Happy International Bog Day!

International Bog Day, July 29, 2018

We love bogs.  From my first glimpse of the Big Bog up by Waskish, Minnesota, I fell in love with these wild and strange-to-me places—the mosses, the unusual plant inhabitants, the soft-needled tamarack trees, the great silence as though the deep peat soaks up sound.  Since then we’ve visited many bogs and many kinds of bogs, and we love them all.

Bogs are circumpolar, most of them occurring around the globe in the northern half of the earth.  The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources defines a bog as occurring “only on deep saturated peat… isolated from ground water and from water that flows from mineral soil…[which] makes bog water very low in mineral nutrients and very acidic so only very specialized plant species can survive these conditions.” Another way to think of a bog is as a bowl—water doesn’t really flow in or out.  Cold acidic water, harsh growing conditions:  bog plants are tough survivors.

This post is a tribute to some of the best bog visits we’ve had so far.

Lake Bemidji State Park Bog Boardwalk leads to the edge of a small lake and back.  Along the way signs point out some of the features.  With and without the help of signs we’ve seen, at various times, purple pitcher plant, Labrador tea, bog rosemary, stemless lady’s-slipper, grass pink orchid, buckbean, early coral root, three-leaf goldthread, and tiny insect-eating sundew.

At Long Lake bug shirts and raincoats were the fashion statement of the day. The lake is slowly filling in at the edges, a floating bog best seen from the water.  Canoeing around the edge of the lake we found many rose pogonia and grass pink orchids, along with sundew, bog cranberry, cottongrass, common bladderwort, and purple pitcher plant.  Even on a fallen log tiny little communities of plants grew.

Pennington Bog Scientific and Natural Area is an undisturbed forested bog so easily damaged that written permission from the Department of Natural Resources is needed to enter.  In the green light under white cedar, balsam fir, and black spruce trees calypso orchids (fittingly called fairy slippers) grow, along with lesser rattlesnake plantain, buckbean, gaywings, three-leaf goldthread, showy lady’s-slipper, and yellow lady’s-slipper.  A magically mysterious place.

Quaking Bog at Theodore Wirth Park in north Minneapolis is an urban remnant of a much larger bog, but even with a freeway nearby the atmosphere feels hushed. Here on various visits we’ve seen leatherleaf (the only place we’ve ever seen it blooming), buckbean, starflower, wild calla, Canada mayflower, and purple pitcher plant.

Iron Springs Bog Scientific and Natural Area up near Itasca State Park is a bog so big you’ll want a GPS to help you find your way back out again.  Here is where we first saw small round-leaved orchid, affectionately called (by us) polka-dotted orchid.   We also saw three-leaf goldthread, showy lady’s-slipper, Canada anemone, early coral root, purple pitcher plant, green bog orchid, sundew, Labrador tea, and tiny lesser rattlesnake plantain (although since finally seeing Hudson Bay eyebright we’ve redefined the meaning of “tiny”).

Minnesota has many more bogs and bog boardwalks—Sax Zim Bog, Hayes Lake State Park boardwalk–including one state park that once had a bog boardwalk until, the park ranger told us, “The bog ate it.” And even though we know that all landscapes change, that bogs at lake edges are slowly filling in, that bogs do eat boardwalks and that the bogs we know are only as old as the last ice age, we say long live bogs, big and small.  We love them all.

Happy International Bog Day!

Phyllis Root, Author
Kelly Povo, Photographer

They’re blooming? We’re on the way!

We came to the North Shore to see Hudson Bay eyebright and purple fringed orchid blooming, thanks to a helpful phone call from a master naturalist and fellow wildflower lover who told us where both were blooming.  And he was exactly right:  we drove north, turned along the road he told us, turned again, crossed the railroad tracks, made one more turn, and saw purple fringed orchid gloriously blooming up and down the roadside ditch.  Driving on up to Sugarloaf Cove on Lake Superior, we found the tiny, tiny arctic relict Hudson Bay eyebright blooming in cracks of rocks. The plants and flowers are so minute that we might never have found them without Phil’s help.

Scattered in crevices and seemingly growing right out of the rocks we found other small plants that Kelly photographed and we later identified:  white upland goldenrod, which looks like small daisies, three-tooth cinquefoil, shrubby cinquefoil.

Every fracture or dip in the rock seemed like a tiny world of its own.

On the path down to the cove spotted coral root grew.  Returning in the morning to get one more look at the eyebright, we also found beach pea in glowing blues and purples and magentas, spurred gentian, twin flowers and bunchberry blooming, early coral root, and, with the guidance of a naturalist at the Sugarloaf interpretive center, one-flowered pyrola and large leaved shinleaf.  One-flowered pyrola flowers face demurely downward until they go to seed—one group we saw going to seed had turned upward like a crowd of people staring at the sky.

