Mountain Plants of the Western Cascades

Lopez Lake has a lot of interesting and uncommon aquatic plants. Near the inlet of the lake, you can see the large, spreading leaves of alpine pondweed (Potamogeton alpinus), the narrow, upright leaves of small bur-reed (Sparganium natans), and the delicate, feathery, trailing stems of lesser bladderwort (Utricularia minor). Earlier in the season, the surface of the wider part of the lake is decorated with the showy white flowers of arumleaf arrowhead (Sagittaria cuneata).

The pretty pool of pond lilies (Nuphar polysepala) at Zen Meadow was almost completely dried out. The large fruits were ripening. I’d never looked closely at the capsules or seeds before.

On September 22, I accompanied Alan Butler and Dave Predeek for a trip to the Lopez Lake area, southeast of Oakridge. Neither of them had been there before, so I wanted to show them the lake and some of the other interesting sites along Road 5884. It was officially the last day of summer, but it seemed like a beautiful fall day to me. It was only my fifth trip to Lopez Lake over the course of 11 years, and it was the latest in the year I’d been there. Things were much drier than on my past trips—not surprising considering how long it had been since we’d had real rain, and there were very few flowers left, but it was an interesting trip nonetheless. We headed all the way up the road to the talus slope first, and then stopped at the small hidden wetland John Koenig and I named “Zen Meadow” before walking down to Lopez Lake. On our way back, we checked out another hidden wetland and—new for me—a hidden lake. Here are some photographic highlights of our terrific trip. Read the rest of this entry »

From the ridge above the talus slope on Warner Mountain, you can see northeast to nearby Logger Butte (the rocky spot at the top left-middle catching a little light). Talus is the favorite habitat of western boneset (Ageratina occidentalis). Its pinky purple flowers have been replaced by fluffy seed heads. While it is found at mid to high elevations, I have a plant I grew from seed that has been blooming well in my rock garden for 20 years or so.

After my previous outing (see A “Berry” Surprising Day at Groundhog and Warner Mountains), I contacted Jim Pringle, the author of the Flora of North America Gentianaceae treatment, who also assisted us with the treatment for the Flora of Oregon. He’s the person I’ve been communicating with about gentians for many years (see The Quest for Enemion Flowers at Table Rock). I attached some photos to my e-mail, including a scan of a specimen I had collected from the Warner Mountain bog for the OSU herbarium a couple of years ago. He pointed out that there was a small rosette at the base of the plant. I hadn’t recognized that as a rosette because it was so small relative to the whole plant. Read the rest of this entry »

The star plant of the day was probably western mountain ash (Sorbus scopulina) with its shiny red berries. It was abundant along the roadsides. The large meadow in back is on Little Groundhog Mountain, more or less the south end of Groundhog Mountain.

In late summer, the gorgeous berries of wax currant (Ribes cereum) ripen, and the leaves develop a waxy coating.

After hearing from my friend Doramay Keasbey that Road 2120 was actually in pretty good condition, I decided I really needed to get back to Groundhog Mountain sometime this year. I used to go multiple times a year as it is one of my favorite places and has so many different interesting botanical spots to check out. With the fire danger finally reduced and the smoke no longer affecting the area (unfortunately for Doramay, it was pretty bad for her and her friend Pat when they went in early August), I was finally able to return on September 13. I was accompanied by fellow Native Plant Society of Oregon (NPSO) member Angela Soto, who had never been to this terrific botanical area. Due to the smoke and fire danger, I didn’t get out much in August and went alone as I was never sure until morning what the air quality would be like. It was wonderful to get back to “business as usual” and to be able to take another plant lover with me. Read the rest of this entry »

Beautiful fall color in the thickets of oval-leaved viburnum that grow on the slopes of Mistmaiden Meadow

In the wetland along Road 140, there were still trillium-leaved wood sorrel (Oxalis trilliifolia) in bloom. Its leaves are similar to the far more common Oregon wood sorrel (O. oregana), but the flowers are in clusters and bloom later, and they grow in very wet spots.

