The bright yellow blossoms of Hall’s lomatium (Lomatium hallii) are one of the first things to bloom up on Castle Rock.

Another good early spot for early flowers is along Deer Creek Road 2654, just over the border into Linn County, 7.5 miles past the ranger station. The wet springs of the last couple of years fueled some gorgeous displays of seep-loving annuals (see Superb Floral Display Above Deer Creek). While it has been wet this spring until recently and many things are just starting, the sudden change to warm, dry conditions may shorten the show of annuals this year. There were quite a few larkspurs in bloom along the road banks along with fading Lomatium hallii and saxifrages (Micranthes rufidula and M. integrifolia). Thompson’s mistmaiden (Romanzoffia thompsonii) was still blooming in a few of the many seeps. The big sweeps of rosy plectritis and blue-eyed Mary (Collinsia grandiflora) had not yet begun.

Bronze bells, broad-lip twayblade, and Western boykinia love to grow where it is very wet, such as along this little stream.

I could not relocate the Dodecatheon pulchellum that grows in a small creek about half a mile beyond milepost 3. I was a bit disappointed that there wasn’t much in bloom and not many butterflies, so I decided it was time to head back. As has happened to me a surprising number of times, I decided to check one more spot, and suddenly my day turned around. Right near the car, I could hear a lot of rushing water from a small creek coming down the bank but hidden under some trees and shrubs. Upon peering under the foliage, I could see lots of water splashing down over rocks and under an old fallen log, now covered with moss. First the tiny-flowered inflorescenses of oval-leaved mitrewort (Mitella ovalis) caught my eye. Familiar looking strap-like leaves also covered the log and were dripping off the stream bank. I searched for some buds and was thrilled to find a few, confirming it really was one of my favorite plants—bronze bells (Anticlea [Stenanthium] occidentale). Maybe I should say “favorite favorite” plants, since I have so many favorites. This was a big surprise. I didn’t follow the stream uphill at all, but even down by the road there were a great many plants. Then another surprise, growing among the bronze bells, mitrewort, and Boykinia occidentalis were the small twin leaves of a twayblade. Although there were no blooms, I’m confident these are Listera convallarioides. It often grows en masse in very wet spots like this. The other two more common species are usually on the forest floor—moist perhaps, but not where they get splashed with water. I can’t wait to return here to see these two special flowers in bloom. While there wasn’t a lot of color, in a mere 45 minutes, I ended up adding 5 interesting species to my list, so I left anything but disappointed.

Above the roadcut is a large rocky meadow. Dodecatheon pulchellum grows all the way up this wet seep.

But that wasn’t the end to my excitement for the day. Although it was getting late, I decided to finally stop and explore the cliffs along McKenzie Highway just a mile or so south of the intersection of Deer Creek Road. I’ve often marveled at how much seemed to be blooming there, but right along a busy road was a problem, and I was always coming or going somewhere else and didn’t have enough time. Twinkling white flowers covering the seepy rocks beckoned, however. I pulled over at one end of the 1/3 mile long road cut and walked back up along the cliffs in the deep ditch. It turns out the white flowers were California mistmaiden (Romanzoffia californica). It’s a lot more common to the south, and although much of what was growing here also grew along Deer Creek Road, I’d never seen this species there. Growing among its taller cousin was quite a bit of  Thompson’s mistmaiden. This didn’t surprise me as I’d just seen it on Deer Creek Road, but as it is a monitored endemic, it is always great to find another population, and a large one at that. Then a big thrill—Dodecatheon pulchellum! At first I was only able to find a few plants, but closer to the middle, several of the seeps coming down the rocks were well endowed with clumps of the exquisite pink blossoms. A few were even growing in the ditch. Okay, this might count as a favorite, favorite, favorite plant!

I've never seen a pure white Dodecatheon pulchellum before!

As you drive by this spot, it is difficult to take more than a quick look, but from my vantage point I could see that there is quite a bit of enticing steep, rocky meadow up above the roadcut, much like the meadows up above the road along Deer Creek Road. While visually following the flow of the seep up into the larger open area, I spotted something white about 20 feet above my head that just didn’t have the right gestalt for either species of Romanzoffia. These flowers were in a tighter clump. With more than a little excitement, I grabbed for my binoculars only to discover I had foolishly left them on the front seat of my car. Thankfully, the zoom on my camera was long enough to take a photograph that blown up showed clearly what I was hoping for—a pure white Dodecatheon pulchellum! If I hadn’t already decided I must return and find a way up to the meadow, that surely sealed it. I can hardly wait!

The masses of western trillium (Trillium ovatum) were fading to a beautiful deep wine color.

