Nature Notes: Cranefly orchid

After years of searching, I finally found the elusive cranefly orchid in flower up in Tennessee!!!  This was cause for much excitement because I've been seeing the distinctive and unusually beautiful leaves of this plant for years now (which are purple on the underside!).  The trouble is that the leaves are out in fall and winter, but then the leaves shrivel up.  They bloom for only a short time in July or August.  The flowers were tricky to spot because they blended in so well with the forest.

I saw this orchid on the Lowry Falls Trail near the Hiawassee River in Tennessee.  This was a short, easy trail along the banks of a little stream that lead to a waterfalls.  It featured some impressive limestone rock formations.  You have to park across the road and walk to the trailhead on the road, but it's well worth the short walk of less than 2 miles round trip.  Even though this trail is located on a busy road, I didn't get the impression too many people do this hike.  Most of the people seemed to be heading to the whitewater rafting outfitters.

Cranefly orchid
(the stunningly beautiful purple underside)

Cranefly orchid leaf
(taken in April on the Approach Trail near Amicalola Falls)

Lowry Falls

Solo hike: Black Rock Mountain

I celebrated the summer solstice with a solo hike at Black Rock Mountain State Park.  I got an early start on the 7.2 mile James Edmond backcountry loop, and reached the summit and viewpoint just as the morning fog was beginning to lift.  The blueberry bushes at the overlook were loaded with ripe fruit, and I ate my fill.  This trail is narrow and seems to wander up and down every hill just for the fun of it.  But it also has everything- an overlook into a quaint valley, rocky outcrops, waterfalls, lake, and plenty of solitude.

After finishing the loop, I still had time and energy, so I set out on the 2.2 mile Tennessee Rock trail, which leaves from the same parking area.  This loop had a view of the mountains I'd climbed earlier that day, and I enjoyed looking at my maps and consulting my compass, trying to gain perspective.  I also continued on to Ada Hi-Falls, which didn't have too much water flowing. If there had been any more trails, I'd probably have done them as well. Some days, I can't get enough hiking.

One thing I realized on this trip is that I really enjoy hiking solo because I can walk my own long-legged, fast pace. I bound up the hills. I can start ridiculously early in the morning, and I can keep hiking as long as I want. But the downside is that I don't stop as often to see things, which is something I really appreciate about hiking with some of my friends and with the Trail Dames-- I've really learned to savor the experience of being outside and to slow down.  I would like to incorporate more of this into my solo hikes.

One recommendation that I often see about solo hiking is never to tell people that you are alone. I'm naturally a very poor liar, so on this hike I planned on saying things like, "oh my hiking partner is right behind me." But on this trip, I had the realization that people can just tell that I'm hiking solo- it was obvious to them even before I'd open my mouth.  I met two women at the trailhead who were out for their first hike, and I spend a while talking to them about the trails.  They were really surprised to see a woman hiking alone, but I told them I felt safer out in the woods than I do walking around some of my old neighborhoods or driving on the highway.

I decided that when I meet someone on the trail that my intuition says is OK, that I won't lie to them.  And I will save the precautionary behavior for when my gut tells me to watch out.

First solo backpacking trip

Where better to do my first solo backpacking trip than the Chattooga River, the river from the movie "Deliverance"? How better to conquer a fear than facing it head on? And why not do it when the forecast called for lots of rain? As I always say, more chance to see salamanders!

My plan was to hike north from the 28 bridge along the Chattooga River trail, enjoy a leisurely day along the river, spend one night out alone, and then meet up with the Trail Dames early the next morning, and hike back with them to my car. It seemed like a great plan: this is one of my favorite stretches of trail, my friends would be meeting me and knew where I'd be. I wanted to find out if I'd enjoy backpacking solo, since after all, I'm planning to hike for months on end by myself next year, so I want to at least have tried it for ONE night!

The trip started out well.  I enjoyed hiking at my own pace, soaring down the trail feeling swing of my legs and the flow of the trail. When it started raining, I put on my raingear, and inhaled the sweet smells of wet forest and fresh air. I met one other hiker all day, another woman out with her dog. I was enjoying the solitude, and all of my senses felt enhanced. I was totally in the moment.