We stopped so often along the road to photograph evening primrose, more purple fringed orchids, a tall northern bog orchid, smooth oxeye, and fringed loosestrife we thought we might never make it home.

We did, though, already eager for our next exploration and grateful for friends who share their enthusiasm and knowledge for the same native wildflowers we love.

Phyllis Root, Author
Kelly Povo, Photographer

 

North to Churchill, Day Eleven

July 11, 2018

We are driving back to the Twin Cities today and plan a few stops at places to look for flowers.  The first is Seven Sisters Prairie near Ashby.  The hills rise above the rolling landscape, and we climb the path up the first hill as the temperature climbs toward a high of 90 degrees.  Along the hilltops the prairie wind whips the grasses and flowers, a welcome relief from the hot sun, and the landscape—lake, farm, woods—stretches around us 360 degrees. Along the path that winds over the hilltops we find purple prairie clover, white prairie clover, Canadian milk vetch, stiff goldenrod, thimbleweed, harebell, fleabane, side-oats grama, hairy grama whorled milkweed, lead plant, prairie milkweed, ground cherry, prairie turnip, wild rose, wild bergamot, pale spiked lobelia, hairy false goldenaster, yellow sundrops, and green milkweed.  Bumblebees buzz, and dragonflies flit among the flowers like electric blue darning needles.  We are clearly back in the Minnesota prairie.

Then we lose the path in sumac. Is this it, we wonder.  Or this?  Or this? When we finally make our way through sumac waist-high and higher, down hills, under trees, and alongside a marsh through buckthorn to where we left the car we are both drenched in sweat and decide that perhaps we will head on home after all.  The other places we had planned to stop are well within driving distance of the twin cities, and we will come back another day soon.  We also invent a new word (or at least we think we do): shrubwhack.  Harder than bushwhacking, not as difficult as treewhacking.

As we drive through Alexandria, Minnesota, we spot Cherry Street Books, an independent bookstore, and stop for a quick look.  In the window we see our book Searching for Minnesota Wildflowers.  At our first stop on the way north at Mille Lacs State Park we also saw our book in the hands of a naturalist.  It seems auspicious that our trip is bookended by book sightings—we are already talking about doing some sort of book about Churchill and the sub-arctic wildflowers we’ve seen.

Quietly contemplative—so much to let settle in from the incredible experience we’ve just had—we drive on home.

p.s. We don’t recommend shrubwhacking, but we do recommend the Northern Studies Centre in Churchill, Manitoba.  It really is the experience of a lifetime.

 

North to Churchill, Day Ten

July 10, 2018

Our last morning in Churchill, we awake to the endless light and our last views  out the window of sun over tundra and lakes.  We pack the bug shirts that have been essential to the trip, say our good-byes, head for the airport.  Walking across the tarmac to the plane we both tear up.

Our plane takes us nearly 300 miles farther north to Rankin Inlet before heading toward Winnipeg.  Out the plane window as we descend toward Rankin Inlet the water is patterned with patches of floating ice.  Not a tree in sight—we are above the tree line now, the farthest  north either of us has ever been.  During the layover we start to walk to the nearby town (no bear guard needed) but are captivated by a gravelly bit of ground where we can’t stop ourselves from identifying white mountain-avens, northern hedysarum, broad-leaved fireweed, alpine milk-vetch, lacerate dandelion, bog asphodel, cotton-grass, dry-ground cranberry, long-stalked stitchwort, mouse-eared chickweed, dwarf Labrador tea, flame-coloured lousewort, and one flower new to us, a beautiful little ball of tiny pink blossoms which we figure out from our book is thrift. We feel as though we have passed a final in our wildflower class.

I’ve been thinking about this class for ten years.  Learning about the loss of the tundra train to Churchill spurred me to come; we are worried about the future of a town with no access except plane and barge.  And we are so glad we came.  Churchill has changed us in ways we have yet to discover.

On the plane to Winnipeg we make a list of what we are grateful for:
Northern Studies Centre
Our amazing instructor Jackie, who endlessly pointed out flowers and answered our questions.
Our bear guard Evan, who kept us safe
Our program assistants Carrie and Beth
Sunrise
Wildflowers
Rainbow
Whales
Everyone who makes the Centre work for researchers and learners like us
All the people who live and work in Churchill

What a gift.

North to Churchill, Day Nine

July 9, 2018

Up so early I can see the sun actually rising, a long line of brilliant orange at the edge of sky, water, trees.  Turning the other direction, I’m surprised by a  streak of double rainbow in the sky.

Today is a winding-down day, the last full day of our class, Into the Wildflowers, at the Churchill Northern Studies Centre.  We visit greenhouses that grow tomatoes and greens here in the north.  We drive past many of the amazing murals of the Seawall Project last year in Churchill, eat lunch in town, visit the Eskimo museum, and take a boat out into the mouth of the Churchill River where beluga whales rise in graceful curves around us in the bay, white adult whales and adolescent gray ones who don’t turn white until they are fully grown.  When the guide drops a hydrophone into the water, we hear the whales calling and singing.  Magical.