Yesterday (May 10), Nancy Bray and I enjoyed the lovely weather by spending a few hours up at Eagles Rest. I was up there both May 5 and May 20 (see Spring Moving Slowly at Eagles Rest) last year, and the blooming was right in the middle of those two trips. That would not be so surprising except that last year the flowers were so far behind because of the cold spring. I guess it really has been damp and cool up until now, so the lower elevations are still later than “normal”. On the other hand, the deep snowpack pushed the higher elevation plants as much as a month late last year. This year, the snow pack has been pretty poor. From the top of Eagles Rest, Mount June could still be seen covered with snow last year on May 20. Yesterday, even with the binoculars, I could only see a touch of snow on the north side of Mt. June. And with the several weeks of dry, sunny weather, we’re having, the mountain bloom shouldn’t be nearly as late as last year.

A lovely yellow form of harsh paintbrush (Castilleja hispida).

As they were last year in May, the trilliums right near the upper trailhead were outstanding. The woods all along the trail were filled with fairy slippers (Calypso bulbosa). After lunching at the top, I convinced Nancy to explore the steep area to the west of the summit. Most things were not really blooming yet. Both the fawn lilies and fritillaries were still in bud. The bright yellow flower heads of Lomatium hallii provided the only real color. Nancy spotted something yellow lower down the steep slope. It was subtle, but the shade of yellow wasn’t the same. It turns out it was a gorgeous, pure yellow harsh paintbrush (Castilleja hispida). I’ve only seen them a handful of times, so I was pleased. There were also some red-flowered paintbrushes getting started here and there. Nancy pointed out that there was a lot of deep red in the leaves of the red-flowered plants, but not a touch of red in the yellow plant. It’s an albino of sorts, missing all red pigment. We studied the few actual flowers that had begun. The narrow tubular flowers are overshadowed by the showy bracts and easy to miss at this stage. The calyx lobes on harsh paintbrush are usually in two pairs of rounded lobes. This was true of the red ones we looked at. Oddly, the calices of this yellow plant were somewhat irregularly lobed.

Stands of blooming Fritillaria affinis (mission bells, fritillaries, chocolate lilies or whatever you like to call them!) were coming into bloom on mossy shelves in the rocks.

The unlobed leaves of frosted paintbrush (Castilleja pruinosa) are covered with forked hairs.

We explored the front of the summit area for a short while. The lovely cutleaf daisy (Erigeron compositus) were covered with nodding buds, but we only spotted a few blooming flower heads. Something else to look forward to. The seepy spots had quite a bit of rustyhair saxifrage (Micranthes [Saxifraga] rufidula) with their bright white flowers and glossy deep green leaves. We continued to find budded up fritillaries. There are scores of them in this rocky area. It wasn’t until we got to the lowest areas where we finally spotted them in bloom. Despite their somewhat cryptic coloration, their flowers are extraordinarily handsome. Seeing them never fails to give me a lift. In this same area, we finally spotted some of the frosted paintbrush I had seen before. These later bloomers hadn’t even started budding yet (For a photo of these plants in bloom, see Peak Season at Eagles Rest from last June). The leaves are clearly different from harsh paintbrush—in bloom just a few feet away—as they have no lobes and narrower blades. They also have at least some forked hairs. That’s what makes them look “frosted”. Through the handlens, I could see these were covered with forked hairs. Often in this area of Lane County, there aren’t that many, and I’m guessing they are hybridizing. These look like the real thing, however.

One of the many seeps covered with lovely Cascadia nuttalli

Finally we have a good stretch of dry weather! I’ve been trying to bring some friends to Cloverpatch to see the lower meadows, but the weather hadn’t been cooperating. But yesterday (May 7), it was gorgeous—low 70s and sunny—perfect hiking weather. John Koenig, Sabine Dutoit and I headed over to Cloverpatch to see the area I visited for the first time back in February (see Further Exploration of Cloverpatch).

On our way in, this gorgeous stand of striped coralroot (Corallorhiza striata) in a shaft of light caught our eye, but we didn't missed it on the way back.

Once again, the fairy slippers (Calypso bulbosa) were outstanding all along the trail. We also spotted an especially large clump of spotted coralroot at the beginning of the trail. A little farther along, the pretty purple Howell’s violet (Viola howellii) was in bloom along with some mission bells (Fritillaria affinis). When the trail hit the main meadow, we cut straight down and headed left around the cliff back into the woods. It was easy to relocate my route down to the lower meadows, but it was still slow going because of the steepness. My companions had a harder time going downhill than I did, but on the way back, I was the one struggling with the steep uphill. Still it was worth the trip.

