It can be difficult to think of powerline right-of-ways as treasuries of rare and beautiful native plants, especially when the power companies periodically spray them with herbicides and kill all the plants under the wires. But I feel truly fortunate to know of some powerlines that are indeed such botanical treasuries. And I'm even more fortunate, because I have certain friends who know which powerlines harbor the rarest and most interesting native plants and are happy to lead me to them. Such was the case this past week, when skilled botanist Skye Vanderlaan led my friends Sue Pierce and Ruth Brooks and me to a virtually hidden powerline to see a plant we never dreamed we would ever find, the elusive Climbing Fern (Lygodium palmatum), an Endangered species in New York State.
We had to walk some distance along the road to reach this powerline, happy our way led along a forest that offered some botanical beauty of its own.
Many native sunflowers brightened the dark woods. It is often difficult to tell our several native sunflower species apart, but we think these tall beauties were Pale-leaved Sunflowers (Helianthus strumosus), due to its leaves being pale on the undersides and its stems possessing a bloom that could be rubbed off.
We were quite stunned to find such an abundant patch of the gorgeous Closed Gentians (Gentiana clausa) beautifying a roadside ditch.
When we reached the powerline we were seeking, I was awfully glad that Skye knew exactly where he was leading us. We plunged into this woody mess after him, pushing aside the giant ferns, shoving our way through shrubbery, and stumbling over downed tree trunks. Thankfully, it appears it had been a long time since the power company had killed all vegetation beneath the overhead lines. Or perhaps this wooded area was far enough to the side of the clearcut to escape that devastation.
When we reached the plants we were seeking, we could hardly believe how abundantly the Climbing Ferns were spread across the forest floor. We had to be very careful not to step on them. And if not for Skye leading us there and pointing out the plants, would we ever have recognized them? They appeared most un-fern-like, and they were more sprawling then climbing. And unlike most other ferns I know of, they did not grow in clusters of fronds. In fact, I have since read that each climbing vine of this fern is a single frond. The palmate leaves are actually the pinnules. The stem, or rachis as it is called in ferns, twines around supporting branches in a vine-like fashion, unfurling pinnules as it goes. And these fronds can grow as long as 15 feet.
Although most of the Climbing Fern fronds were vining along the ground, we did find a few that actually climbed up on supportive branches.
I was curious about how the pinnules grew in two different shapes, both of them palmate but one of them with long "fingers," and the other with stubbier ones. Are the longer pinnules the spore-bearing fertile ones, and the stubbier ones the sterile?
We were lucky to find a few fronds that bore fertile pinnules at the tip, smaller and more delicate in appearance than the stubbier sterile pinnules.
Thank you, Skye, for leading us to see this truly rare plant so obviously happy in its niche of a habitat.
You might think that after such a botanical find, we would call it day. Hah! The day was still young and a second fascinating powerline lay nearby. And this one was less shady forest and more sunny meadow, so a whole different class of plants awaited our exploration. Parts of this clearcut's habitat was dry and sandy, other parts damp with muddy puddles. Botanical variety abounded!
Although many lengths of this clearcut were rife with invasives like Purple Loosestrife, some of our most competitive native plants held their own against non-native invasion. Masses of Tall Goldenrod held their ground, and Pokeweed (Phytolacca americana), just by its size alone, as well as its fecundity, proved itself to be not only a strong but also a quite beautiful defender of its native territory.
Sturdy Evening Primrose (Oenothera biennis) was not enormously abundant at this site, but it looked so happy here, I doubt it would readily cede its foothold to any non-native invader.
Our native Slender Gerardia (Agalinis tenuifolia) has such a delicate lacy beauty it might appear to be a pushover from sturdier-seeming invasives. But its habit of filling every square millimeter of dampish soil along the path with masses of purple flowers would never grant any space at all to any pushy newcomers.
I love Slender Gerardia's pretty little freckled face.
We also found a large patch of Short-toothed Mountain Mint (Pycnanthemum muticum), now mostly post-blooming but recognizable by its frosty-looking leaves (and also previously verified as to species by a professional botanist). Because this species is rated as Threatened in New York State, we were delighted to find it so abundant at this site.
And how could we NOT be delighted to find this glorious native, the New England Aster (Symphyotricum novae-angliae)? Thankfully, this lovely aster is not at all a rare plant, and it grows prolifically along this powerline, in this vivid purple color as well as a deep rose and a pale pink. And the show has just begun!
Here was quite a surprise! Among our most gorgeous native wildflowers, the Fringed Gentian (Gentianopis crinita) usually waits until later in September to grace us with its remarkable beauty. As the tight buds reveal, lots more beauty is yet to come.
And here was another surprise! As well as a botanical puzzle. The slender, white-flowered native orchid our botanists are here examining, called Ladies' Tresses, was once known to all of them as Nodding Ladies' Tresses. But that single species has recently been divided into at least three other species, and the traits that distinguish the species are rather subtle. Even to professionals' eyes. So considerable studying is happening here.
Eventually, consensus was reached: This was the Sphinx Ladies' Tresses (Spiranthes incurva), determined by the sharp curve of the lower petals of the florets as well as by other details too obscure for me to observe. It also is more fragrant than some other Spiranthes species. A beautiful native orchid, and we found well over a dozen at this site in perfect bloom.
Both Ruth and Skye are passionate "bryophiles," meaning that they are fascinated by mosses, lichens, and liverworts, and are always on the lookout for them, able to detect specimens hardly large enough to be espied from a standing distance. Hence, they spend considerable time down in the dirt.
This hugely enlarged photo is the species of liverwort they were examining. I believe they called it a Riccia species, but they may have to look at pieces of it under a microscope to be sure of its specific name. If I ever do learn its name, I'll come back to post its name.
At least I could see this plant with my naked eye from a standing height, and Skye informed me that its name was Selaginella apoda, a fern ally (not a moss) that goes by the vernacular name Meadow Spikemoss. Its lovely green color and tiny leaves make this a popular terrarium plant that can be purchased from nurseries. But this one was cultivated by Mother Nature alone. And it was not for sale.
Okay, our domestic duties were calling us home by now, after this marvelous day of many botanical delights. Hurrying along the path, I had not intended to stop to photograph these Boneset flowers (Eupatorium perfoliatum), but this large black bug caught my eye. It was as big as a bumblebee, but it was a fly instead, a tachinid fly that feeds on the nectar and pollen of flowers and thus serves as an important pollinator. Tachinids are also the most important of the parasitic flies, for their maggots provide biological control of many pest insects, boring into the bodies of their hosts and consuming them from the inside as the maggots grow. Very helpful, of course, but rather violent behavior for such a cute insect I call a "Bristle Butt!"
