Travels with Flora: November 2024

Friday, November 29, 2024

Episode 5: Panther Creek

From the Trout Lake bridge

Travels with Flora began in late October 2024, and the first episode was a simple autumnal scene from the Trout Lake bridge in Washington state. But allow me now to finish the story:

Mt Adams

Crooked Creek meadow at Mt Adams

I convinced myself that I was overdue to visit the Mt. Adams Wilderness Area, a paradise of nature that begins just a few miles north of the bridge. It had been a few years --pre-covid, actually-- since my last trip on the very rough gravel road up to one of the trailheads that lead into the alpine zone.

Acer macrophyllum

Acer glabrum subsp. douglasii

A tiny Pinus contorta fronting a firewall of Acer circinatum

I didn't pre-research the details so I was apprehensive if the road would be open at all. A significant wildfire had afflicted the region this past summer, that I knew, but I had no idea if it would affect my plans. Everything looked fine at the beginning, the conifers lush and green, and fall colors --yellows, browns and oranges mainly-- punctuating the Phato rise. There were a couple of signs posted up the road but they were on cheap, curled paper. I couldn't read them nor did I stop to unfurl, but I supposed they warned of a road closure ahead. Phato or Klickitat is the native name the Yakima people give/gave to their sacred mountain, while Mt. Adams (12,276' elevation) was the moniker coined by the Pacific Railroad Expedition in 1853. In any case the gravel road begins in good condition at the base--with the state of Washington responsible for upkeep--but at some point one crosses the boundary into the Indian nation and the road's maintenance depends upon whenever they feel like it. Not surprisingly, the Native locals all drive large high-clearance pickups and they must know every boulder, every crink rut and wrinkle along the route.

Pinus monticola with Vaccinium species

The ascent eventually encounters patches of recently scortched flora with vertical snags already beginning to bleech, then shortly thereafter the entire landscape becomes largely barren. I wasn't surprised I guess when I abruptly encountered the "No Further" command, so I retreated. Descending I noted a few live trees that survived the conflagration, with scattered patches of still green Pinus contorta subsp. latifolia and the occasional single sole of the "Western White pine," P. monticola. I stopped for a visit with colorful 'Vine maples," Acer circinatum, also Acer macrophyllum as well as the mountain native Acer glabrum subsp. douglasii.

Larix occidentalis

In the zone between burned and untouched, the native larch, Larix occidentalis, grew as skinny poles that were delightfully lit by the sun like Star Wars lightsabers.

I returned over the Trout Lake bridge, but first paused for a minute or two to watch how the changing autumn sky influenced the scene. I can imagine watching a one-day movie, From the Bridge, and at the end I and most viewers would rate it as a valuable experience. The town sign said Trout Lake so you had to take their word for it, though the city consisted of just a gas station/diner --where you can order local huckleberry pie with ice cream-- and the old wooden general store with a nice resting porch in front. Always when visiting in fall I purchase a bag of wild huckleberries that are picked by gleaner-types in the nearby huckleberry fields. I've even been on a road through these "fields" where a handshake agreement was codified over 100 years ago where nondians have access to one side of the road while the natives have exclusive rights to the other, however these days most of the berries are harvested by southeastern Asians. There are numerous species of Vaccinum native to this area and I've barely begun to individually identify them. I do know though, that the nearby Indian Heaven Wilderness features V. deliciosum, aptly named and my favorite.

Acer circinatum

Cornus nuttallii

Populus trichocarpa

A mellow denizen of the forest

Buttkrak Rock squatting under a canopy of Vine maple

It is 38 miles (on Forest Road 65) from Trout Lake to the nearest town west (Carson), or 23 miles as the crow flies. Nothing hurried my pace, and only day's end would finish my adventure. I frequently stopped to record the species, even the scrappy-looking trees and the ubiquitous Douglas firs. I'm sure the Forest Service and others as well have already documented the flora of the Gifford Pinchot forest, so I just limited myself to brief photo sketches. A new, fresh scene unfolds with the rounding of every corner, some subtle and lovely, others dramatically bold. All the saints would be pleased, if their path to heaven could begin with such a runway, while for me I'm deferent in the awareness that I'm not First Nation on the land. Anyway Flora allows me passage and she proudly led me to her pleasures:

