eFora, http://ucjeps.berkeley.edu

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

US Geological Survey. 1996. Kerby Peak, OR. 1:24000 topographic map.

Wenk E. 2015. Wildflowers of the High Sierra and John Muir Trail. Wilderness Press, Birmingham, AL.

Butte Lake, Lassen Volcanic National Park

View of Mt. Lassen from inside the crater of  Cinder Cone,
Aug 2016.

Except perhaps for Redwood National Park, I've been to Lassen more times than any park in the National Park System. Thursday the 25^th of August was the official one hundredth birthday of the NPS. Lassen too is celebrating its 100th birthday this year. But can a few trips alone do justice to any of the west’s marvelous parks? The weekend following the centennial birthday party, I visited a new corner of Lassen: the northeasterly Butte Lake.

Butte Lake lies east of Mt. Lassen, on the dryer side of the Cascades. The roads were dusty and pines dominated the landscape, a clue to the presence of a drier landscape on the eastern side of the park. The lake is at just over 6000 ft elevation and is presently sort of sickle shaped. It may have been larger at some point in the past. The southwest shore is comprised of heaps of jagged black lava rock that come right to the shore, part of the Fantastic Lava Beds. When this lava flow was deposited, it perhaps buried part of the more extensive lake. Only a few willows or other plants have been able to become established in the poorly developed soils among the dark unforgiving volcanic rubble.

Persicaria (left) and Sagittaria (right) in Butte Lake.

I kayaked around some of the northern end of the lake. Visibility wasn't great, and the water had a greenish hue probably due to plankton or other suspended particulates in the water. But it was refreshingly cool, which was very welcome given the dry and dusty surrounding landscape. Some of the shores supported tiny wetlands comprised of typical marsh plants such as Juncus (a rush) and Carex (a sedge). In the shallows at the edge of the lake there were also submerged aquatic plants, such as the floating Persicaria. A few of them displayed short spikes of pink flowers above the water surface. Intermixed, but in less abundance, were the floating arrowhead-shaped leaves of Sagittaria. At the tiny wetland near the boat launch, dragonflies and wasps were abundant. Water striders balanced on the surface tension of the water, distorting the surface and thereby leaving unusual shadows on the muddy bottom. 

To the south of Butte Lake, lies the conical Cinder Cone, one of the types of volcanoes contained in the park. It is a dark grey heap of barren gravel and rubble, set cleanly on the Lassen landscape like a pile of sugar dispensed from a heavenly hand. A hiking trail leads from Butte Lake to the east side of the mountain, rising quite steeply from the base up to the rim of the crater. Incredibly, a few trees have taken root on the outside of the cinder cone, where no real soil seems imaginable. A larger number of conifers can be found just inside the lip of the rim where water possibly collects and the wind may be less harsh. The base of the crater is perhaps a hundred meters below the rim, the interior shaped like a funnel inside the mountain.

The Milky Way, with a silhouette of Cinder Cone at bottom
center.

Saturday night after the darkening sky began to reveal an abundance of stars I ventured out to the rubble volcanic barrens next to the lake to photograph the sky. During about an hour and a half of photography, I noted some half dozen to a dozen shooting stars. The Milky Way spread in a luminous arc above, a wide ribbon stretching from south to north across the sky busy with so many stars.

References

US Geological Survey. 1995. Prospect Peak, CA. 1:24000 topographic map.

Lake Helen and Lassen Peak.

Shadow from a water strider on the bottom of Butte Lake.

Thornton Lakes, North Cascades National Park

The northern Cascades, looking south from the Thornton Lakes area.

2016 is the centennial year of the National Park Service, and with an annual pass in possession, I’m making some effort to visit parks wherever I can this year. Ideally, I’d have the luxury of a whole summer off to explore parks throughout the west, but such an extended vacation isn’t feasible.

