A Dim Day, Brilliant Flowers, and lots of Dead Deer Flies

Whoever invented these deerfly patches deserves some kind of medal. Here are more than 45 nasty biters that got just one chance to land on my head and that was that! With each fly I could hear the bzzzooom just once near my ear, and then . . . Oh blessed silence! No more knocking myself silly swatting the top of my head, again, again, and again.

Well, once again, rain, rain, rain. But I didn't let it stop me (except for a five-minute downpour and thunder rumbler, which I waited out in my car). Since I don't like to paddle in rainstorms, this was a good day to try out my new deerfly patches on Bog Meadow Trail, a notorious feasting site for those pestiferous inventions of the devil. And the trail was lush and lovely, as green as in spring from all the rain, rain, rain we've had this summer.

Though the day was dim, there were brilliant splashes of color along the trail, especially the stretch that passes through forested wetlands. Here, Canada Lilies (Lilium canadense) dangled their showy lanterns in the shaded woods. Some glowed yellow and some glowed orange, and here was a patch where lilies of both colors bloomed right next to each other. See the orange ones right behind these bright yellow ones.

And here's a better look at a brilliant orange one. Wow, but that is one gorgeous lily!

Nor were the mushrooms to be outshone. This round yellow disk (I think it's an Amanita of some sort) looked like a little sun along the path.

In just a few days, these Chokecherries (Prunus virginiana) will darken to almost black, but today their dangling fruits were as rosy and bright as the day was dark and damp.

Some flowers were easy to overlook, their pale colors almost invisible in today's dim light. From above, this little orchid called Helleborine (Epipactus helleborine) looks as green as its leaves, but tip its face up, and you can see its faintly pink petals.

Out in the open marsh, this Blue Marsh Bellflower (Campanula uliginosa) was easier to see, even though it's quite small (its flower is about a half inch long). From a distance, the flowers on their sprawling stems look white, but up close you can see they are tinted pale blue.

Wouldn't it be nice to see a sky of blue? For days at a time, I mean. My hiking shoes are as soggy as my boat shoes, and there's seldom a full day's sun to dry them in. Maybe Sunday, they say. Let's hope.

My Lucky Day

Despite the threat of rain, the river was lovely today.

Although the sky was looking threatening (some blue areas but even more roiling grey clouds), I decided to risk a downpour out on the river. And I'm mighty glad I did. In the first place, it never did rain, and even more important, I found the orchid I've been seeking for several years. Ever since some dunderhead mowed down a whole island of them four years ago and they never grew back. And today it was sheer unlikely luck that I saw a Smaller Purple Fringed Orchis (Habenaria psycodes). It was only in bud, not bloom, and hidden among Deer Tongue grass, whose leaves appear somewhat similar, from a distance. I don't know what impulse guided my eyes to its hiding place, but now that I know where to find it, I'll certainly be back. I can't wait to show you how beautiful it is when in full bloom.

Lots of other beautiful flowers were blooming today. The woodsy banks were aglow with masses of Fringed Loosestrife (Lysimachia ciliata).

The sunny rocks and muddy banks are carpeted now with Golden Hedge Hyssop (Gratiola aurea), with many other flowering plants crowding in. How many species can you count on this one rock?

Here's a close-up of Golden Hedge Hyssop's pretty little yellow trumpets.

While kneeling down on the rock to shoot these flowers, I came face-to-face with this enormous Striped Fishing Spider. I first assumed this was a female, since it was about three inches across, and females tend to be bigger than males. But then I noticed those little blue "boxing gloves." These are "palps," which in female spiders just look like miniature legs. But males' palps have swollen tips that serve as semen receptacles for mating. So I guess this must be a guy, and he looks like he's rarin' to go. Yikes! but those things look kind of prickly! (The photo's not quite in focus, because I jumped a little when he moved toward me. Wonder why.)

Paddling around Rippled Rocks Point, I entered a quiet marshy area, where stately Pickerelweed (Pontederia cordata) lifted its purple spires to the sky.

On the rocky shore, spires of rosy-pink Steeplebush (Spirea tomentosa) waved in the breeze, set off quite prettily by dark green shrubs of Buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis), the cream-colored ball-shaped flower clusters just now bursting into bloom.

This beautiful spotted frog (I assume it's a Pickerel Frog) obliged me by jumping away from its well-camouflaged hiding place and landing on bare rock. The better to take your picture, Mr. (or Mrs.) Frog. Thanks for a perfect end to a happy paddle on the river.

Driving a Friend to Pyramid Lake

Pyramid Lake: Surrounded by mountains, home to a family of loons

For many years, my friend Elaine was a volunteer at Pyramid Life Center, a retreat center up at Pyramid Lake, in the Pharaoh Lake Wilderness Area. That's 65 miles north of Saratoga Springs, a daunting distance now for Elaine, since illness has impaired her ability to drive. So I thought she might like to come along when I drove up there today. And yes, she certainly did. So off we went on a gorgeous blue-sky day, she to relax on the porch of the rustic old lodge, I to explore the lake in my canoe.