While Sabine relaxed, John and I relocated the seep I had found on the first trip. At that time, a single Thompson’s mistmaiden (Romanzoffia thompsonii) was in flower. Now the seep was a froth of little white flowers. At first glance, it appeared most of these were the strikingingly similar Nuttall’s saxifrage (Cascadia nuttallii), but upon closer investigation, it turned out that the Romanzoffia was blooming as well. The two were growing on top of each other, the Cascadia reaching just a bit taller. It still fascinates me how these two species from different families have evolved to be so incredibly similar (see Romanzoffia thompsonii and Cascadia nuttallii—Look-Alike Seep Lovers for a side by side comparison). We eventually found quite a number of seeps sparkling with these two species. The most unusual site was at the cliff where I was so surprised to discover Heuchera merriamii. Here, not only were they blooming in the seepy rocks at the base of the cliff, there were frothy masses of white flowers under a huge overhang—no doubt fueled by water coming through the rock. As they are easy to confuse up close, I can’t say for sure what these were high above my head, but the height suggested Cascadia.

Water seeps out of the rock under a large overhang, giving plants such as Cascadia a chance to grow without rain ever touching them.

The flowers of fiddleneck are fairly small but are so bright and cheery. The inflorescence will be more noticeably coiled as the flowers age.

We made an interesting discovery at the first seep. John spotted the little orange flowers of common fiddleneck (Amsinckia menziesii var. intermedia). I’ve never seen that in the Cascades. It turns out the few sightings of it in the Oregon Flora Project Atlas are all over 40 years old. We didn’t see many plants, but they were just starting to bloom, so there could be many more. They usually like disturbed habitat. Considering this meadow also had lots of cheatgrass (Bromus tectorum) and a little Scotch broom at one end, it has clearly suffered more disturbance than the upper meadows.

John and I also explored another large cliff to the east. Unfortunately, it was hidden behind a lovely oak forest filled with poison oak. Once you’ve run into a little, you might as well go through the rest and just wash everything when you get home. I’m crossing my fingers I got it all off since I am definitely susceptible. Also under these and all the other oaks were lots of unfurling coastal shield-fern (Dryopteris arguta) and blooming Pacific hound’s tongue (Cynoglossum grande). From below, the cliff was quite impressive. Lots of monkeyflower was blooming in the wet cracks. There was quite a variety of sizes of both leaves and flowers. Presumably it is all Mimulus guttatus—it amazes me how variable this species is. I scanned the rock with my binoculars and was pleased to find some more small patches of Heuchera merriamii.

Hound's tongue seems partial to the dappled light of open woods.

We caught up with Sabine for a while but then ditched her for a bit longer to take a quick look at the lowest meadow. We didn’t go very far, but we did find some more balsamroot (Balsamorhiza deltoidea) just starting to bloom as it had been in the meadow by the trail and a little more gold star (Crocidium multicaule), also missing from the meadow area we’d just been through. One unusual plant caught our eye. It appeared to be a cherry of some sort. The flower buds were in a long raceme, which would suggest choke cherry (Prunus virginiana), but each bud had a conspicuous bract, something that didn’t appear in any of the photos or descriptions I looked at when I got home. I consulted with Bruce Newhouse who agreed it was a cherry because of the galls on the leaves and the glands on the petioles, neither of which I’d noticed. John dug up an old photo with bracts, and I finally found a reference online that mentioned there being early deciduous bracts on choke cherry. So our first guess was correct, but sometimes it takes a lot of digging before one can be sure of an ID. I certainly learned a lot more about this plant that I rarely see.

We also learned a lot more about these lovely lower meadows. But it is still early in the season, and so much is yet to bloom, so hopefully we’ll be able to return in several weeks to see what else we can find.

The actual flowers of skunk cabbage are quite small. Each has four petals pressed hard against the spathe and four protruding anthers.

Our first stop was to admire one of the many small roadside swamps lit up by the bright yellow spathes of skunk cabbage (Lysichiton americanus). With the sunlight behind them, they look lit from within, giving rise to another name: swamp lantern. I have always been interested in fragrant plants, and I can’t help but pester anyone I’m with to smell different flowers. It’s always interesting to find out how different everyone’s sense of smell is. So I had to see what Nancy thought of the fragrance of the skunk cabbage flower. It is nothing like that of the skunky-smelling leaves. She agreed that it was pleasant.

Another fragrant plant all along the wet roadsides this time of year is coltsfoot (Petasites frigidus). I’ve always thought its unusual scent reminiscent of menthol. Someone recently suggested vanilla, and I think I can smell that as well. Lately, I have been looking more carefully at the variety of tiny florets in composites. Coltsfoot flower heads are either male or female. The males are composed mainly of disk florets and may or may not have any ray florets. The females have quite a few ray florets with only a few disk florets. I’d never noticed this before.

Early bloomers attract a lot of pollinators. Left, a gorgeous moth nectars on male coltsfoot flower heads. The purple in the center of the starry disk floret is the tube formed by the fused stamens. Right, a bee enjoys female florets with their long, protruding, slightly two-parted styles. Note also the abundance of disk florets on the left. The right flower heads are smaller with only a few disk florets.

Perfect in their symmetry, the tiny flowers of fetid adder's tongue are well worth a closer look.