I did have two weeks off to travel to the Pacific Northwest in July and the last wilderness stop I made was North Cascades National Park in northern Washington. It was a first time visit for me, as was Mt. Rainier in central Washington earlier that week. North Cascades encompasses two areas – a northern section of the park which extends to the Canadian border and a southern area bordered by two national forests and Lake Chelan National Recreation Area. Ross Lake National Recreation Area bisects the two park units, and is generally the gateway to the whole region. Almost all points of access to the National Park itself are by foot trail; in fact, there are only two dirt roads that lead anywhere directly into the park. Most of the park is also part of the Stephen Mather Wilderness.

The southern-most of the Thornton Lakes.

The terrain is rugged – forest, exposed rock at higher elevations, and many glaciers. The park has over 300 glaciers, a large fraction of all those found in the lower 48 states. Using aerial photography and measurements at several glaciers, researchers have been assessing their rates of change. Like other montane regions, the apparent effects of climate change are alarming: at North Cascades, total glacier area is estimated to have declined by about 40% since the mid 1800s.

I hiked into the park along the trail that leads to Thornton Lakes in the northern unit. The first 3 kilometers or so beyond the trailhead, there was little ascent as the trail went north and then south following the contour of a valley through mid-elevation forest. Thereafter it turned north again, but with significant elevation gain up the slope of the mountain. It was a challenging day hike, finally terminating on the eastern flank of a basin that held the southernmost of the lakes. From this relatively high vantage point, I could see the snow-capped peaks to the south, probably in the southern unit of the park.

The slopes of the lake basin were steep and a creek tumbled into the north end of the lake off in the distance. The trail down to the lake was likewise steep and I only went down partway, not reaching the lake. From the distance, however, I could see a constant stream of concentric ripples radiating out over the water’s surface. Perhaps fish were rising periodically to the surface to feed on insects.

Ripples on the lake.

One day hike of course was only a tiny sampling of this large and seemingly spectacular part of the Cascade Range. I look forward to another chance to hike or backpack into this rugged and remote wilderness.

References

National Park Service. Undated. North Cascades National Park map.

National Park Service, North Cascades National Park website.

Snow Lake, Mt. Rainier National Park

Snow lake, the southern end.

Alpine lakes are one of my favorite destinations in the mountain wildernesses of the Pacific states. At higher altitudes the water almost invariably reflects beautiful hues of blue, turquoise, yellow or some other color. The lake margins are usually lined with small wetlands or edge up against beautiful coniferous forests with tall spires of stately trees. Dragonflies and damselflies might dart to and fro while water striders balance on the surface tension of the water. In winter and spring ice blankets the lakes while they quietly sleep through the cold months.

After an evening hike to Comet Falls and a night of camping on the slopes of Mt. Rainier, the next day we set out to see a few other regions of the park. We stopped to see the meadows of lilies (and unexpectedly, the marmots!) at Paradise midday and then drove farther east into the park for a relatively short hike up to Snow Lake. Snow Lake is tucked into a basin at the base of a semi-circular rocky ridge that is part of the Tatoosh Range. The lake is sort of sickle-shaped. After a short jaunt beyond the end of the official trail, one reaches the southern end of the lake where brick orange soils stand out distinctly on the lake bottom.

Map of Mt. Rainier National Park at left (from NPS, 2015), and inset at right with
Snow Lake (from USGS, 1971).

Mt. Rainier from the Snow Lake trail as the sky clears after an early
summer storm.

For the first 24 hours of our visit to the park, Mt. Rainier was shrouded in clouds since a storm that had overtaken the Pacific Northwest that weekend in early July was still lingering. However, the clear skies of summer were returning and on the return hike from Snow Lake back to the trailhead, the clouds shrouding the mountain began to clear and the beaming rugged glaciers of Rainier’s south slopes became visible.

Mt. Rainier is the highest of all the Cascade peaks in Washington, Oregon and California, topping Mt. Shasta by a few hundred feet. Its magnificent slopes culminate in snowfields and cracked glaciers. It is a remarkable beacon in central Washington and I hope to visit again soon to explore all the gems it has to offer: rivers, forests, lakes, waterfalls, and ice!

Reference

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

Snow and ice on the southeastern slope of Mt. Rainier. 

White torches of blooming bear grass, Xerophyllum tenax
(Liliaceae).

White rhododendron (Rhododendron albiflorum) at left and avalanche lily
(Erythronium montanum) at right.