Thank heavens for the wonderful rain on August 31! I had been so worried we’d have to wait until October for some decent rain, like last year. We got 3/4″ of an inch at my house, probably more in the mountains. That was followed by almost of week of cool, cloudy weather, and even a little more rain. It tamped down the fires, reduced the smoke, and made it much easier for the firefighters to contain the fires. In fact, The Forest Service reduced the south end of the closure area near the Bedrock Fire. That meant I could finally return to “Mistmaiden Meadow” near Sourgrass Mountain, where I had hoped to survey throughout the flowering season. My last trip had been on July 7 (see Fourth Trip of the Year to Mistmaiden Meadow), and I’d planned to go back on July 23 until I realized the Bedrock Fire had started the day before. I had missed two whole months, so I was really anxious to get back. On September 6, the first nice day I had free after the welcome cool and rainy weather abated, I headed up there. Read the rest of this entry »

The sundews are so thick in the bog at the west end of Parish Lake that you can see the red—in the upper right here—in an aerial image.

Rannock-rush has distinctive olive-colored infructescences. I’ve always planned to get out early enough to see its meager flowers, but I still haven’t managed it. I was at Gold Lake Bog just after the snow melted this year, but in that case, I was too early. Here this unusual species is growing with the red-leaved great sundew and the glaucous-leaved marsh cinquefoil.

With the smoke from the Bedrock Fire inundating eastern Lane County, on July 28, I headed north to Parish Lake in Linn County. I hadn’t been there since 2016 (see Wildlife and Wildflowers at Parish Lake) when I went several times, including leading a trip for the Native Plant Society Annual Meeting. Parish Lake is at only 3300′ of elevation, so I knew it would be late in the season for the area, but there is always plenty to see.

I poked around the amazing floating bog at Parish Lake for a couple of hours. There weren’t too many butterflies, but there were many bees enjoying the maroon swamp cinquefoil (Comarum palustre) flowers and the pink inflorescences of Douglas’ spiraea (Spiraea douglasii). There were also a number of dragonflies and damselflies, and a family of wood ducks swam around the lake trying to stay on the far side from me. It was very peaceful. The water looked beautiful and deep enough in places to tempt me to go for a swim, but it doesn’t seem like a great idea to go swimming alone, so I’ll save that for another trip. Read the rest of this entry »

The meadow by the Lone Wolf Shelter was quite pretty with lots of scarlet paintbrush (Castilleja miniata) and celery-leaved lovage (Ligusticum apiifolium), but the smoke was unpleasant, so I didn’t stay long. Weeks later, this little smoke would have seemed like a good day!

A tangle of mountain dodder in the rocky meadow at Patterson Mountain

On Sunday, July 23, I left the house planning to head back up to “Mistmaiden Meadow” for my fifth every-other-week-or-so survey. As I headed toward Lowell, something looked terribly wrong. I could see an ominous bank of gray smoke to the east. I stopped to call my husband to see if he could find out where it was coming from—I don’t have a data plan on my phone, so I couldn’t check that way. It turns out the Bedrock Fire had started the afternoon before by the Bedrock Campground along Big Fall Creek Road 18. Obviously, I didn’t want to go anywhere near the fire, so Mistmaiden Meadow was out of the question. I had no idea in which direction and how far the smoke was going to move, but I also didn’t want to bail on going on an outing. I made a quick decision to go to Patterson Mountain. It was one of the closest trails to Lowell, slightly west of the fire, and south of Highway 58—the fire being over 10 miles north of the highway. I figured the smoke would mostly blow to the east, and if I was wrong and had to come home early, at least I wouldn’t have driven too far. Read the rest of this entry »

The slope right below the lookout site is extremely steep and slippery. I didn’t even attempt going down there, although someday I think I might get to the bottom by following the trees down along the north edge. The tallest points in the distance are Mt. Thielsen and Mt. Bailey.

Great arctics have a two-year life cycle, so the adults tend to be abundant every other year. This year is an “off year,” but I’ve seen several this summer.

Balm Mountain, the highest point in the Calapooyas, has been one of my favorite places ever since I discovered it in 2010 (see First Exploration of Balm Mountain). Several times I’ve walked the trailless ridge between the old lookout at the north end and the high point at the south end, starting at both the north and south ends. What I’d never had time or energy to do was to head down the steep, gravelly slopes on the east side at the north end of the ridge. On July 18, I was on my own, so it seemed like a good time to see how much of this was traversable. Most of my friends either can’t or wouldn’t want to negotiate such a steep and unstable habitat, and I’d never ask them to. I also wanted to spend some time watching butterflies, which are particularly abundant in rocky areas of the Calapooyas when the mountain coyote mint (Monardella odoratissima) is in bloom; it had just been starting at Potter Mountain when I was there a couple of weeks earlier (see Finally Back to Potter Mountain).