The main reason I like to check out the Fall Creek Trail in early April is to see fetid adder’s tongue (Scoliopus hallii). For some reason, seeing this plant never fails to thrill me. Its two large leaves sparkle in the light. While the tiny, brownish flowers are decidedly un-showy, they more than make up for that with their sculptural structure. The three maroon-streaked sepals are reflexed when mature and alternate with 3 narrow, upright petals. The conspicuous dark red ovary is topped with a three-parted curved stigma. Three stamens fill out this little gem. I’d read that that its odor was unpleasant (fetid) to attract flies, but we found it to be pleasant, if not very strong. I doubt many people have kneeled down it its damp habitat in order to smell the little flowers. We found much more of it along various parts of the trail than I remembered. That is good news because it is not a very common plant. Nancy had never seen it before, but she quickly mastered the search image and could spot it very quickly growing on the banks of the creek and the trail.

The delicate flower of goldthread reminds me of a spider.

Another plant whose unassuming flower is often missed is goldthread (Coptis laciniata). This is not so surprising since it has to compete for attention this time of year with showier flowers such as bright white Western trillium (T. ovatum), purple snow queen (Synthyris reniformis), and sunny yellow evergreen violet (Viola sempervirens). The latter were all in good bloom along my favorite section of the trail, east of the Clark Creek burn area and Puma Campground. Goldthread is named for its yellow rhizomes. These are probably the most colorful part of the plant, yet they remain hidden underground. The flowers are quite unusual. The 5 or more sepals are quite long and narrow. The number of equally narrow but shorter petals varies quite a bit. A nectary creates an abrupt bend in each pale petal. Usually there are two flowers on a single stalk, but occasionally there are three or only one. The dissected evergreen foliage fooled me into thinking it was a fern, the first time I ever saw it, but it is actually a member of the buttercup family.

“Don’t sweat the small stuff” is a worthwhile expression for those overwhelmed with life’s challenges. But when it comes to flowers, I think it is well worth the effort of getting down on your hands and knees for the “small stuff”. You’ll be delighted by what you find.

Arnica discoidea (L) near Bradley Lake and the larger Arnica parryi (R) at Groundhog Mountain

Most arnicas have bright yellow daisy-like flowers, but in the Western Cascades, we have two species that are rayless—only disk florets are present. That gives them a button-like appearance. They are easy to tell from our other species but can easily be confused with each other. Neither Parry’s arnica (Arnica parryi) nor rayless arnica (A. discoidea) is common in our area. I’ve seen Arnica parryi in meadows several times as well as roadsides, but I’ve only seen A. discoidea along roadsides and only at 3 or 4 sites.

Arnica discoidea. The white pappus is most evident when it is going to seed but can still be seen in the fresh flower on the right, peaking out between the phyllaries and the florets.

Two definitive differences between these two species are with the pappus (the hairy things attached to the fruit) and the phyllaries (the bracts that hold the flower head). Arnica discoidea has white pappus, while that of A. parryi is straw-colored. The phyllaries of A. parryi are long and tapering, often flopping at the tips, and they reach out to the end of the florets. In discoidea, they are much shorter and blunter and don’t reach as far up the floret tube.

Arnica parryi has nodding buds and longer, narrower phyllaries and straw-colored pappus

The leaves in both species are variable but hairy and glandular. They have large basal leaves on long petioles and a few pairs of smaller leaves on the stems that become sessile as they get higher up the stem. The leaves of A. discoidea seem much wider (more triangular or heart-shaped) and more distinctly toothed. Those of A. parryi are longer and narrower and are either entire or have only small teeth.

The lower meadows and cliffs at the east end of Cloverpatch Butte can be seen from across the river.

The lovely sunny weather of the last week made me anxious to go for a real hike, so yesterday (February 4), I decided to continue my attempt to survey all the meadows of Cloverpatch Butte. This time my goal was to explore the large area directly below the largest meadow the trail cuts through. I wasn’t entirely sure it would be possible—there are cliffs at the base of every section of meadow—but it was worth trying. Then, if I could find a good route, it would save me time when I return after the flowers are actually out.

The unusual cotyledon leaves of Clarkia species look a bit like bowling pins.

After a quick stop at the Black Canyon Campground to get a look at the meadows from across the river, I drove up to the trailhead on Tire Creek Road 5826. Thankfully the road is in fine condition. This early in the year, you can’t count on that. I was a little surprised to see quite a few snow queen (Synthyris reniformis) starting to bloom along the trail. There were far more than at my house, a thousand feet lower in elevation. There were lots of fairy slipper (Calypso bulbosa) leaves evident, some quite a deep purple. This is a great trail for viewing these gorgeous flowers. I was able to collect five more types of seeds to scan for my new gallery, but most plants had already dispersed all their seeds. Many seedlings are already up, among them Nemophila parvifolia and a Clarkia, most likely amoena from the tall dead stalks above them. I’ve seen three species here, so I can’t be sure.

