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Story, Photos & Art by Chris CzajkowskiLooking southwest from my cabins I can see a mountain topped by a remarkably flat plateau (there's actually a kilometre-long lake on it). At one end of the plateau, two conical peaks arise, and in between them is a high, alpine valley. The valley is just inside the southern tip of the Tweedsmuir Provincial Park in British Columbia's Central Coast Range. There is no road to it, or fly-in lake closer than my own, and it takes about five hours to reach it from my home.
TOP Bluffs and lake in the un-named valley, September.
LEFT Sketch of the "mystery' saxifrage from the field notebook. pen & ink & watercolour
Half the journey can be executed by canoe. My lake is known for its winds - I call my ecotourism business the Nuk Tessli Alpine Experience because the West Wind, nuk tessli in the Carrier language, dominates the place. Trees all lean one way, and at times I simply sit and endure while terrible storms scream through the pines and pound at the gable end of my home. Any trip up the lakes must be timed to dodge the worst of nuk tessli's tantrums, especially when canoeing alone, but on the 29th of August, even by leaving at sunrise, I still had quite a fight before I, my two pack dogs, and gear for a two-night camp arrived at the head of the water stretch of the journey.
Still, the wind had veered a point or two from that of the previous day, the cloud was breaking into long slabs split by rich chunks of blue, and the brisk breeze blowing in my face would ensure that the bug irritation would be kept to a minimum.
RIGHT: Potentilla sp.
There is no real trail to the un-named valley, but most of the hiking is through open, subalpine meadows and reaching the tree-line is comparatively simple. The final hour of the journey crosses a flat area of krumholtz, dotted with little lakes, over-looking the 4,000m summits of the spine of the Coast Range, then climbs a short way up a roaring creek, complete with a little waterfall, which, on this trip, was still partially buried in snow.
Another flattish area beside another small lake above the waterfall provides one of my favourite camping spots in my region.
The un-named valley is north-facing and permanently snow fed; it also boasts one of the furthest west remnants of volcanic rocks mixed in with the coastal granite, and thus is a paradise for alpine plants. Close to the tent site are a few specimens of Gentianella tenella. When I last looked, the Victoria Museum's herbarium had catalogued only two specimens from British Columbia, one from Mt. Fairweather on the Alaskan border, and one which was actually Gentianella amarella. If any readers can inform me of other sites, outside Alaska, of this species I would be very interested to know of them.
A dominant plant in the area, which had finished blooming already, is the creeping azalea Loiseleuria procumbens, and another floral gem, reached by a further hour and a half hike around the western flank of the largest of the twin peaks, is the dwarf form of the alpine monkshood, Aconitum delphinifolium, the only location that I know of for this plant.
LEFT: silky phacelia Phacelia sericea
But the main ecological feature of this little valley is a series of bluffs sheltered from the afternoon sun and permanently moistened by a corniced snowbank that lies high against the steep flank of the largest of the two conical peaks. The bluffs are only about a kilometre upstream from the campsite, but I packed for a long day - substantial lunch, camera and sketchbook - and prepared to indulge myself in an orgy of guache & watercolour & chalk pastels botanizing. The bluffs tumble into yet another small lake, which was still frozen, but most of the head of the valley is filled with a larger lake containing a few chunks of ice broken off from a small glacier that plunges into the water at its southern end.
The rocks on the bluff are not difficult to climb but do require a certain amount of scrambling; wet knees and elbows are inevitable as one contorts one's body around the sodden mossy rocks to get just that right angle for a photograph.
There is something very magical about the way small, often large-flowered and brilliantly-coloured plants find succour in such a harsh-looking environment. These particular bluffs are a veritable garden of delights, containing an impressive variety of species, many uncommon, grouped in ways that would make a landscape gardener green with envy.
One of the more vivid plants on the bluffs is the old favourite, moss campion Silene acaulis. Its densely pink-flowered cushions grow in the most extraordinary places, often hanging onto vertical rockfaces. They favour drier eco-niches, as do the
gorgeous ultramarine trumpets of the alpine hairbell Campanula lasiocarpa and the vibrant, deep purple bottlebrushes of the silky phacelia, Phacelia sericea. It was a poor year for Penstemon procerus, but a good one for the mountain goldenrod Solidago multiradiata. The inky gentian Gentiana glauca (very common throughout my area) and felwort Gentiana propinqua (much rarer here) prefer damper, rather peaty conditions and, buried in the shady, wet gravel pockets can be found the pygmy buttercup, Ranunculus pygmaeus. Apart from one tiny group under a damp, north-facing boulder beneath a cornice, on a completely different mountain, I know of no other location for this plant.