The part of the road that gives me the willies while driving isn’t so bad on foot. There’s even a lovely display of Oregon sunshine. I had to stop and move some rocks before getting past it as soon as possible.

From the trip to Potter Mountain, I knew that Staley Ridge Road 2134 was in fine shape all the way up to the Calapooya crest, so there were less than 3 miles on roads 2154 and 236 before reaching the north end of the ridge that I was unsure about. I hadn’t been up here for 7 years since on the last few trips to Balm, John Koenig and I approached the ridge from the south end via Road 3810 (see Fabulous Loop Trip Around Balm Mountain). Ever since flatting my tire on the way to Illahee Rock in 2017 (see Ill-Fated Trip up Illahee Road: pt. 1, Illahee Meadow)—my fourth flat in a 4-year stretch, I’ve been much more wary of driving on little-used gravel roads, especially where there are burned or logged areas with open dropoffs on the side, like the spot where I was stuck changing my tire coming back from Illahee Rock.

This western white was hilltopping on the old lookout site when I arrived and was still there on my way back. Not landing very often, it finally stopped briefly to nectar on ocean spray (Holodiscus discolor).

It had gotten to the point where I was too nervous to enjoy the anticipation of going to many beloved spots because of my focus on all the negative “what-ifs”: what if I flat a tire, what if I get stuck up there for the night, what if I lose traction and go off the side of the road (the final scene of “Thelma and Louise” invariably goes through my head when I drive on roads with no trees forming a barrier along the edge!). I know I’ve done most everything I can to protect myself: I carry a Garmin InReach emergency communication device since cell phones rarely work in the Cascades, I tell my husband precisely where I’m going and contact him with the InReach throughout the day, I have lots of paper maps and software and GPS on my iPhone, and my all-electric car doesn’t have a gas tank to leak, belts to break, or spark plugs to fail. I’ve been up in the Western Cascades over a thousand times without ever being stranded (or flying off a cliff!), so you’d think that someone who majored in math in college would find the odds comforting. Still, I get uncomfortably nervous driving on backroads, and it doesn’t dissipate until I’ve successfully reached my destination.

Looking northeast to the northernmost slope below the lookout site, you can see the part of the slope I’m standing on is just a bit less steep and more stable, indicated by the shrubbier plants growing on it. The rocky spot a couple of ridges away is Potter Mountain.

Leafy fleabane (Erigeron foliosus) was in full bloom on the rocks of the old lookout site.

In the weeks before this trip, I’d decided I’d had enough of wasting so much time and energy—and impacting my health—stressing out about roads. I started meditating, worked on some mantras to boost my self-confidence, and came up with a 3-pronged approach to my driving issue. This was my first trip where I applied my new techniques. On the day before the trip, I worked on the relaxation techniques and tried to focus on how excited I was to go to one of my favorite spots rather than everything that could go wrong. Then, on the drive up, I took my husband’s advice to listen to a podcast to keep my mind occupied. I listened to an interview with Mark Egger, the Castilleja expert. It worked really well until he told a story about trying to get close to a rare species of Castilleja in Mexico by climbing out onto a cliff, and he thought he was going to fall off and die. I had to laugh about how that was absolutely the last thing I needed to hear at that time. As I approached the stretch of road where I knew there was one of those open edges with a steep dropoff, I focused on my breathing—deeply and slowly—and tried to keep my eyes looking down at the road surface. Upon reaching my parking area, I had a real feeling of accomplishment and didn’t have the fatigue that comes with stressing out for hours. I felt ready to do it again! Unfortunately, my plans for a quick return were thwarted by the start of fire (and smoke) season. Maybe in the fall. Hopefully, my stress reduction routine will continue to work for me going forward. It has also been really helpful dealing with the month of stress keeping an eye on the very large Bedrock Fire, which started a few days later (but thankfully is now more or less contained and never came closer than about 5 miles from my house).

Gray’s bedstraw growing in scree. I’ve never seen this species outside of the Calapooyas, but the few photos of the species on iNaturalist from California look very similar to where it grows here and on Loletta Peak.

The fuzzy, bluish foliage of Gray’s bedstraw doesn’t look anything like the thin, green leaves of our woodland bedstraws. I imagine it is a valuable adaptation for this harsh habitat. This is a female plant with hairy fruits.

