Field Notes

Sitting on the shores of Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park last fall, gazing up at the surrounding hillside, I was struck by a unique mosaic of golden splendor against the evergreen background. The largest of its species, the western larch, Larix occidentalis , is indeed a unique kind of tree.

Soaking up some September sun, I was perched on a rocky outcrop of Wild Horse Island in Flathead Lake. The sweet vanilla scent of Ponderosa pine permeated the air as I watched gulls flying overhead. I sat quietly on a large boulder and waited for the residents of this island ecosystem to resume activity as if I were not there. Across the small gully on the next rocky hilltop, a single female deer grazed in the shade of a pine. By the black tip on the end of her tail, I was able to identify her

I’ve always been impressed by survivors, especially here in the arid, unforgiving West. No species better demonstrates this survival instinct for me than does the lowly Artemisia tridentata , better known as big sagebrush. And few other species come as close to communicating such a significant part of the nature of the landscape.

I feel the stress from the week lift off my shoulders as I breathe in the scent of ponderosa pine. Today, I have no papers to write, tests to take, or meetings to attend. This is my time to relax in the Montana wilderness. Even though I know that spending time in nature always makes me feel better, I don’t always take the time to immerse myself in it. And I’m not the only one. It seems fewer people escape from the human world while, ironically, more and more research reveals time spent in nature

Recently, the work of lichenologist Toby Spribille, a research professor based part-year at the University of Montana-Missoula, has upended the idea that lichen are an alliance between just one fungus and one algae. In many lichens, a mysterious yeast is the third player in this symbiosis.

It felt like the perfect spot to see some wildlife. So I plopped down in the sun-soaked grasses among the widely scattered ponderosa pines and waited. I was squinting, or possibly had my eyes closed, and when my vision came back into focus I saw a visitor. One of the most creative, silent and lethal predators of the natural world was directly in front of me.

We were making our way down the Bitterroot River. I said to Chinook: “I’ll be Lewis; you can be Clark.” Then I reconsidered. “We’ll both be Sacagawea – since, historically, probably more than one Indian woman filled that role.” Chinook wasn’t listening. He was working hard to plow through water up to his belly and keeping an eye out for fish.

Winds lash the peaks. Snow pelts the ridges almost every month of the year. The warmest average monthly temperature is a mere 50 degrees F. The conifer forests of the high Northern Rockies appear hunched, twisted and bent. In fact, there’s a word for the dwarf form of subalpine tree species which in other environs would grow tall and straight: “krummholz,” which translated from German means “crooked wood.” On a sunny late summer day, it’s hard to imagine the forces often hammering the subalpine

The bark of any tree is more than just a good-looking façade. Even the most graceful aspen or stately ponderosa requires bark to protect its sensitive inner flesh from disease, parasites, and other environmental stresses, such as fire. Much like our skin, this outer layer is a necessity to protect the biological functions occurring within its protective covering.

Wish I may, wish I might…see a shooting star tonight. If increasing your chances for wishing on a falling star sounds appealing, then circle the nights of August 11th and 12th on your calendar and make a big list of wishes – for this is the peak of the Perseid meteor shower , when it’s possible to see a hundred meteors an hour. In fact, for 2016, a meteor “outburst” is predicted, which means that if you’re able to watch after moonset, from midnight till dawn on August 12, you could see as many