Panther Creek

Panther Creek is one of those perfectly-sized streams with plenty of wild rapids, but still narrow and calm enough to ford in some places. I guess the water flows evenly both day and night, at least at this time of year, and its signature sound to me is just as fascinating and powerful as the visual experience. "Panther" is an intriguing name, but don't imagine a black panther, for the big cats --Puma concolor-- in this region display a tawny-brown coat, and they are usually called "Mountain Lions." They are known to whisper and chirp, and also known for chilling screams which I have heard from the woods above Buchholz Nursery. I have encountered a puma a few times in the wild, but fortunately we left each other alone. One must be wary of the predator though, as males can weigh between 115 and 220 pounds (52 and 100 KG), and including their tail they can grow up to eight feet long, low and very muscular. They are the largest cats in the Americas, ranging from northern forests to Central and South America, and they number as the most widely-distributed terrestrial mammal in the Western Hemisphere.

Panther Falls

Incidentally the mountain lion doesn't roar like its African counterpart, rather the Western version hisses like the common house cat. What absolutely does roar, though, is the thunderous Panther Creek Waterfall, considered a hidden gem on the Washington side of the Columbia River Gorge. A gravel pit serves as a parking lot, and across the road an easy-to-miss path leads down to the falls. The forest smelled of decay with rotting needle duff and numerous fungi-infested logs. Vine maples and BigLeaf maples mingled with the hemlock and fir trees, the air was cool and humid, my nose dripped. Eventually the waters appear, and the roar increases with every step. Focus Buchholz--it's slippery! Panther Falls is majestic to say the least, and it can be viewed from above on a well-constructed platform; also you can take the longer trail for a bottom's-up view. The entire hike, with plenty of time for pictures, takes only an hour: so much fun for so little effort.

Flora's forest friends

Beacon Rock

Back in the car, Flora suggested that we not take the quicker route home by crossing the Columbia at Cascade Locks on the Oregon side, rather to continue west on Washington Hwy 14. Flora enjoys to delight me, that's obvious, and she's not shy about sharing her charms. I slowed down when Beacon Rock entered into view. It is more of a curiosity than a "charm" actually, a preposterous 848' (258 m) basaltic monolith* that mars the northern lip of the river like a dark gray wart. Its presence resulted as a volcanic plug from eons ago, but in more recent times the Lewis and Clark Expedition (1805) marked the rock as the eastern extent of the Pacific tidal influence in the Columbia; they measured the ebbs and flows and determined that they were nearing the ocean. Baffingly, L.+C. originally named the stone "Beaten Rock" --a typo?-- but later it was changed to "Castle Rock," then in 1915 finally back to "Beacon Rock." Henry J. Biddle (1862-1928) of the prominent Philadelphia Quaker family bought the property for $1.00 and built the 51 switch-back trail to the summit in "order to preserve it from demolition," as well as acquiring the nearby Hamilton Mountain and its wonderful day-hike to a its 2,438' peak. In 1915 Biddle's descendants donated the property to the state of Washington, while this Oregonian has crossed the river to enjoy its waterfalls, wildflowers and trees with my late Washingtonian companion Reuben Hatch. Long ago I felt compelled to climb the state-park rock, because, well, it was there. I passed a panting, red-faced, middle-aged woman who had halted and was despartly sucking on a cigarette just a hundred yards above the trailhead. The hag's fag did neither of us any good, so I hurried past least I get involved in a life-flight rescue operation. From the summit, of course, one can revel in vistas both up and down the river, as well as obtain a good vantage point to landmarks (a mile away) on the Oregon side.

*In addition to Beacon Rock on the Columbia, other notable monoliths (from Greek for "single stone") include Oregon's Haystack Rock on the Oregon coast, El Capitan in Yosemite, California, the Torres del Paine in Chile, Gibraltar at the west end of the Mediterranean Sea, among many other fantastic geological "single stone" expressions.

