Mountain bog gentian -- Gentiana calycosa
The ground is a maze of color. Dashes of red and white freely weave among browning green, tufts of lime green dabbed around. From where I am, more or less laying on the ground, it is just a jumble. But I’m not quite thinking straight yet. After a long and arduous hike along a steep trail through recently burned forest, I have stopped short of the lake which was my goal. The sun beating through the canopy-less forest has worn me down. Sweat mixing with the ashes kicked up with each step has left a layer of grime covering my skin. I did not bring enough water and in this dry place I have not found a stream. I have been fighting cramp and moving too slow, so this damn lake isn’t happening even though it’s nearly in sight just over the next rise. It would be so nice to jump into. I cannot. I have a genuine concern about getting back to the trailhead with these legs and I know that the best thing to do is stop for a minute to recover. So I collapse under the shade of a western larch, rub my legs, drink and eat, and take in the colorful chaos of fall color right in front of my eyes.
I can see that this is an impressionist painting that I haven’t made sense of yet. My perception needs some adjustment and as I overcome the physical exhaustion and mental letdown, I finally stand up and take a real look around. And just as in a museum, distance reveals the shape of the picture. Here, the individual dabs of color become a subalpine meadow. Teetering on the edge of the tree line, this open meadow under the glaring sun is a washed-out landscape of fall color. Above me, the high slopes of the Chiwaukum Mountains gently rise. To the south, where the immediate landscape drops away through the drainage, I have a view of the distant Stuart Range, their jagged peaks among the highest in Washington. This meadow is beautiful and a fine participation trophy. Now I need to stretch my legs, so I head into the meadow to explore, working my muscles again.
The colors that I see are different plants, mostly small herbaceous perennials but also some ground-hugging shrubs. The pattern they form is the result of different growing preferences; the composition of this scene is dictated largely by hydrology. This time of year, just before the snow returns, is very dry. It does not rain very much during the summer. The water that feeds these plants comes mostly from melting snow which provides ample moisture in early summer but has long since drained away. Through the majority of the meadow, dried out plants in red, white, and brown intermingle. In the depressions which collect and hold the snow melt later into summer, are swaths of taller shrubs yet green. Near the shrubs, dotted sparingly among the washed-out color, I find little circles of rich gold-yellow that I had not noticed before, the fall color of mountain bog gentian (Gentiana calycosa) shining brilliantly.
Mountain bog gentian is a perennial plant found in and around wet areas at mid to high elevation throughout the Cascade, Olympic, and Rocky Mountains. They are short plants, growing usually no more than about a foot high in multi-stemmed clumps. The small but fleshy leaves are arranged oppositely and tightly packed along the stem. Atop the stem sits a single blue flower, though sometimes two or three will crowd into the same space. Plants will also rarely produce flowers slightly lower, arising from axils, where leaf meets stem. Given their multi-stemmed habit, a single plant can produce many flowers. These flowers, as part of an otherwise ordinary plant, are eye-catching.
In summer as the small stem is still shooting up, the floral bud come into focus. It is velvety, deep blue, and tiny. The strange velvety texture is amplified by sunlight and it is unlike anything else I know of in a plant. The bud looks rich, smooth and soft. And even at this early stage you can see the pleats that give the plant its name spiraling upward on the five tightly wound lobes that make up the corolla. As the flower grows, the pleats elegantly unwind and eventually the funnelform flower opens. The texture and color lessen in intensity from velvet to papery, and from deep to faded blue, but the pleats persist. Interesting markings within are exposed once the flower opens. Small green dots are abundant and cover much of the inner corolla. There are also white and green stripes which direct insects down into the flower where they will find a treat in return for pollinating the plant. With its blue flower, mountain bog gentian is automatically classified special. Though a search of “blue” wild plants will bring up a healthy list, I find a lot of these push the limit toward purple and pink. As blue plants go, gentians are among the bluest. Add to this the interesting texture, pleating, and markings and you have a gem of a flower.
Mountain bog gentians are among the latest bloomers in high elevation meadows of Washington. Long after others have come and gone, these blue gems light up the landscape. Doing so, they take advantage of lower competition for pollinators. In midsummer the same areas these gentians live are awash in flowers which give insects plenty of options. By the time gentians bloom, many insects are still buzzing around on warm afternoons but the pickings are growing slim, all to the gentian’s advantage.
Blooming late at high elevation is a risk. Winter comes early in the mountains and although daytime tends to stay warm, nights can be frigid. Snow and ice do occasionally occur in early September and for plants still blooming, such conditions can devastate any chance of reproduction. However, their wide range and abundance is evidence that for mountain bog gentians, the reward outweighs the risk. On any given year, an early freeze or snow might destroy that year’s seed, but gentians are (like a lot of other alpine and subalpine plants) long lived perennials and are sure to experience many fruitful years over a lifetime.
The flowers of gentians are known to open as the sunlight warms the air in the morning and close as temperatures drop in the evening, a daily process called nyctinasty. Scientists are not fully sure why some plants do this, but there are a few likely reasons. I think most convincingly for late summer bloomers, closing up overnight offers slight but important protection from the cold and dew that might negatively impact their ability to reproduce. Nyctinasty could also be a response to pollinator inactivity. The insects that gentians depend on are also impacted by the wild temperature swings, many of them active only in the heat of the day. Having an open flower while no pollinators are out and about is profligate. There are certainly a number of other reasons plants would evolve in this way, and they are surely different from one plant to the next given unique environmental factors. Adapting to increase the efficacy of a flower is a big step toward complexity and so this type of profound adaption, whatever the exact reason, is another example of the subtle genius of plants.
I frequently find the brilliant blue gentian flowers on late summer hikes up in the mountains of Washington, but in this meadow in the Chiwaukum Mountains, I am seeing them in their fall color for the first time. How great these beautiful plants are, even after the flower fades. To be fair, I am drawn to yellow in nature. Give me aspen and larch against a blue sky, a field of goldenrod and balsamroot. So I am biased but nonetheless in awe of these gentians, these little circles of yellow. They’re a shade of yellow that I don’t think I have seen before and I love it. Like a little fleck of gold in a pan, I feel I’ve hit the jackpot in this meadow. After walking around for more than half an hour, I’m not really thinking about the lake anymore. I am cognizant that I am currently being reminded of something: Balance the glorious end goal against the benefits of enjoying the journey; take time to read deeply into the landscape as much as you take time to actually go deeply into a landscape. This is a good lesson, and though I am usually pretty good about stopping to smell the roses, when I have a goal firmly set my mind can be stubborn. So I need to remember that you can find great things all along the way if only you look. It’s good to get far away from the road, from other people, but I know that I flew past a lot of interesting stuff on my way up this trail. I want to be more mindful, or at least more adaptable. We’ll see if it sticks. For now I am here and because of that I have come to know a little bit about this meadow. And as I crouch to take pictures of the yellow mountain bog gentians, I realize that my legs are feeling much better. I might even make it home.