My wildflower journal told me that Rose Pogonia (Pogonia ophioglossoides) should be in bloom, and yes, indeed it was. Such a lovely pink orchid!

All around the lake I found little patches of Rose Pogonia peeking out from among the blueberry bushes and Sweet Gale shrubs, but they grew most abundantly in the marshy ends of the lake. Here fallen logs and old beaver lodges serve as nursery beds for all kinds of plants. This Round-leaved Sundew (Drosera rotundifolia) was just about to come into bloom on a log it shared with Sphagnum Moss.

Another sodden log supported two of my favorite marsh-dwelling plants, shiny dark-red Marsh Cinquefoil (Potentilla palustris) . . .

. . . and tiny blue Marsh Speedwell (Veronica scutellata).

This Lesser Bur Reed (Sparganium natans, a threatened species here in New York) didn't need any fallen logs to support its little white puffs, which grow directly out of the shallow water. Water Lobelia (Lobelia dortmanna) was growing there, too, but the wind was blowing their slender stalks and I couldn't get a good photo of them.

After lunch, the wind died down a bit, so I ventured out on the open lake, paddling to where a mountain appears to have tumbled down in sheer cliffs to the water's edge.

Here among the fallen boulders I found showy spikes of Fireweed (Epilobium angustifolium) reaching for the sun.

Every year, one pair of loons returns to Pyramid Lake to rear their chicks. Loons lay two eggs in a clutch, but it appears that only one of the chicks has survived this year. I watched this family for quite some time -- mom, dad, and one brown fuzzy chick -- and never saw a second chick. I felt really privileged to have seen this one.

I also feel truly privileged to have access to such an exquisite place of retreat as Pyramid Life Center. May the healing power I sense here benefit my friend Elaine.

Hiking Up to Lake Ann

Lake Ann, high in the Palmertown Mountains of Moreau Lake State Park

Let's hear it for my husband, a physics professor who knows his way around computers much better than I. He managed to fix my internet access, so I am once again back on line. Thank you, thank you, dear Denis! So. Let's see. Where was I? Ah yes, I was headed out to partake of nature's solace. (It's terrible how lost I felt without my internet!)

A bright and breezy day it was yesterday, cool in the shade but warm in the sun. Perfect for a climb to Lake Ann, a tiny lake that is up as high as you can hike in the Palmertown Mountains of Moreau Lake State Park. All you rugged high climbers out there may sniff in derision, but this is about as high as I like to climb these days, being older than most of your grandmothers, a little bit arthritic, and carrying plenty of extra poundage, even without a loaded pack. And I like to take it slow. Don't want to miss what may flutter or sing or grow or creep along the trail as I go.

Like this pair of Great Spangled Fritillaries, resting for just a second on Common Milkweed.

And because it's so small, it's amazing I happened to see this tiny fungus growing on a rotten log. Doesn't it look exactly like a miniature peach? Or maybe, a baby's bottom?

Update, July 2012:  Turns out this is not a fungus at all, but rather a slime mold called Wolf's Milk or Toothpaste Slime.  It's filled with pink paste that looks like toothpaste. It will turn gray as it ages.

While poking around that rotten log, I dislodged a leaf that was hiding this little Red Eft. Sorry to blow your cover, little fella. Just let me take your picture and I'll cover you right back up. (I've read we should never touch these creatures with our bare hands, because the natural acidity of our skin will harm the eft's sensitive skin. We should rub our hands with dirt to neutralize that acidity first. Or better yet, don't touch.)

On a rocky outcrop exposed to the sun, I found a few plants of Narrow-leaved Mountain Mint (Pycnanthemum tenuifolium), its flowers as tiny as its Latin name is long. In fact, they're so small, I never noticed the purple polka-dots until I enlarged them on my IMac screen. I'll bet the bees can see them.

The first part of the trail to Lake Ann passes through sunlit forest of beech and oak, with all kinds of understory trees and plants. Further along, it moves into dark, dark hemlock stands, with mounds of moss the only trace of green on the brown-needled ground. Then, just as all that darkness starts to feel oppressive, you notice a brightness up ahead, and suddenly there's the open sky, the bright blue lake, and sunlight glowing on carpets of green, green Sphagnum Moss.

One reason I wanted to hike to Lake Ann was to visit its boggy shore and see what acid-loving plants I might find. True bogs are a rarity in Saratoga County, but this lake has at least one shore that qualifies. I always hope to find orchids, but this day the only flower I found in bloom was Large Cranberry (Vaccinium macrocarpon). And lots of it. Mountain Holly and Highbush Blueberry were abundant, as well, their berries just starting to ripen.

For woodland color, the fungi make up for the dearth of flowers this time of year. With all the rain we've had this summer, the varieties of colors and shapes should be amazing. These Yellow Earth Tongue (Microglossum rufum) and Red Russula (Russula emetica) are just two of the beauties I found along the trail today.