Columbia River Gorge, November 2024

Columbia River Gorge, May 2002

A few miles further west, Flora invited me to stop at a convenient pull-off from the highway where one can experience Beacon Rock and a beautiful green meadow to its west. Incredibly, that piece of real estate was once for sale, and the aforementioned R. Hatch seriously considered purchasing it when he first moved to Washington state from California. My finances at the time wouldn't allow a bid, so I clearly disagree with the old notion that "money can't buy happiness." Actually I'm certain it does.

I sensed that Flora was ready to bid adieu, that she had revealed as much stimulation that I could handle for one day. I agreed; I had enough and drove home to Portland, to sit in my living-room chair and savor the day. Click the link below to view Panther Creek Falls live, and you'll understand why I wanted to share the experience.

Panther Falls

Friday, November 22, 2024

Episode 4: Autumn Elm

Ulmus minor (nee carpinifolium) 'Gracilis' at the Washington Park Arboretum. November, 2024.The "Field elm" or "Smooth-leaved elm," from Europe, N. Africa, S.W. Asia. According to the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs(2019), "It was possibly introduced to England during the Bronze Age.

Under the elm's canopy in a komorebi ("leaking light") world.

Friday, November 15, 2024

Episode 3: The Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden

Reuben Hatch

I had been receiving persistent nudges from Flora to return to the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden in Washington state. Early spring (2024) became late spring...which quickly evolved to a baking summer, and somehow I never carved out the time to visit one of my favorite of all the world's botanic collections. The garden --as a wonderful botanic institution-- hadn't changed, but rather I had changed. I had grown more reluctant to return solo to many of the plant destinations that my friend and mentor, the late Reuben Hatch and I used to frequent. He passed over a year ago and I needed to get rid of him (to a certain extent), as I recognized that he no longer should be my motivational cheerleader. We used to trade driving duties for the three-hour, one-way journey, and enroute we endeavored to solve the world's problems, or at least to figure a way to cope with them. But this past October I travelled with an empty seat beside me, just this old man alone with his thoughts.

Flora Farm

I realized there wouldn't be much in flower at the RSBG, if anything at all, but surely the multitude of the rhododendron companion plants would stir plenty of interest. In the past, our visits --R. and I-- would always begin in the retail sales yard near the garden entrance; but now, since my nursery and arboretum were sold a year ago, and since my current property is sparse on space, I skipped the lure of acquiring more plants. I recognized the need to go cold turkey with my possession-obsession and cultivate a more ethereal relationships with plants. In other words: I shouldn't cry because I no longer collect and propagate, instead I should smile at the accomplishment of creating millions of trees, and the grounding of a few thousand into the Flora Wonder Arboretum.

Rhododendron sinonuttallii

Therefore, I didn't even glance into the sales area. Then, according to habit, I typically visit the nearby conservatory, a beautiful structure that's crammed with non-hardy Rhododendron species from the tropics and filled with lowland temperate Asian plants like orchids, Agapetes epiphytes, tender Scheffleras etc. Always a treat is a gangly Rhododendron sinonuttallii*, because with its sparse branching the rich, coppery Acer griseum-like trunk shines quite noticeably. Not in flower on this cool October day, it waits until early spring to then bloom with an intense, lustful odor that would cause a French bordello-madame to blush. I have grown a few of those tender species in my GH20 "hot-house" at Buchholz Nursery with great enjoyment, at least until the sustaining greenhouse heater conks out on the winter's most frigid night.

t*Sinonuttalii-- yep: two "t's", two "l's" and two "i's" at the end, with "sino" (from China) has the prefixual epithet.

Rhododendron orbiculare 'Edinburgh'

Out of the greenhouse with its stuffy humidity I followed the path to the top of the grassy meadow, an area with a slight slope but otherwise large enough to entertain an olympic-level croquet tournament. Rhododendrons border the meadow perimeter, with a generous patch at the bottom of one of my favorite "rose-tree" species, R. orbiculare. Obviously not now in blossom, nevertheless I admired the perky round, still horizontal leaves that had yet to go into their curled, winter droop. I used to grow an "Edinburgh" form which was gifted to me by the aforementioned R. Hatch 25 years ago. Native of Sichuan, China, it was discovered by Armand David in about 1870, then introduced to Britain by E.H. Wilson in1904.