It didn’t take long to get to the main meadow. Like all the other openings on the south side of Cloverpatch Butte, the bottom of the meadow ends in a cliff. I’ve been down here before to see a population of white Phacelia linearis and a good show of Crocidium multicaule. The latter were in evidence on the rocks, but there were no buds showing yet. There’s no climbing down the ten or so feet of rock, but it was almost too easy finding a spot where the vertical cliff gave way to an easy set of rocky steps. I was down in the woods following some deer trails and into the first narrow meadow in minutes. Again there were cliffs at the bottom, but after a quick glance to see nothing much of interest, I headed to the east end and found another relatively gentle slope at the end. Another short stretch of woods and I came out into a large meadow with a great view. I could see Diamond Peak and Groundhog Mountain to the east, Patterson in front of me, and the Middle Fork of the Willamette glistening down below. The perfect spot for lunch.

Miniscule water chickweed (Montia fontana) enjoys mossy seeps. The larger leaves are a monkeyflower (Mimulus sp.).

From here it was it was fairly simple to get down to the next level. Perhaps “level” isn’t the right word for this area—there is precious little flat ground to be found. And with so many serious dropoffs, it is important to watch every step. I made my way over to the east where there were some small seeps in the rocks. This is the most likely place to find interesting plants. I was pleased to find a number of tiny plants and even two flowers of Romanzoffia thompsonii. This grows in the uppermost meadow and in the one just below the trail near the road, so I wasn’t surprised to find it. Still, it is the lowest I think I’ve ever seen this lovely endemic annual. Growing with it were Mimulus and lots of even tinier Montia fontana. These were coming into bloom as well. It is thrilling to see flowers blooming in February, even if they do require a handlens to spot! I also found a single flower of Nemophila pedunculata, another early blooming seep lover and, growing in the drier rocks on the cliff, the first Lomatium hallii had begun to bloom.

Coastal shield-fern (Dryopteris arguta) grows abundantly in the mini oak forests.

Meadow, cliff, and oak habitat alternate in succession in these steep lower openings.

Having gotten down this far as easily as I had, I figured I’d better see if I could get down to the lowest open area as well. This was no problem either. I was quite dismayed when I came out of the woods to find a patch of Scotch broom. This nasty weed could be devastating to these gorgeous meadows. Luckily, the ground was soft enough to pull the small ones and I had the foresight to bring a pair of clippers (in case I got stuck in some of the poison oak that is abundant at this low elevation). I managed to dispatch the couple of dozen plants only to discover another, larger population around the next corner. I didn’t have the energy or proper tools to deal with these larger plants. Perhaps on a return visit. It didn’t appear there was much new to see, at least at this time of year, and with the days still being so short, I decided not to explore this large area. At least I know it is reachable.

The characteristic brown tinge of Heuchera merriamii comes from the way it retains so many dead and dying leaves. Perhaps this protects the plants in their exposed locations.

I headed back up through the woods to the meadow I’d eaten lunch at. As I approached the base of the large cliff I had sat upon while eating, I noticed a number of dense clumps of brownish-green foliage growing high up on the rocks. I dismissed the first thing that popped into my head—Heuchera merriamii—as this was much lower elevation (about 1900′) than any other site I’d seen it at before and on a south-facing cliff to boot, and I’ve never seen it on the more likely cliffs higher up the mountain. I had just started a drawing of the Heuchera the day before, using a cutting I took on Youngs Rock on my last outing, so it was not surprising that it would be on my mind. But what else has that coloring and grows in cracks on cliffs like that? When I finally got close enough to see some lower plants with my binoculars, I was shocked to find my first guess was correct. Eventually I even found a plant low enough to touch for complete reassurance. Damned if I know what it is doing down here in such a warm spot. The lowest I’d seen it growing before was at Watson Falls in Douglas County, but that was closer to 3,000′ and on the cool, north-facing cliff near the waterfall. I guess any plant can surprise you. And Cloverpatch is not done revealing all its secrets to me!

Delphiniums have irregular seeds. Those of the very tall D. glaucum are much larger and a different shape than those from a population of what appear to be hybrid D. nuttalianum x menziesii from Balm Mountain (inset). It will be interesting to see if these last seeds differ from their purebred parents. The ruler increments are millimeters.

For many years, I’ve collected seeds of our native plants, both for my personal use and to share with the NARGS seed exchange, so others could grow some of our beautiful rock plants. After I bought a microscope, I discovered how much variety there is among seeds, even in plants of the same genus. In fact, some species are distinguished by their seeds. This can be hard to do with the naked eye, but it is well worth looking at small seeds under a handlens or microscope.

The fine mesh covering of Romanzoffia thompsonii seeds, similar to that on Castilleja seeds, was a surprise to me.