Computer's Down, but I'm Still Out

Oh dear, what shall I do? My internet service has failed and it may be several days before it can be restored. I'm stealing a few moments here to use my husband's computer to write this, but he's just as addicted to his as I am to mine, and so I can't spend hours composing new posts at his desk. Nor can I access my photo files from here. So, dear readers, now's your chance to visit my archives and recall the changing seasons and the natural wonders each season brings. And I can still visit your blogs. Wow! I hadn't realized how attached I'd become to this blogging business. I'm feeling mightily deprived, so I'm heading out for nature's certain solace. Hope to be back again soon. With photos!

Summertime, and the Flowers are Bloomin"

A fine summer morning on the Hudson -- until the Jet Ski arrived

At last, a fine summer day that really felt like summer! I do believe the temperature rose to over 80 today, and the evening remained warm enough to sit on the back screened porch and enjoy the twinkling of fireflies in the grass. The day started out lovely, too, with a smooth paddle on a glassy river. The water level has fallen some, so that muddy flats appear along the shore -- prime conditions for Creeping Spearwort. I keep searching for this tiny star-flowered sprawling plant, which I haven't seen in years. Didn't find it today, either. But I'll keep looking. I've found it here before.

What I did find today were some stunning clumps of Blue Vervain (Verbena hastata).

This is a common roadside native wildflower, but it looked particularly lovely today, the sun accenting its vivid color where it grew on a small rocky island, echoing the blue of the sky and the blue of the river around it. I could have spent the whole day on that island, eating blueberries and watching tree sparrows dart out over the water. But a #@*! ing Jet Ski arrived and tore up and down the river, drowning out the twitter of birds and spewing its fumes on what had been sweet summer breezes. Darn! Oh well. I wanted to visit Woods Hollow today, anyway.

Near the parking lot where I loaded my canoe back onto my car, I found this solitary plant of Bristly Sarsaparilla (Aralia hispida). Big deal, you say, what a homely plant? Yeah, sure, but a quite uncommon one. About as uncommon as its cousin Wild Sarsaparilla is ubiquitous. So it was a real find.

Bristly Sarsaparilla: about as homely as it is uncommon

Off to Woods Hollow Nature Preserve in Ballston Spa to search for tiny white orchids. I was looking for Checkered Rattlesnake Plantain (Goodyera tesselata), and I hunted all over the place. Darned orchids never seem to come up in the same place they did last year. General area, maybe, but not the exact same spot. I had just about given up when BINGO! I saw one. Then, hey! there's another! And another! And another! I found about ten in all, in a sandy area under pines. This species is somewhat uncommon, certainly more so than its cousin Downy Rattlesnake Plantain, which grows along Bog Meadow Trail near Saratoga.

I couldn't get my camera to focus on the whole plant, but here's a close-up of its flowers.

And here are its leaves. I had to clear the pine needles away in order to see its "checkers."

Woods Hollow has a beautiful pond and marshy stream where dragonflies dart and skim and only occasionally stop to catch their breath. Here are two I managed to photograph today. All you "odes" experts out there, I'll bet you know exactly what to call them. (I don't.)

Golden Morning, Quiet Water

Now that's more like it! A clear morning, calm water, no sound but the songs of birds and the drip, drip, drip from the blades of my paddle. As I predicted yesterday, today I had the river all to myself, at least the morning hours. By afternoon, more paddlers appeared, but quietly, quietly, quietly, bless their souls.

A bit of a breeze was riffling the water out on the open river, but back behind an island and around rocky coves, the trees and rocks and hills were mirrored in the still water.

As I slipped along close to shore, tall stalks of Meadowsweet (Spirea latifolia) waved their pretty pink puffs above my head.

The banks were crowded with masses of Pale St. Johnswort (Hypericum ellipticum), smaller of flower and shorter of stalk than its more common roadside cousin. Its bright yellow flowers certainly belie its familiar name.

In the shallow waters of quiet coves, various species of Arrowhead are just now starting to bloom. This one is Grass-leaved Arrowhead (Sagittaria graminea), which doesn't have arrow-shaped leaves at all, but slender lance-shaped ones with flattened blades at the top. (Sorry, I failed to include them in the photo.)

As I paddled around the jutting bedrock I call Rippled Rocks Point, its lichen-covered vertical walls towering over my head, this spider and I came eye-to-eye. Er, I mean, eyes-to-eye! It was pretty big, I'd say two inches across, at least. I think it's a Striped Fishing Spider, which can actually dive underwater to capture aquatic insects and yes, small fish.

On that same vertical wall, this Wild Thyme plant (Thymus serpyllum) has somehow found a way to take root in bare rock, curving its trailing stems to conform to the rock's rough surface. I've never found any other Wild Thyme growing nearby on this side of the river. Makes you wonder how it got here.

For finding a way to take root in bare rock, nothing can beat Golden Hedge Hyssop (Gratiola aurea). The slightest crack or seam will make a commodious home for this plant. It also carpets damp mud, and by mid-month all the rocky banks and muddy shores in this sheltered area will teem with its masses of bloom. I've seen the river rise over its flowers, and they just keep blooming away underwater, creating a shimmering golden glow at the waterline.

I have never found this plant anywhere else in Saratoga County but here: among the bays and coves of the Hudson above the Sherman Island Dam. My flower guides tell me that this is a coastal plant. Gosh, but we're a long way away from the seashore. How do you think it got here?