Pseudolarix amabilis

On the top side of the green meadow resides a scrappy-looking needled conifer, Pseudolarix amabilis, the "Chinese False larch." I have pitied this poor specimen on every visit for the past ten years, yet it persists and annually produces a skimpy amount of new growth. Today, however, the low morning light illuminated a warm glow upon the soft needles, a foliar coat that entices one to pet. Imagine a gorgeous woman with hair such a hue, I was almost ready for an affair., But ahh-- I hate the botanical name Pseudolarix because I dislike pseudo anything. All plants are worthy, and exist on their own merits without the suggestion that they are mainly similar to something else. We don't think of ourselves as "almost somebody else," or at least I can't imagine it. The monotypic genus is from south eastern China, however it is listed as hardy in USDA Zones 4-7. The specific epithet of amabilis is most apropos as it is Latin for "lovely."

Sorbus poteriifolia

Further along in a raised, chip-mulched bed, I caught a flicker of glossy foliage that I first presumed was a weed. Well, it amounted to no more than weed, a low-hugging mat of silver-green with tiny leaves, except that it was fronted with an i.d. label that indicated it was a miniature "rowan" or "mountain ash," Sorbus poteriifolia. I wish it good luck --it appeared newly planted-- and I hope it can achieve a mature size without getting trampled upon. I'd love to add one to the Buchholz Nursery's Blue Forest rock garden and watch it spill over the granite boulders. I'll study the RSBG's little runt for the next few years, wondering when it will produce berries. Spring flowers are small and cream-white --not particularly showy-- but the plant as an ornamental was awarded the Royal Horticultural Society's Award of Garden Merit. It is native to Yunnan, China in the mountains between 10,000' and 13,000' in altitude and was collected by the Scottish botanist/explorer George Forrest in 1914, then later by Kingdon Ward. According to the IDS's Trees and Shrubs Online, K.W. "saw it in flower towards the end of June, and when he returned to collect seeds 'it's numerous clusters of reddened berries presently turned snow white, heading the crinkly black stems like moonstones.'" An odd specific epithet is poteriifolia if you ask me: simply it refers to leaves like Poterium --pinnately compound with toothed leaflets. Poterium (Aka sanguisorba) is an edible perennial herbaceous plant, but certainly its ferny foliage does bear resemblance to the rowan.

Clethra kaipoensis

In another section of the garden I encountered a few exfoliating canes that glowed in the morning sun like exotic sticks of cinnamon. Other than the stems it wasn't clear if the nearly-leafless shrub was of horticultural significance, or if it was just a part of the native brush that resides in this semi-wild botanic collection. Remarkably I found a label in the mess --Clethra kaipoensis-- a species that I was unfamiliar with. I took a step back to ponder, and then I noticed the withered little Clethra flowers... or were they already the seed capsules? In any case I wasn't looking to propagate, but I will admit that if I had found a plant available in the sales yard, I would probably buy it to donate to the Flora Wonder Arboretum. Kaipo is a region in eastern China with an alluvial plain formed by deposits of the "Yellow River" (Huang He). The generic name Clethra comes from Greek klethra meaning "alder" due to the leaf-resemblance between some of the species.

Daphniphyllum pentandrum

Near the Clethra with its showy bark was a Daphniphyllum pentandum [sic.], and the latter's distinguishing feature --at least on this autumn morning-- was the glossy-green elongated foliage. Perhaps I have walked past this obscure specimen half a dozen times before, but only today did it call out to me. Its relative obscurity, such as with the Clethra, was that the sprawling Daphne-like specimen occurred in a brushy, unfeatured location. With contending foliage now mostly fallen it was on center stage, and I reflected that this beginning of November was the latest in the season that I have visited the Species Garden. It was my first encounter with this taxon but I was left to wonder about its nomenclature. Further research from Grimshaw and Bayton in New Trees suggests that D. pentandrum --not pentandum per the RSBG-- is correct. In any case the southeastern Chinese, Taiwanese, Japanese and Korean species is hardy to USDA Zones 7b-8 and it occupies forests at low elevations between 100 to 1400m. It would be questionably hardy at my old Flora Wonder Arboretum, and even if it survived, my experience with similar evergreen shrubs is that at mid-winter the gardener actually prefers that all leaves would go adios rather that persist in a shabby state. Concerning the specific name, New Trees and the Kew Checklist reveal that the oldest is D. pentandrum Hyata (1911), but that the Flora of China uses D. oldhamii (1919), so the former should take precedence.

