Spring in Vancouver

After a seemingly never-ending slop of rainy days here in Vancouver, the rain continues. 

But something is different.

 

Poignant pink cherry and magnolia blossoms now boastfully, gaudily, proclaim the onset of spring. They know the rain can't hold out much longer. 

From the aspens above the cherries, Yellow-rumped "Audubon's" Warblers join the chorus of Black-capped Chickadees. Though the aspen flowers are not nearly as bright as the cherries, they make up for it in the bright-colored warblers that hang, ostensibly suspended by small insects, from their branches. 

After growing up in Michigan and going to college in Boston, one of the greatest things about living in Vancouver is getting a chance to view the new and different flora and fauna.

Except, most of the species are almost the same.

But not quite.

The Audubon's warblers that bedeck the nearby aspens look almost like the Myrtle warblers common in Michigan. But not quite. The throat color easily differentiates these two subspecies of the Yellow-rumped warbler

Yellow-rumped "Myrtle" Warbler. Magee Marsh, Ohio. 5/16/10

Earlier this winter, I saw some large green leaves poking their way up through the mud. Without even learning over, I could smell the fresh skunky smell. I thought I knew what they were. Skunk Cabbage, Symplocarpus foetidus. Seeing this familiar plant so far away from where I grew up, made me feel as though we were partners on this west coast adventure.

However, yesterday I was out walking, in the rain, of course, and I came upon the Skunk Cabbage plant again. Except now it was blooming, and it definitely wasn't anything like the plant of my youth. Large, resplendent yellow blossoms peered up from the soggy ground.

Lysichiton americanus. Vancouver, BC 

 These flowers are quite different from short, stocky, rotting-flesh-colored plants of the East:

Symplocarpus foetidus. Waterloo Recreation Area, Michigan.

These two species don't just look different, though. They also smell different. The yellow Lysichiton americanus flowers have a lovely, sweet smell, while Symplocarpus foetidus flowers smell like rotting meat. This noisome characteristic helps the flowers to attract and trick scavenging insects to pollinate it.

 However, the two plants also have similarities. Both have skunk-smelling leaves, and both have a flower with a club-shaped spadix peering out of its spathe, indicative of family Araceae.


However, not all organisms here look similar to those in the East.

 Some organisms common in the Pacific Northwest, indeed, could hardly be more different. None of Michigan's common ducks look anything like this.

Harlequin Duck
Bellingham Bay, WA
 4/1/17 

And while the skunk cabbage flowers taste very different here, I'm confident that the blueberries will taste equally sweet. Spring has barely begun, but I'm already excited for summer. 

Blooming Blueberry (Vaccinium) spp.
Vancouver, BC. 

Fjord Adventures

“Uhhh Harold… I think we have a problem.”

I raised my head in confusion, then opened my eyes. My friend Sean Stalhandske was pointing out the window. The glass revealed a breathtakingly beautiful sunrise over the central Norwegian mountains. 

Breathtakingly beautiful, and breathtakingly cold. Everything was white with snow.

I looked down at my legs. I was wearing shorts. Running shorts. I.e., they were quite short.

The view out the window and my attire didn’t seem to mesh well.

“Kinda snowy, isn’t it?” I glanced at my watch. “It’s 4:15 AM – we should be in Myrdal soon.”

Forty-six hours earlier, while on a Ferry in Holland’s North Sea, after about 30 minute’s rash deliberation, we had decided to go to Myrdal, Norway. Now, nearly 2000 kilometers later, we were nearly there.

A quick google images search had shown the Myrdal and Flam valleys as verdant waterfall wonderlands. The view we saw was more of the winter wonderland variety.

“Hmmm… What shall we do? We don’t have snow shoes…” Sean stated.

“Or a winter tent, or proper snow hiking boots.” I continued.

“Maybe we should go to the next stop?”

“I’ll ask the conductor what it is.” Sean went hunting for the ticket master, returning shortly.

“It’s called Voss.”

“It’s got a nice lack-of-snow sounding name to it. Well, shall we go there?”