Lady slipper orchids

As it got later, I found a perfect campsite under a grove of hemlocks right on the river with a pink lady slipper orchid. Perfect-- it felt very safe and I was reassured by the presence of my favorite plants. Except it was only 4 PM and still raining, so I didn't want to set up camp and have to crawl into my tent so early. I decided to keep walking for a short while, then turn around and come back. About half an hour later, the rain started to pick up and the trail got narrow, muddy, and veered away from the water up the hillside. Out of the mist (I'm not kidding here!), emerged an older man who looked like he did not belong on the trail-- he had on jeans (totally soaked), crocs (not boots!), and a thin short poncho that was not keeping him dry. I asked him all the usual questions about where he was going, and he asked me about my hiking poles, which he could see were really useful on the slick, steep trail. Then, I proceeded along, feeling wary. If this guy had been the usual hiker-type, I would have felt fine walking for a bit, and then turning around and heading back to that nice campsite by the river. But I knew I was not comfortable having this guy know where I was camped, and I figured I'd probably run into him if I went back there. So I decided I'd need to find a "stealth" campsite, one that was off the trail and out of sight. How hard could that be?

As I continued walking, the trail kept along a hillside, and there were no flat places in sight. The rain was coming down even harder, soaking through my rain coat and rain pants. I was still warm from the activity, but I knew I'd be cold when I'd stop. I needed to find a site soon. I kept walking and walking. Steep hillsides all around. I started getting cold and I needed to eat. At that point, I decided I didn't want to go any further down the trail, because it would put me too far away for the hike back to meet my friends the next day, so I turned around and headed back down the trail. I kept looking at the hillside, trying to figure out where to set up my camp, and just decided to head uphill.  At that point, I knew I wasn't thinking too clearly because I was getting cold.  I focused on staying calm and tried to think.  I climbed for 40 minutes, straight up, scanning for something that was relatively flat. Eventually, I found a place and set up my tent, ate a quick dinner, and hung my bearbag. By the time I crawled into my sleeping bag, I was exhausted and the thunder and lightening really started going, the wind was picking up, and the rain kept pounding. Would I stay dry? Would a tree fall on me? Thunder was crashing around me, the wind howled. But at least I knew with certainty that no humans would find me and I didn't think any animals would be crazy enough to bother me in this weather. I counted the seconds between lightening and thunder claps for a few hours.  Finally, I fell asleep.

I woke up dry, and by the time I was packed up, the rain had finally stopped. My hiking clothes were drenched and it was too cold to put them on. I took out my black plastic garbage bag, tore a hole in the bottom, and fashioned it into a dress, smiling gleefully at my ingenuity.

It usually takes me much less time to going down a hill than coming up, but I spent over an hour working my way down that hill! It was so steep, I crawled down much of the way, scooting down on my butt, and in a few places, it was just a wall, and I had to take off my pack and push it down in front of me, grabbing onto mountain laurel branches to ease myself down. How I made it up, I have no idea.
The sun was peaking out from the clouds and the mist was rising up off the river when I finally reached the trail. Flying once more along the trail in my black plastic dress, I felt totally free. I found I could take care of myself and problem solve on my own. I conquered my fear of spending the night by myself. I survived and enjoyed it! I felt such a huge sense of accomplishment.

I had to hurry down the trail to meet the Trail Dames, and enjoyed hiking with them for the rest of the day. It was surreal to have so much socializing after such intense time by myself. But the whole experience was pure joy.

The Chattooga River

Nature Notes: Irises

Two kinds of native irises can be found in Georgia, and we saw both of these on our hike on the Bear Creek trail near Ellijay.  The "dwarf crested iris" (Iris cristata) has fuzzy crests (a lot more going on in terms of flower ruffles!) while the "dwarf iris" (Iris verna) has more simple lines.  They are also somewhat different shades of blueish purple.  I think it really helps to figure out the differences between these two species when you can compare them on the same hike.

  Here is a link to more information about irises:

www.fs.fed.us/wildflowers/plant-of-the-week/iris_verna.shtml

Don't miss the Gennett Poplar on this hike-- it's the second largest tree in Georgia.
 

Dwarf crested iris

dwarf iris

Nature Notes: Tree Foam

Tree foam looks like bubble bath.