Comet Falls, Mt. Rainier National Park

Last week was my first visit to Mt. Rainier National Park in central Washington. The peak at the center of the park is the highest mountain in the Cascade Range, rising above 14,000 ft. The park boasts lush temperate rainforest and wide river washes fed by rain and glaciers crowning the mountain.

Vine maple, Acer circinatum, the foliage of which is just delightful in the fall.

Waterfalls dot the Rainier map and we headed towards Comet Falls on the southern slope of the mountain the afternoon we arrived at the park. A short distance from the trailhead, the trail passes over one of the tributaries of the Nisqually River that eventually runs into the Nisqually Delta near Olympia. The creek water rushed through a narrow channel of bedrock in a precipitous drop through a small valley making its way down the mountain. After crossing via foot bridge, the trail runs along the eastside of the creek up the slopes of Rainier. The water’s roar was a companion during the hike.

Flowers increased in number and variety gaining elevation up the trail. Among the most common were white six-petaled blooms of Clintonia uniflora, the flowers emerging not far above the ground next to a pair of smooth spatulate leaves (not unlike commercial orchids). Another frequent small ground cover species with white blooms was Cornus unalaschkensis (a small relative of the much larger tree, the dogwood). Yellow asters which I did not observe closely enough to attempt to identify were also common.

Blooms of Cornus unalaschkensis (left) and Clintonia uniflora (right), both common near Comet Falls.

Near Comet Falls there was a small population of the striking avalanche lily, Erythronium montanum, which I would later see in greater abundance in the higher elevation meadows at Paradise farther up the slopes Mt. Rainier. The flowers of this species hang down towards the ground, having six somewhat dishelved white petals that radiate out from a bright yellow center. Paradise also had many individuals of another species of fawn lily, E. grandiflorum (the Glacier lily), similar to the avalanche lily in habit, but with solid yellow flowers. E. montanum is distributed in the Pacific Northwest while E. grandiflorum occurs from British Columbia to California and into the Rocky Mountain west.

Avalanche lily.

Comet Falls.

There were a few Columbia tiger lilies along the trail too. Other booming species were numerous and included Maianthemum racemosum (large false Solomon's seal), Rubus parviflorus (thimbleberry), Rubus spectabilis (salmonberry), Rubus lasiococcus (dwarf bramble), Corallorhiza mertensiana (western coralroot), Phyllodoce empetriformis (pink mountain heather), Dodecatheon sp. (shooting star), and the striking red and yellow ornate flowers of Aquilegia formosa (columbine). The day was damp and cloudy, otherwise resembling conditions I would expect in late winter or fall, except that the presence of flowers and resplendent foliage reminded one that it was indeed summer.

Coralroot (Orchidaceae).

The rainforest at the base of Mt. Rainier is truly lush - one of the greenest forests I've been able to visit. As with most forests in the western Pacific Northwest's, massive conifers dominate the canopy. Cedars and firs were common in the park, and I also noted western hemlock, mountain hemlock, and Douglas fir. The new growth of needles on the tips of the conifer branches was everywhere, the bright green centimeters of vibrant new growth giving accent to the deeper evergreen of the older growth, such a pleasant sight! Lichens hung from the trees in abundance, giving the landscape a depth of age too.

After hiking to Comet Falls, we camped that evening among the beautiful conifers and had one more day to explore Mt. Rainier. The short trip did not give the extensive park due justice of course, but it was enough time to gain a taste for its beauty and to be enticed to return again.

References

Baldwin et al. 2012. The Jepson Manual. Higher Plants of California. 2^nd edition. University of California Press, Berkeley, CA.

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

New growth on a small fir tree.

Oregon caves

Valley leading up to Oregon Caves
National Monument.

The Oregon Caves National Monument lies in the Siskiyou range, a mountainous region in southwest Oregon rich in biodiversity.

Dozens of chambers and tunnels connect the caves in a complex underground maze discovered by Elijah Davidson in 1874 while in pursuit of his dog and a bear that had entered the cave. The caves became a popular attraction; today the National Park Service leads tours of a little over an hour through much of the cave complex.

"Drapery" formed by sheet flow of water though
the cave.