“Let’s go – if it there’s less snow in Voss we can hike there.”

I concurred. 

The train slowed and we came into Myrdal Station. Everything was covered in snow, and the thriving metropolis of Myrdal turned out to be just one or two train station buildings. We continued on.

Less than an hour later we came into Voss, Norway. The trees had funny green things growing on them, unencumbered by snow.

“Looks good!”

We got off. It was 5:30 AM, and already the sun was high in the sky. Gotta love those northern latitudes. We repacked our bags, and surveyed our larder.

“How long do you think our food will last?”

“Well, you have a mango, so that will probably last for a week.” Sean had bought a (large) mango in Holland several days, and four countries, ago. He’d been waiting for a sunny and warm beach to eat it on. He was still waiting.

“Well, we have some beans, some corn, tortillas, peanut butter, granola, and trail mix.”

We’d been planning on buying food once we got to our destination in Norway, but something told me that nothing would be open this early.

“We’ll just have to see how long it lasts, I guess.”

“Where to?”

We had literally never heard of Voss, Norway until an hour ago. We knew we were somewhere between Oslo and Bergen, but that was about it. The closest thing we had to a map was the EU Rail map of Europe. Not exactly suitable for Backpacking.

“Well, I kinda like the looks of the pass over there. Might be something neat on the other side.” With this course in mind, we began our hike into the Norwegian woods. I soon saw a lifer Pied Flycatcher and a cachinnating magpie. I liked Voss already.

“Hey, look, it’s a sign. And it’s got a hiker on it. Let’s follow it!” What luck. We dutifully followed the sign and soon came to a beautiful waterfall, and climbed above it. Where would it lead next? Straight up, then to another sign.

“Whooaa – it’s a real trailhead!” After peering at the posted map knowingly for a bit, we finally figured out where we were. The trail seemed to branch a number of times and head to different locations. “Eh. We’ll figure it out.” We followed the trail – up – yet again.

We came to some sheep standing in the trail, and we vociferously conversed, or, rather, monologued. The ewe stared at us, nonplussed.  She finally shuffled to the side, dignified and flagrantly annoyed, accompanied by her offspring.

“Phew. Wasn’t sure we’d make it past her.”

Ahha. DAC_GLO!" I wasn't in Europe solely to wander around the continent arguing with sheep. My real mission here was to study invasive plant ecology for my undergraduate senior thesis. I was looking at plants that are native to Europe, but invasive in the US. DAC_GLO was my shorthand for Dactylis Glomerata, commonly known as Orchard Grass, and a common invasive grass in the US. I was happy to find it here -- making my whole Norwegian sojourn worthwhile. 

Dactylis Glomerata 

We came to a stream and Sean refilled his water bottle – there’s something deeply freeing about being able to simply drink straight out of a stream. And there certainly was plenty of water. The trees got smaller and sphagnum moss covered the ground. Or what passed for ground. The moss really just provided the façade of ground. It mischievously sat on top of a sort of muddy, watery glove that sought to ensnare our shoes. After several adroit snatchings, my shoes and feet felt like driftwood just before the wood manags to drift successfully to shore. Resigned, I plunged on happily. This is one of the benefits of backpacking in mere minimalist shoes. While water may enter them easily, it also leaves easily, and thus there’s none of that annoying squelchiness.

Then the moss was replaced by rocks, upholstered by a lively stream. “Is this a trail, or a river?”

“Both? Perhaps?” At least this water wasn’t muddy. I knew my shoes needed a proper bath soon.

Finally at a plateau on the side of the mountain, we dropped our packs and peered back from whence we’d come. The view was fantastic – Norway is a gorgeous country.

Startled at the lightness we felt at removing our packs, we pranced off with cheerful abandon to peer over the top of the ridge. When we got there, “But, what about the top of that ridge?” “Well, how about that one.” Two hours later we mounted the last ridge and stood on top of the mountain. 

Wow. Alpine lakes, high mountains, and deep fjords. What more could one want? Oh, how about a pair of Black Grouse? Ahh yes.

And a nap.