There are many reasons to go hiking during the rain: the solitude, wildlife, scents, and vivid colors to name a few.  But at the top of my list has got to be tree foam.  Also referred to as "stemflow", when rain water drips down the trunks of trees, it picks up impurities and forms bubble-bath looking suds at the base of trees.  Sometimes, the pattern is localized, so that one one or two trees in the forest will have the bubbles.  We've also seen tree foam at the base of nearly every tree in the forest.  Tree foam forms in any season, but seems to be most dependent on the length, duration, and intensity of rainfall.  I find tree foam absolutely delightful and one of the special treats of hiking in the rain.

My Maryland hiking partner and I noticed this tree foam when we were hiking several years ago, and were unable to find an explanation.   For a long time, I would ask everyone I hike with if they'd ever seen tree foam.  I got a lot of blank stares.  One hiking friend actually had seen it, and she calls it "tree spit"!

I finally found some literature about "stemflow" which provides a good scientific description of the process:
www.forestryforum.com/board/index.php?topic=36551.0
As I understand it, rain water dissolves stuff from the treebark as it flows down the stem of the tree.  This changes the surface tension of the water, so that when it drips down towards the base of the tree,  air is introduced due to the turbulence of the water, and foam is formed because of the altered surface tension.

Foam isn't just restricted to trees either.  There is also "rock foam" and one time we even saw "trail foam" as the water was flowing downhill on a leaf-covered trail.

Closeup of the bubbles

On every tree

Big trees

Here is a collection of photos of my favorite big trees I've visited in the last few years.  I've also added a few photos of the hikes to the trees, because they are usually found at some stunning places.

1. Sitka spruce on the coast of Oregon.  I've been visiting this same tree as long as I can remember on the coast of Oregon.  I love how the branches are shaped like giant arms.  This tree is a short distance from an incredible view of the Pacific Ocean.

2. Poplars at Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest in North Carolina.  Immense trees in a small old growth forest remnant.  This is one of the most beautiful walks because there is such a high concentration of big trees and they give the forest a primeval feel.

3. Gennett Poplar on the Bear Creek Trail in Georgia.  The second largest tree in North Georgia.

4. On the AT near Woody Gap in Georgia.  This tree cracks me up!

5. After I interviewed for a job in Fargo, North Dakota,  I drove over to Itasca State Park.  After stopping to soak my feet at the headwaters of the Mississippi river, I strolled over to this big tree, the largest red pine in Minnesota.  As luck would have it, the showy pink lady slippers were also in bloom.  It was a beautiful area... in JULY!   I'm thankful I didn't take the job, and instead ended up in Georgia.

6. Bristlecone pine.  Cedar Breaks National Monument in Utah.

How I got my Trail Name

Cottony egg sacks of the hemlock adelgid

I was up at Mountain Crossings in North Georgia doing Trail Magic with the Trail Dames, full of excitement and waving my hands around and talking animatedly about the the plight of the Eastern hemlocks.  You see, these beautiful trees are at severe risk of going extinct due to the introduced adelgid, which sap the juice from the needles and rapidly kill the trees.  I was still new to the Trail Dames, and though I can be pretty shy and introverted, get me talking about plants and insects, and I light up like a kid in an ice cream parlor.  I find invasive insects, which I spent nine years studying in grad school, completely fascinating.  North Star, one of the Trail Dames and a very insightful woman, said, "Hemlock! Your trail name should be Hemlock!"  And since then the name has stuck.

This name suits me because, first of all, I love plants and trees.  Especially big, ancient trees.  I'm one of those hikers that will go far out of my way to see the largest (or second largest) tree in the state.  I will run up to it and stretch out my arms to see just how massive the trunk is.  I love imagining what changes they've seen in the world, and what it's like to be rooted to the same spot year after year. 

Eastern hemlocks are tall, graceful trees.  They are a dominant tree in much of the southeastern Appalachians, and are an important part of the forest ecosystem, providing shade to Rhododendrons and streamside plants, and food and shelter for lots of animals.   But the adelgid is changing all of that.  Already, I've seen mountainsides of North Carolina dotted with the gray snags of dead hemlock.  It makes me sad to imagine what the all the forests will be like without hemlocks.  Hemlocks make me think about how fragile ecosystems are, how fragile we all are.

I like the name because it also refers to poison hemlock, a herbaceous plant used to kill Socrates.  So "hemlock" has a dangerous connotation.  Maybe the name will remind me to be tough.