The caves formed over the course of thousands of years as weak carbonic acid slowly dissolved the marble rocks underlying the mountain. The acids formed from the interaction of water with carbon dioxide released from decaying plant matter in the soils overlying the bedrock. The caverns and tunnels vary in size and shape. A very small stream (named the “River Styx”) runs through a part of the cave complex.

Slow mineral deposition over time as water continues to move through the caves has resulted in a variety of interesting forms inside many of the rooms. Dripping water creates forms such as stalagmites and the thin “soda straws” that project from some of the cave ceilings. Flowing sheets of water over rock surfaces form other shapes such as “drapery”. Lights set up by the Park Service help illuminate many of the features for visitors. 

Other cave features: stalagmites, stalactites, and
columns (fused stalagmites + stalagtites).

Drapery is most ornate in the "Paradise Lost" room,
my favorite place along the tour route.

Other reference

National Park Service educational materials

Crescent City rocky intertidal

The northern-most significant stretch of rocky coastline in California borders the small sleepy town of Crescent City. Last week offered some excellent early morning low tides, so of course part of the Pacific Northwest vacation needed to be scheduled around a few coastal adventures.

Pebble Beach area, Crescent City, exposed at low tide.

The Crescent City coastline consists of a long stretch of boulders (small and large) punctuated with offshore rocks and seastacks. At low tide the intertidal life is rich, especially abundant with red seaweeds. One of the species occurring distinctively here is the small peltate red alga Constantinea simplex. It grows in the low intertidal, mushroom-shaped, along vertical rock faces.

Every visit to the intertidal reveals some treasures - often new species or observations. Some highlights from this low tide excursion:

- a bright orange sea cucumber, unknown species

- a low intertidal pool with a long orange nemerteam worm, some bashful large sculpins, and little orange cup corals (Ballanophyllia elegans)

- abundant Desmarestia munda

- yellow dorid nudibranchs and a few other species

The early morning tide was quite low and the wind and sea were calm - perfect conditions for exploring the low intertidal.

A gray-blue species of sculpin in a shaded shallow intertidal pool.

The orange cup coral, Balanophyllia elegans.

Dermasterias imbricata.

Unidentified sea cucumber.

Oregon redwoods

According to the fossil record, redwoods once occupied a large expanse of territory across North America. Today they are restricted to a narrow coastal band along the Pacific coast where year-round temperatures are mild.

The modern day range of Sequoia sempervirens stretches from Big Sur in Monterey County, California to just across the California-Oregon border. At the southern end of the range, the trees tend to be shorter, tucked away inside steep valleys cut into the Big Sur coastline. They may survive courtesy of tongues of fog that roll in from the cool Pacific into the coastal valleys, while finding the dryer warm hillsides too inhospitable. Towards the northern end of the range in Humboldt and Del Norte counties, the redwoods reach their most favorable conditions, at least as evidenced by the size of the trees. In Tall Trees Grove in Redwood National Park in northern California, for example, several contenders for the world's tallest tree thrive near Redwood Creek.

Though I have spent much time among the redwoods throughout much of their range, until this week I had never seen the northernmost trees in the southwest corner of Oregon. The occasion was the first leg of a Pacific Northwest vacation in northwestern California and southeast Oregon. After an early morning exploration of rocky tidepools in Crescent City, I thought it would be an opportune time to make a detour to find the redwoods before heading to Oregon Caves National Monument (hopefully more on these adventures in later posts).

After crossing into Oregon heading north on US101, one heads east to follow the course of the Winchuck River for a few miles and then turns off onto a narrow one-lane road that winds into the western reaches of the Rogue River Siskiyou National Forest. About 2-2.5 miles into the road, the distinctive clusters of redwoods begin to appear among other conifers and at 4 miles the road ends and the Oregon redwood trail begins.

Redwood sorrel and wild ginger.

Maianthemum sp. 

The old growth forest hosts the typical consortium of understory species in Sequoia forests: carpets of redwood sorrel, tufts of sword ferns, and rhododendrons. I also observed huckleberry bushes, wild ginger, and a few orange tiger lilies.

Reference

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