With the road issues out of the way, I could focus on my plan to check out the slopes—if possible. In addition to my curiosity about what was growing in this extremely well-drained and rather unforgiving habitat, I was hoping to find one specific plant. Back in 2011 (see Not Balmy Yet at Balm Mountain!), I spotted a single plant of Gray’s bedstraw (Galium grayanum var. nanum), a species that is very rare in Oregon. It was growing on the ridge at the north end above a gravelly slope. I first discovered this species the previous year on nearby Loletta Peak (see Mystery Bedstraw Blooming in Calapooyas), which is more or less on the same ridge as Balm Mountain, so I had been looking for it on Balm. But while I had relocated this individual on each of the following 4 trips, I’d never been able to find any more plants. Surely with all this perfect habitat, there would be more plants. But scanning the slopes with binoculars hadn’t turned up anything, hence the desire to actually go down on foot (hopefully, not on my backside!).

Looking north from the first of the amazing rock formations, you can see both the main scree areas at the north end of the ridge and the lookout site at the highest point.

A fritillary (northwestern or hydaspe?) nectaring on coyote mint. This individual has an unusual spot-with-a-dot at the base of its hindwing.

The giant gash in the mountain below the lookout is too steep to even consider, but I was able to walk down a short way near its south edge, following a few trees and grabbing small shrubs when possible. I looked for solid outcrop rocks to put my feet on as I got more into the open gravel, but it was still quite slippery, and I had to use my hands quite a bit. When I felt stable, I pulled out the binoculars, looking for the unusual blue-gray color of the bedstraw. Well, I thought it was pretty distinctive, but in this habitat, it turned out to be rather common. Silverback luina (Luina hypoleuca), Oregon sunshine (Eriophyllum lanatum), and cliff penstemon (Penstemon rupicola) were all growing out in the scree. I had to remember the gestalt of the plant so I could form a better search image. I kept looking… and there it was! Now it was worth scrambling down a little farther to get close to a plant. I carefully made my way down to the nearest plant I saw. I found at least a dozen plants scattered about. So here finally was the main population of Gray’s bedstraw on Balm Mountain. There may well have been more farther down in the main gash, but I was satisfied at having found this much of it.

The slope a little farther south of the lookout is where the original Gray’s bedstraw plant grows. I walked down as far as the large clump of trees partway down. The bright green patch on the nearby ridge on the left side of the photo is the meadow I went to later in the day.

Rather than heading straight back up to the ridge, I continued sideways over to another gravelly area just to the south. This proved to be a little less steep and slightly easier to navigate, with a bit more solid rock. I found another dozen or two clumps of bedstraw here as well, so I collected one for the OSU Herbarium. Success! I headed back up to the ridgetop and over to the slope where my original Gray’s bedstraw plant was. I already knew from past visits that there wasn’t any bedstraw at the top of the slope, so I followed the trees down to an outcrop area about 300′ down the slope and 100′ of elevation loss. No sign of any bedstraw on the way down or farther down the slope within binocular range. I relocated the original plant, and—for the first time—noticed that it is a male plant. This species is dioecious. So a seed probably made it over here from the other scree area, but not being able to produce more seeds, it couldn’t start another population.

This friendly dark wood nymph stayed with me for quite a while as I tried to photograph other butterflies and moths in the meadow at the intersection of roads 2154 and 236.

With the hard climbing out of the way, it was time to switch gears and focus on the butterflies. There were lots of butterflies but the warm day made them active, and it was tough to photograph them here because of the steep grade and loose rock. There were lots of painted ladies, clodius parnassians, and checkerspots. I also saw a few swallowtails, some fritillaries, a great arctic, an anglewing of some sort, and a pacuvius duskywing. I only saw one hairstreak and a couple of blues all day and not a single copper. I’m not sure where they were. The most exciting thing for me was a beautiful sphinx moth nectaring on the abundant coyote mint.

Looking west from the Road 236 intersection meadow, you can see the long ridge of Balm Mountain and just barely make out the eroded slopes of the north end. The old lookout site is on top of the highest point on the north end at the right.

At this point, I was ready to relax and get on solid ground, so instead of heading farther down the ridge, I headed back to the car and drove down Road 236 to the intersection of 2154. There’s a large meadow there with a gravelly section at the north end that sits on top of the roadcut. This is right where John and I got stopped by snow back on our trip in 2011. There wasn’t much going on in the grassy part of the meadow, but with lots of blooming coyote mint, sulphur buckwheat (Eriogonum umbellatum) and northern buckwheat (E. compositum) in the gravelly area, the butterflies were very busy. Another couple of sphinx moths captured my attention. They didn’t seem to notice me, flying very close to where I stood but moving so much as to make even video hard to capture. It was a delightful way to end another awesome day in the Calapooyas!

