Death-camas

Death-camas, or plants of the genus Zigadenus, are a stunningly beautiful, deadly, and widely distributed group of plants. They were well known by Native Americans and settlers, but now they bloom silently on the hill that overlooks the paved and densely inhabited Mission district of San Francisco. 

One of the coolest things about this city for nature-lovers as myself is that many of the highest vistas of the City have been preserved as parks. And of those parks, a few have been preserved with the authentic plants, minerals, and soil that nature placed there over the millenia preceding European settlement. The City's wildlife has been removed or altered, either intentionally (probably, as in the case of grizzly bear and puma), or unintentionally (as in the tragic case of the Xerces blue butterfly, the last known individual of which was collected by a scientist wishing to assist the species, I've heard; this species also has the distinction of being the first extinction caused by development). 

Death-camas -- in some cases, even when it flowers -- looks very much like camas -- an edible species of a different genus Camassia. Another kicker is that they often grow together. Camas is (or once was) also a plant that enjoyed a widespread range in North America, making it a staple in the native diet. They say it tastes like a sweet potato.

Fremont's death-camas, Bernal Hill, March 2012.

 

The photo here was taken on Bernal Hill. A small population of Fremont's death-camas (Toxicoscordion fremontii) lies on the north-facing slope of the hill, which lines up directly with the street on which I live, South Van Ness Avenue. I was delighted to find it one day upon walking the hill in an area where I'd seen other natives in bloom in spring before. I returned as soon as I could in the following days, early enough for dew, with a tripod and fresh roll of film and did some shooting. 

Snow-kerchiefs

Another of the photos I took while x-c skiing in Kirkwood last month was the one here. I am not sure my vision will come through to others. To me, these branches being quickly covered by flakes falling in the windless sky resembled ladies at a wedding holding handkerchiefs and weeping out of joy. I thought, as I skied, of ways to extend this metaphor. Were the trees ecstatic at the sight of heavy snow at last? It had been a very dry winter up until now, and the system depends on long periods of snow cover. 

Snow-kerchiefs, Kirkwood CA, 2012.

Two nights ago, I spoke to some skiers who had just returned from Tahoe. They said it had snowed 72 inches in 48 hours where they were, but they were still pretty unimpressed with the warm conditions. They said it was "good spring skiing." This year was probably a rough one for season pass holders. 

Cow Parsnip Winter Blanket

What could those four nouns mean? Cow, Parsnip, Winter, Blanket...

I lucked out on finding a car seat to Tahoe with some friends a few weeks ago. I think I am finally on the very last "hurrah" or whatever of the cold that I caught while there, but it was still worth it. It was my first trip to an alpine winter since I turned 30... and that was long enough ago that it seems like a different lifetime. So my plan was to bring my x-c skis, cover some distance, and take in some scenery. I actually kind of forgot about the thin air that awaited me.

My friends hit the slopes at Kirkwood and I tromped off on the '80's-era ski package that I own. Since this is what I learned on, I guess it feels natural to still be skiing on this equipment.

Day 1 was wet and slushy. Not good. But still great to be on skis.

Day 2 dumped an untold amount of powder. It's shown in the weighty branches here. I had the trail to myself, except the snow-cat who was grooming it. I yielded to him several times.

I took in the thin mountain air on a 6-mile loop or so. I stopped on the return trail to snap a shot of this cow parsnip. Those are the two pale brown  flower stalks poking out of the snow. To take this photo, I had to side-step up a four-foot wall of packed powder, then use my skis more like snowshoes to float on about four feet of powder. Carrying a piece of photography equipment that you care about in such a situation is nerve-wracking, since when you fall, you are down for a while.

This is the dead flower stalk of a cow parsnip (Heracleum maximum), a plant favoring wet areas that seems to have a wide range in California. The plant was about twelve hours from becoming completely blanketed for the next several months. That fact, and the lighting in the mini-valley where it was situated, made it irresistible to photograph, as sketchy as it was to get there.

Cow Parsnip, Snow Dumping, Kirkwood, 2012.

Fetid Adder's Tongue

The plant Fetid adder's tongue (Scoliopus bigelovii) has a wicked name, straight out of a witches brew cookbook. The fetid comes from the foul smell of the flowers -- presumably to attract pollinating insects -- and the seed pods, which develop later, resemble a snake's tongue.

I first saw this plant almost a year ago with Catey on Mount Tam, along the Cataract Falls trail.  We noticed its basal leaf and seed pods, but no flower. The leaves are unmistakable - rich, smooth, deep green, mottled with reddish. It reminded me of trout lily from the woods of northern Illinois that is apparent this time of year.

Fetid adder's tongue, near Carson Falls, Marin Co., 2012.

This year we located the plant as it was flowering, in great abundance, along another wooded creek canyon in the Mt. Tam area -- along the Carson Falls trail.  We got to smell the unique odor that it puts off. As if seeing this amazing flower wasn't reward enough.