We finish at Prince of Wales fort, where the guide lets us veer from the tour to see a rare flower, bluebell, that both the bear guard and our instructor remember from last year.  Even on a winding down day, this is at least the third new-to-us flower we’ve seen, along with Herriot’s sage and seaside lungwort.

In the evening we hear a Metis elder and her daughter talk about their life, culture, and art, then finish the day with a lovely sampling of traditional food–grilled char, bannock, and two kinds of jelly, cranberry, and fireweed.

It is hard to imagine leaving Churchill tomorrow.  We are already scheming a return.
#sustainthenorth, @phyllisiroot, #wildflowerwomen, #mnnativewildflowers

 

 

 

North to Churchill, Day Eight

July 8, 2018

Our days have been chock-full of wildflowers, and yet there are still more to see.  Down by the shore we watch three caribou graze on the tidal flat while our guard checks for bears.  Here in the rocks we find still more proof that life takes every foothold or roothold it can find–tiny Greenland primrose and tufted saxifrage appear to grow straight out of the rocks. By the place where the plane called Miss Piggy crashed, we see one rare white flax flower, which only blooms for a day and only in the middle of the day (although our days seem endlessly light, so how does it know?). When we stop to take a picture of the shore and the Krumholtz-effect spruce trees, we see yet another new-to-us flower, broad-leaved fireweed, blooming beautifully in the sand and gravel.

After lunch we head out again down the bouncy road to Twin Lakes, this time to  explore an area where a wildfire burned thirty years ago or more. The land is slowly recovering.  We don’t find the wet bog we are looking for, but a stop at a fen reveals more butterwort, more round-leaf orchids, Lapland rhododendron, and dwarf Labrador-tea among many others. In the last few minutes of the last stop of our last day of full-out wildflower searching, I lip my waders by stepping into water deeper than my boots are high.  Luckily I have only a short time to squelch in my socks before we arrive back at the Centre.

We spend the evening as a group going over the checklist of flowers (we have seen almost every one on the list excepting water plants) and identifying photos.  Churchill has over 500 vascular plants.  In a place where glaciers left scratches on the rocks and we scratch at the bites of persistent insects who found us in spite of our bug shirts, we have barely scratched the surface of what there is to see.

Tomorrow is not a designated wildflower day, but we are sure we will see them no matter where we look in this incredible and amazing place. #sustainthenorth

 

North to Churchill, Day Seven

July 7, 2018

Everything outside our window looks silver this morning—clouds, water, even the sky.  Rain is forecast, but the possibility doesn’t even slow us down.

We are on the edges here of so many things:  the northern boreal forest, the arctic tundra, the freshwater Churchill River, and the salt water of Hudson Bay.  Here some plants are at the northernmost edge of their range and some at their southernmost edge. Spruce trees near the bay have a Krumholtz effect, with  branches growing mostly on the downwind side of the trunk and only a few stunted branches on the side facing the bay.

Today we find flowers at edges.

Even a non-flower stop along the road  to see the barricade across the tundra train tracks and the sign that reads, “Hudson Bay Railway, No Trespassing, Violators will be Prosecuted,” becomes a stop full of wildflowers. Almost as soon as we step out of the van we see northern lady’s-slipper, also called sparrow’s-egg lady’s-slipper, round-leaved orchid and blunt-leaf orchid (we have seen so many orchids we have quit counting them), the seemingly ubiquitous butterwort, and many of the new-to-us flowers that we’ve been seeing since our first day in Churchill.

Along another railroad crossing we find elephant’s-head (a tall purple lousewort whose flowers look as though they have trunks), pink pyrola in bloom, and a lovely little gathering of  blunt-leaf orchid, large- flowered pyrola (sometimes called large-flowered wintergreen), and snow willow.  Our instructor calls us into the woods bordering the tracks, where round-leaved orchids carpet the moss. Here we find northern twayblade–an orchid rare enough that our instructor says she will report it to the Manitoba Conservation Data Center. What a find!

We eat lunch at the edge of the Churchill River where the breeze keeps the ever-present bugs at bay, and the beluga whales rise to breathe in half-moon curves.

Cape Merry, part of the Prince of Wales National Historic Site, is our last visit of the day. Our guide fills us in on natural and cultural history.  We are fascinated by the rocks (which we learn are greywacke), rising in graceful curves with cracks and dips filled with flowers.  This might be one of the most beautiful places we have ever been.

The forecasted rain waits until later in the evening, then crashes over us in a thunderous cloud.  We are safe inside the center, seeing it through windows and the aurora borealis viewing dome, where the edges of the sky meet the water and the land in every direction.