I set up a system so that I can photograph through my microscope, but, unfortunately, I’m not really satisfied with the results yet. Several years ago, I bought a scanner to replace my old one, which was no longer compatible with my then-new computer. Since I wasn’t doing any artwork at the time, however, I never got around to setting it up. Recently I decided I needed to scan drawings and some old artwork, so I finally set it up. Except for a few that I actually got around to sowing, my collection of seeds has been sitting around for ages waiting for me to figure out how to photograph them. This new scanner is capable of very high resolution in order to scan slides. It occurred to me it might work well for seeds, so I decided to give it a try.

These are seeds of an unidentified rockcress (Boechera sp.) on Eagle Creek Rd. 5883 near Hell's Half Acre. Not all rockcress have wings on the seeds, so this is an important feature to note.

Starting with the larger seeds, I poured some out directly onto the scanner plate. I was thrilled with the results. The smallest seeds—things like saxifrages and Heuchera—are still a bit blurry, but most look quite good. They are nowhere near as detailed as an electron micrograph image, but they are certainly decent enough to use for most identification purposes. And even if one is not interesting in identifying plants by their seeds, they are quite fascinating in their variety and detail. Some I would even say are quite beautiful. I spent several days scanning everything I had available. This fall, I will have to be on the lookout for species I haven’t collected before or haven’t wanted to try to grow, just to see what they look like. I’ll try to add many more to the gallery in the future, but for now, click here for the Seed Gallery to take a look at some of our native seeds. While most are from the Western Cascades, I have included a few from some of my other hikes, so you can see the variety within the genera.

"Gateway Rock" at the top. Large patches of low-growing buckbrush are found to the right of "Uncle Pete" tree.

The first buds appearing on gold star (Crocidium multicaule)

In spite of the dry winter we’ve been having, I haven’t gotten out much. I’ve been focusing on getting back to doing artwork rather than on botany the last few months, so this is my first post for quite a while. But today was another sunny day—although rather chilly—so Sabine, Ingrid and her darling poodle Bogy, and I headed over to the Hills Creek Reservoir area, one of our favorites any time of year. As always, we stopped along the cliffs that line the west side of the reservoir. This is one of the earliest spots to find blooming Crocidium multicaule. We’ve seen an amazing show of it here the last couple of years as a result of the wet springs (see Hills Creek Reservoir,  take 2). While we didn’t really expect to find any blooming on the second week of January, we did manage to see some small plants of these little annuals. Those growing right by the pavement seemed to be farther along and even had a few buds. Their lovely yellow flowers may well start to show up here in February.

Yesterday, I had been looking at a specimen I had collected at Jim’s Oak Patch on a trip to the area last spring. I had trouble finding the location on the map at first, so, since we were close by, we drove up the road to see if it was where I thought it was. There was evidence of recent logging at this restoration site. We could hear the loud chain saw noises across the river at Jim’s Creek, another nearby area being enhanced for oak habitat. The Forest Service had warned us that they were logging there, causing us to nix our plan to hike some of the Youngs Rock Trail. We walked around here a bit, but we wanted to be in a more open area where we could be in the sun, so Sabine had the great idea to see if we could find the ridge immediately to the east of Youngs Rock, an area we named “Gateway Rock Ridge” when we first explored it in 2005. We hadn’t been to the bottom of the ridge since then, and I didn’t have the best maps for the area with us, but somehow we made our way through a maze of back roads to the bottom of the open ridge.

Gorgeous winter color of Oregon grape (Berberis aquifolium)

The sun was really pleasant, and some of the chill had lifted from the air. It was already well after lunch, so we didn’t have much time to explore. We went up only to where we could get close enough to Gateway Rock for me to get a photo. That’s a mere third of a mile from the road, but the 600′ of elevation and abundance of small loose rocks made it more of a workout  than it might seem. We could see a number of plants that would provide colorful blossoms later in the spring. Lomatium utriculatum with its delicate, dissected leaves was abundant throughout the meadow, while the more robust Lomatium hallii appeared in the rockier spots. Gilia capitata seedlings and tiny Lotus micranthus were also evident. Large mats of Eriogonum compositum showed no signs of life yet. Two uncommon shrubs that grow here are rabbitbrush (Ericameria nauseosa) and buckbrush (Ceanothus cuneatus). While the former—a seriously late bloomer—was completely dormant, the latter looked very healthy with many small green leaves and no sign of browsing. It should have a great bloom this spring.

Sabine, Bogy, and Ingrid make the steep descent down the slope.

We sat for a while below Gateway Rock to enjoy the sun and pleasant breeze. There is a great view of Diamond Peak to the east. Unfortunately, that was the only mountain with any significant snow. The ridges of the Calapooyas to the south had only a smattering of snow above 5000′. There was so much more snow in these mountains in June—what’s wrong with this picture? Hopefully, we’ll get some snow before too long—we really need it— but not, like last year, late in the spring when we want to be out botanizing! Ponderosa pines grow abundantly throughout this area, and there is one tree growing alone in the opening just below the rock feature. As I walked by it on my way back down, I noticed someone had bolted an old saw blade to the trunk. On it was written: Uncle Pete 2004. Whether the name referred to the tree or the person who put up the odd sign, we will probably never know, but I’m sure there’s an interesting story there.