Parrotia persica 'Select'

Also growing in the brush was a crooked, gangly tree of Parrotia subaequalis, but I wonder if I would have noticed it on this mostly cloudy day if the low morning Sundays hadn't burst it into the spotlight. I used to grow the more well-known Parrotia Persica species and in fact we introduced one such "cultivar" of P. Persia named 'Select'. Parrotia was rare in horticulture when I began my career (in 1980) but we acquired seed and surprisingly they all germinated. Most were sold at 4-5 years old, except that I "selected" one and set it aside due to a more-prominent purple margin to the lush spring-green leaves than did its brethren. It was coined 'Select' and we propagated it from soft wood cuttings under mist in summer. Regrettably I sold the original because we later focused on the narrow clone of 'Vanessa', then went even more narrow with the skinnier 'Persian Spire'.

Parrotia subaequalis

I have never grown Parrotia subaequalis, though I have encountered it previously in various European arboreta, but today was my first autumn-color extravaganza. It is commonly known as the "Chinese Ironwood" where it grows in low mountain forests, even on limestone. According to the IDS Trees and Shrubs Online only tiny fragments of the 14 populations are currently known "totaling little more than a hundred mature trees." When first described by the Chinese they assumed it was a new species of Hamamelis, or a new genus altogether, and it was coined Shaniodendron. Botanist Hung T. Chang chose the specific epithet—meaning "not quite equal", referring to the "sometimes slightly oblique leaf-base." Of ornamental value, the P. subaequalis features a "a generally more narrow habit with slower growth, smaller and daintier foliage which turns a more consistent red or purple in autumn, a sometimes more showy peeling adult bark in which grey and silver tints predominate... At Yew Dell Botanical Gardens in Kentucky P. subaequalis is one of the first trees to start to color and one of the last to lose its leaves, meaning that the fall display lasts a full two months (Cappielo 2023)."

Staphylea holocarpa

A final delight flashed me from a distance... and I chose the path to it over other routes to introduce myself, while the little tree danced with willow like leaves in the slight, morning breeze. My goodness—something entirely new!—and the label revealed it was Staphylea holocarpa. I again realized, that without this blessed moment of solar illumination, I could have passed by this charmer a dozen times without notice. Wow! --what a wonderful day in this neighborhood, and I was so happy to return to this profound collection.

Staphylea pinnata

I already knew the Staphylea genus from S. pinnata, known as the "European bladdernut," which I have encountered before at the Hoyt Arboretum in Portland, Oregon. The "bladders" are so-named due to their bloated seed pods which are curious but not at all attractive. I can imagine however that the slugs and worms and bugs that slither through the rotting, fermenting fruit are probably doing so in a druken stupor. The minute or two that I took to investigate and photograph this tree left me a little light in the bladder too.

Staphylea pinnata

The staphylea name is from Greek staphyle meaning a "cluster", such as in a bunch of grapes. Linnaeus coined it in 1753 when he described Staphylea pinnata. S. holocarpa was discovered by Augustine Henry in central China, then introduced to Europe by E.H. Wilson in 1908. The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2019) opines that "several forms are in cultivation varying in quality." That's being generous I think, and I would demote the entire messy, flopping genus to a large- space arboretum such as the Hoyt... and limit my intoxication to just once a year.

Rhododendron sinonuttallii

The Rhododendron Species Botanical Garden contains one of the most esteemed collections of the broad genus on the planet. But today I barely noticed any rhododendrons other than the R. sinonuttallii with its stunning trunk. A great amount of appeal to the entire collection is that even if all rhododendrons disappeared it would still be an impressive assemblage of trees, some of which are quite rare. Congratulations to the staff and their purpose.