Like most butterflies, this beautiful white-lined sphinx moth loves mountain coyote mint. The video is at half speed so you can actually see how it moves.

We hit peak bloom for the sundews. These are great sundew (Drosera anglica or perhaps hybrids of anglica and the nearby D. rotundifolia).

It wasn’t a big day for butterflies, and in fact a good percentage of the ones we saw had fallen prey to the sticky sundews. This looks like another thicket hairstreak (see previous report for a photo of a live one) or Johnson’s hairstreak.

Molly Juillerat e-mailed me to see if I wanted to go out on Sunday, July 16. It was supposed to be hot, around 90° in the Valley, not my first choice of a day for an outing. But I didn’t want to miss an opportunity to go out with Molly, especially as we both knew that since she’s the district ranger, if (most likely, when) a fire started in the Middle Fork District, she wouldn’t be able to go hiking and would have to focus on fire management. Whether from active fires or smoke drifting from farther away, these days one can’t count on hiking in the Cascades in August.

This turned out to be a good decision as the Bedrock Fire started the following weekend, on July 22. Molly had been out of state the previous week, and her dogs, Loki and Pico, had a lot of pent-up energy from being left at home and were also in need of a day in the mountains. We decided to head up to Quaking Aspen Swamp—an easy half-mile hike and a wetland with lots of moisture and no hot rocks to burn the dogs’ feet. Read the rest of this entry »

We couldn’t go up Coal Creek Road without checking out the amazing spreading dogbane (Apocynum androsaemifolium) patch just past the 4-way intersection at the top of the crest (43.3998°N, -122.4561°W). We delighted in the abundance of butterflies and the intoxicating fragrance of the flowers. While most of the visitors were checkerspots, we also saw some fritillaries, parnassians, coppers, and all three of our “ladies,” including this American lady.

Julia’s orangetips rarely sit still long enough to photograph them, so I was really pleased to capture this lovely male who was making the rounds of the tall bluebells (Mertensia paniculata) growing in the roadside ditches.

Coal Creek Road 2133 which leads up to the west end of the Calapooyas is one of my favorite places to do roadside botanizing and butterflying. It’s also one of John Koenig’s, so on July 13, we drove up there for an easy day as John was still recovering from some foot issues and wasn’t up to a real hike. It was warm, but there was still enough moisture in the many seeps and creeks along the road to nourish the flowers, which in turn attracted lots of butterflies. Here are some photographic highlights.

We scared up a family of grouse along the road. The cute babies all flew up into the trees.

Read the rest of this entry »

My first pika of the year! As soon as we reached the talus, I stopped to look for pikas. My husband spotted this one right away. It actually appeared to be running toward us, but I’m guessing it was just looking for its own safe spot. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get a clear view before it disappeared under the rocks.

On July 11, My husband, Jim, and I were joined by our friend Peter Gallagher on a trip to Tidbits Mountain. It had been 5 years since I’d been there, but Jim hadn’t been for 20 years, and it had been quite a while for Peter as well.

On our way back to the car, we passed this wasp with an impressive ovipositor (not a stinger!). Apparently, it is a Norton’s giant ichneumonid wasp (Megarhyssa nortoni). According to Wikipedia, they live in the forest, where their larvae are parasitoids of the larvae of horntail wasps.

It was interesting to see how the combination of above-normal winter snowpack and early summer drought manifested in the bloom period. The spring flowers were long gone in most places. As I expected, the gravelly areas west of the summit were completely toasted with only a few species still in bloom. 2012 was also a high snowpack year but followed by a “normal” spring. My trip that year on July 9 (see Off the Beaten Track at Tidbits) was completely different with gorgeous flowers covering the south-facing gravelly slope of what I call “the wall.”

I was surprised, however, that not only were there fresh spring flowers on the north-facing talus slope, there were several patches of snow remaining along the edges of the bottom slope. The trail was also in worse shape than I’ve ever seen it. We had to negotiate many fallen trees. The last section of road wasn’t in great shape either, and we wished we had parked at the bottom and walked after almost getting stuck going up. Still, we enjoyed our hike. No matter the season, the rock formations are always gorgeous. Here are some photographic highlights. Read the rest of this entry »