The seeds were floating everywhere when we exited the vehicles at Little Bunchgrass trailhead; nearby fireweed plants, the reason, were loaded with thousands of cotton-like floaters. Our first time working at this end of Bunchgrass, we were going to continue to restore the trail which burned over badly in 2022. We had worked a mile at the other end last year, seven miles east. There, it was 100% burn with residual powdered soil, difficult to work, especially where parts of the trail could not be found. Today, two of our crew would hike in over a mile and remove downed logs; three would use two power brushers to clear the trail of encroaching plants the first mile; the other four would work on the tread in several places to improve drainage. I started one of the Stihl brushers, strapped it to my hip, and starting at the trail entrance, began to walk slowly on the trail, swinging the brusher back and forth.
I immediately passed a 5 foot tall fireweed with husks of open seed pods, a closed seed pod zone, and finally the last pink flowers at the top of the plant. I love fireweed (Chamaenerion angustifolium). Four petals, perennial, tall, it is the calendar of summer in burned over areas, common in the high country. The first blooms are difficult to notice in early to mid-summer with all the other flowers, but late summer fireweed is a major show. The blooms begin at the lower portion of the inflorescence, above the spiral leaves that define the stem, and gradually continue moving upward to the top over several weeks. They become darker pink before turning into long, narrow dark pink seed pods. As summer progresses, the seed pods open in in a four-sided arc away from a common center to release the seeds, but not all at once. The inflorescence then becomes white with a tinge of gray. Each plant may produce thousands to tens of thousands of seeds that float in the air maybe a half hour, scattered to the four winds. “When you see cotton, summer will soon be forgotten.” I picked some leaves to take home to try to make fireweed tea. I made it on the Nahanni River in ’85, but then I just put a leaf in hot water, and it tasted like…hot water.
After brushing a couple hundred yards in an 80% burn with a few live trees, I entered a meadow that may have burned but recovered in the three years since the fire. I shut off the brusher. Others worked on the tread, just below the ill-defined summit of Little Bunchgrass Mountain at 5300 feet. I continued walking a couple hundred yards more until I reached a mostly burned over woods where more brush awaited me.
Just three days prior, 10-12 miles to the southeast, similar elevation, at Gold Lake Sno-Park, I reached up to grab a branch, pull it towards me, and cut it off. I was working a trail in preparation for winter recreation. There had been no recent fires in this area and was no fireweed. As I pulled the cut branch towards me, I noted two small cones together at the end, each maybe an inch long. I hadn’t seen that before. The needles, small and horizontal, were consistent with western hemlock (Tsuga heterophyyla). There were hemlock trees of all sizes here, tall, mature ones in the woods off trail, and on a winter trail that gets limited summer use, many smaller hemlocks, some only a foot or two high. The ground was mostly bare with dirt and some grasses, a bit eroded. The small hemlocks were left alone. They would be covered by snow in a few weeks and remain such for seven or eight months, especially on this north facing trail.
Back on Bunchgrass, I restarted the brusher and continued work until I ran out of gas. I then traded jobs with another, who ran the brusher while I swamped, meaning I raked behind him and also carried our packs and fuel forward so the person cutting carried no extra weight. Here, bear grass (Xerophyllum tenax) had long since bloomed, large, beautiful white flowers covering the landscape, each with a definite pungent odor. Brown, brittle stalks remained, easily removed, but the tough perennial grass itself would not be as easily removed, due to a thick rhizome. Only the last few inches of the thin, perennial portion was easy to cut. I felt sorry for the tread workers who had to remove in-trail bear grass. Their job was unusually difficult. Three of us brushing reached a rocky stretch after a mile, which was as far as we needed to go.
I carried the now quiet brusher back back to the vehicles, using the over the shoulder technique, although carrying it strapped on, like we use when we are working, is reasonable. I returned through the woods, full of fireweed in some spots where cutting it made look like it was snowing. Eventually, I reached the meadow, finishing a few minutes later. I had time before the others returned, so after changing footgear looked around, finding some yellow Scouler’s Woolyweed (Hieracium scouleri). I lay down for a few minutes noting the dramatically deep blue sky a quarter circle arc from the Sun. The variability of the intensity of blue in a clear sky is worth observing, especially at altitude. Something else caught my eye as I looked over at a group of surviving conifers.
There were several large cones at the top, easy to see, even from a distance, light brown, almost fluffy in appearance. They were Noble fir (Abies procera), and I had never seen the cones before. This was perfect habitat: decent moisture, good elevation, plenty of sunlight. Fireweed and fir; seeds and cones; the first will die off above ground and return the next year from the rhizome; both seeds will drop to the ground and start from there after a period of cold with moisture, cold stratification, required for germination.
Boreal B[l]og 
Leave a comment