Summer is definitely over. The vine maples are turning on a distant talus slope, and new snow has fallen on South SIster.

Thursday (October 13) was supposed to be a nice day, so Sabine and Nancy and I headed east to the mountains. I was hoping to collect a few Gentiana calycosa seeds to go along with the samples I’m going to send to the gentian researchers (see Singing the Blues at Tidbits for more about this project) and any other good rock plants that might be in seed. I decided I’d rather do the longer but less steep to Lowder instead of nearby Horsepasture Mountain where they also grow. The promised sun didn’t materialize, and there were even a few drops of rain, but it was still a pleasant and successful trip.

Indian pipe (Monotropa uniflora) just emerging

We were very surprised to see at least five clumps of blooming indian pipe (Monotropa uniflora) near the beginning of the trail. At least one clump was just starting to nose up above the soil. They were already turning black at Patterson Mountain a couple of weeks ago. Their alarm must not have gone off because that’s a serious case of oversleeping! There were a few thistle (Cirsium remotifolium) and aster (Eucephalis ledophyllus and Symphyotrichum foliaceum) flowers left along the trail and late-flowering annual knotweeds (Polygonum cascadense and P. minimum) in some of the open bare spots. Even the Hall’s goldenweed (Columbiadoria hallii), one of the last flowers to bloom each year, was on its last legs. Otherwise most things were in fruit. There were still some huckleberries, the pretty bright red berries of baneberry (Actaea rubra), and the shiny black fruit of swamp gooseberry (Ribes lacustre), along with more of the pretty blue berries of queen’s cup (Clintonia uniflora).

There were many ripe tiger lily seed capsules near the trail, just starting to crack—perfect for collecting. The buckwheats were also ready for collecting, but I couldn’t face the idea of cleaning all the chaff of their sharp seeds. Penstemons are far easier—you just tip the capsule over and let the seeds roll into the envelope—so I got a small quantity of Penstemon procerus. Paintbrush are quite similarly easy, so I got a few Castilleja hispida to toss into my rock garden. We took a look at the seeds through my hand lens to see the unusual mesh layer around the seed. I’ve been told that it prevents germination, so I’m going to try to remember to rub it off before dumping them in the garden. It’s a really interesting adaptation.

Explorer's gentian on the upper part of the cliff. Most of the buds are aborted. Only the flower on the upper left succeeded in blooming.

My main goal, however, was to find some ripe gentian seeds. After lunching in our usual spot on the ridgetop rock garden part way up, I left my companions to relax while I surveyed the cliff on the front side of the ridge. Unfortunately, most of the gentians grow out of reach on small ledges on the vertical face. There’s only one easy-to-access plant on an upper ledge. I’d seen it on our NPSO Trip to Lowder Mountain in August before it had any buds. Now it was turning yellow. It looked as though most of the flower buds had died without even blooming. They were shaped more like Hershey’s Kisses than their normal long tubes. Perhaps they were coming into bloom just as that late heat wave hit. Only one had a developed seed capsule, but at least it was ripe. There were many other plants turning yellow lower down and farther along the cliff. One plant in particular had bloomed really well, and there was even some blue color left in the flowers. It was quite out of reach, however. But there is one other plant that is growing along the trail rather than on the cliff. On the way back we relocated it, and it had numerous capsules filled with tiny seeds. I collected some and tossed some out along some other rocks. It would be wonderful if it would spread around here. While hanging out on this ridge, we also noticed a flock of birds kept gathering on the one Englemann spruce (Picea engelmannii) on the east end. They turned out to be pine siskins. Clearly the spruce cones were a favorite of theirs because they returned several times.

From the viewpoint on the east side of Lowder, you can see across to O'Leary Mountain and down to the talus slope well below the summit and more cliffs.

When we reached the large opening on the summit, we had hoped to see the masses of Newberry’s knotweed (now Aconogonon davisae) in splendid fall color. It was disappointing to find most of them already collapsed and drying out. Only a few showed how brightly colored they can be in the fall. Whether the heat wave or a frost got them, we weren’t sure. The area where the gentians grow on the ridge is very small, and I’ve wondered if there wasn’t a larger population on the massive cliffs on the east side of the mountain. While there is a huge amount of vertical rock habitat on Lowder Mountain, it is frustratingly and scarily hard to see. But in 2008 (see New Plant for Lowder Mountain), I found a few places where I can get down a little ways north of the main viewpoint and at least get a better look at the front of the cliff with the binoculars. I’d discovered Campanula rotundifolia on the large cliffs after finding it on the small one on that trip, so I wanted to see if the gentians weren’t growing below the summit here as well. I had looked unsuccessfully in the past, but now that the plants were turning bright yellow, they were much easier to see.

Once again, I ditched my patient companions while I climbed down through the woods a little ways. I was really surprised to find quite a few white rhododendron plants (R. albiflorum). They grow to the north on Olallie Ridge, but I didn’t realize they were up on Lowder. Finding additions to my lists always makes me happy, but I was even more pleased to finally be able to see what I’d hoped was there—a number of gentians on the front of the cliff. They were quite a ways below me, but with the binoculars I could see at least one plant clearly enough to recognize the fading flowers at the end of the yellowing leaves. Of course, now I’m again obsessed with the idea of getting down below the summit as well as farther northwest along Sawtooth Ridge to the where there are more massive cliffs that are undoubtedly home to more gentians and other cool cliff lovers. But as I still can’t see any reasonable way to do it, I’m afraid it will just have to remain a pleasant pipe dream. Some places aren’t meant to be intruded upon, even by the most well meaning nature lovers.

Rabbitbrush (Ericameria nauseosa) going to seed on the south-facing front of the cliff. The little bumps in the distance are Fuji Mountain and Mount David Douglas.

After a week of rather dreary weather, the weekend turned out to be quite nice. I decided I had too much to do to take the whole day off for a hike, but the clear blue sky Saturday morning (October 8) made it impossible to stay home. My compromise was a quick trip up to Eagles Rest—only a half hour drive and 1.5 mile round-trip hike. I had thought about heading farther up the road to Mount June, but as I drove up Eagles Rest Road, I could see clouds hanging on the summit. That made the decision to do the shorter hike easy.

A ladybug hides in plain sight among the red hairy manzanita (Arctostaphylos columbiana) fruit. Seeing next year's flower buds already makes it easier to be patient until next spring comes.

While next to nothing was in bloom, there was still plenty to see. Many of the shrubs have ripe fruit now. There were blue fruits on both the Oregon grape (Berberis nervosa) and salal (Gaultheria shallon) in the woods. Out on the rocks, the Garrya fremontii had lots of ripe dangling fruit in grape-like clusters. Garrya shrubs are dioecious, so only female plants were covered with fruit. I squished a few to see what the seeds looked like inside. The fruit was quite juicy but didn’t seem to be a big favorite. Most of them were dropping on the ground below. Perhaps small rodents enjoy them. The manzanitas were also covered with fruits. Manzanita is Spanish for “little apple”, and they do look quite a bit like apples, but these Arctostaphylos columbiana “applets” were fuzzy, as are the leaves and stems.

The small raspberry-like fruits of snow bramble (Rubus nivalis) are never very abundant. Perhaps with its running habit, it isn't so dependent on seeds to reproduce.

Clarkia species have long, narrow capsules, much like their relatives, the willowherbs (Epilobium spp.), but their seeds don't have the pretty tufts of white hairs.

Many herbaceous plants were in seed as well. While the down-turned capsules of Calochortus tolmiei lose their seeds immediately upon opening, the upright ones of Fritillia affinis sometimes hold their seeds for a while. I got lucky and found several capsules with seeds still intact. Other bulbous plants including Triteleia hyacinthina and what appeared to be a Brodiaea (not on my list but a late bloomer I could have missed) had ripe seed as well. The capsules of the Brodiaea were on long stalks in an open umbel. Those of the Triteleia were similar but on shorter stalks with rounder capsules. On this grassy level well down the cliff face, there were many dried Clarkia stalks as well. According to an NPSO list, they are most likely Clarkia amoena, but I didn’t get back here to see them bloom, so that’s just a guess. But I collected a few of all these pretty plants to toss in my rock garden. If any come up, they’ll be a nice addition. Unfortunately, the seeds of the pretty cutleaf daisy (Erigeron compositus) were all gone. Like many composites, the fluffy pappus attached to the seed helps keep it aloft while the wind carries it to new sites. If only it would land on nearby Mount June where the habitat seems equally suitable.

Goldback ferns dry up in the summer, but fresh fronds appear with the fall rains.

There are many rock ferns on the giant cliff at Eagles Rest. Lace fern (Cheilanthes gracillima) looks about the same as it does all year, but new fronds of goldback fern (Pentagramma triangularis) were just coming up in the seemingly dead clumps. This is how they weather the summer drought. Lots of large clumps of indian dream fern (Aspidotis densa) were also a combination of dead brown and fresh green fronds. I relocated the single plant of  Rocky Mountain woodsia (Woodsia scopulina) I found in June (see Peak Season at Eagles Rest). It was curling up, but it still looked quite different and far hairier than the similar fragile fern (Cystopteris fragilis), which usually consists of nothing but limp, dead fronds by the end of the summer. I kept my eyes open as I climbed around the rocks, but I never could find any other plants. It always amazes me how a plant can find a home in a crack miles from any others of its species. I hope this one survives and can multiply into the surrounding rocky area.