RIGHT: unidentified Saxifrage sp.
Where the creeks and rills trickle and dribble over the rocks, the striking purple saxifrage Saxifraga oppositifolia grows. Often the plants themselves are dripping with water. Their curiously telescoped foliage can be seen in only two other locations in my area; it is very common in limestone soils, but it doesn't like granite. Other wet-loving saxifrages include S. punctata, S.debilis, S. mertensiana, S. ferruginea, and the ubiquitous S. lyalli and S. tolmeii. On the drier rocks, S. bronchialis and S. cernua find footholds. Then there is a curious little saxifrage I have not been able to identify. I thought at first it was a stunted specimen of S. lyalli, the red-stemmed saxifrage, for the leaves appear to be similar, but I have since found it a number of times and it is always very small, only about 3 cm high, and the blossoms, which are usually pinkish, grow in a dense, raggedypetalled ball. The petals in fact are often barely there. It likes very wet feet and much shadier conditions than S. lyalli.
Frequently mixed in with S. punctata, and bearing leaves that are hard to distinguish from it, is that creamy gem of drippy wet areas, the mist maiden Romanzoffia sitchensis. But higher up, where the steepness eases, a few scattered specimens of another mystery plant has revealed itself over the years. It would seem to be a potentilla, but, although it is superficially similar to Potentilla villosa, which is common here, likes drier rocks, and has already finished flowering by late July, I have come to the conclusion that it is a different species. It is less robust, always flowers later, it likes quite wet sites, the flowering stalks are negligible so the blossoms are practically buried in the leaves, and the colour is much paler. I know that colour is not a reliable guide, to identifying plants, but this damp-loving species is consistently that way. As it often grows not more than a metre away from P. villosa, the two plants are easy to compare.
I'm not an advanced enough botanist to sort out such a difficult genus on my own. Has anyone any ideas?
LEFT: alp lily Lloydia serotina
I have explored these bluffs a number of times, including during the fall when the dwarf willows and huckleberries paint a vivid palette of colour over the rocks, but there are always new surprises. This time it was a barely noticeable plant that had finished flowering and was manifest by two shrivelled hair-like leaves and a single three-part seedhead on a 4 cm stalk. I found a grand total of three specimens scattered on three tiny ledges, but knew at once what it must be. I have never come upon it in it's non-flowering state before, and have seen it bloom only rarely as it's flowering time is early and fickle: many years it makes no showing at all. I once found a crop nodding on a grassy slope in the wind on the far side of the conical peak, so it's advent was not too surprising here although the shadier, wetter location was unusual - it was Lloydia serotina, the alp lily.
That evening, in camp, I had a marvelous display of clouds mixing up with the glacier-hung peaks across from the little lake. Strong shadows vied with searchlight gleams of sun, and pale, dragging fingers of hail showers hid, then revealed various parts of the landscape. Unfortunately, an errant cloud came my way and its attendant precipitation drove me early into the tent; I was perfectly comfortable inside and could hear no falling water when I woke, but getting out of the tent posed a problem. A thin covering of slushy snow had frozen as the temperature had dropped, and the zipper was iced shut. But by dint of a lot of heavy breathing I was able to crawl into the day and the reward was a spectacular morning of pink, newly painted peaks floating on pale mists, all reflected in the lake before my tent.
The photographs of the trip would not be developed for weeks - I must rely on a very slow mail delivery for such services but I had a nice collection of sketches to work with. I had two more free days before some clients arrived and looked forward to translating some of the sketches into paintings which would be a wonderful way to relive my day of botanizing on the rocks.
Chris Czajkowski: Moss campion Silene acaulis in habitat. Guache & watercolour & chalk pastels.
Chris Czajkowski has written several books describing her two decades of living in the mountains. She operates the Nuk Tessli Alpine Experience for hikers and naturalists from the three cabins she built alone on a high-altitude, fly-in lake just east of British Columbia's Tweedsmuir Provincial Park. Chris is Wildflower's Field Editor for the Central Coast Range. Her latest book Spotted Dick: Letters from a Wilderness Dweller, Harbour Publishing, is just published. For more information, write to her at Nimpo Lake, BC, VOL IRO.
Do no dishonour to the Earth
lest you dishonour the spirit of man.
Hold your hands out over the Earth
as over a flame.Henry Neston, The Outermost House, 1928
For further information:
Write - Chris Czajkowski, Nuk Tessli Alpine Experience, Nimpo Lake, BC VOL IRO, Canada
Phone: Summer - 250 742 3222. Winter - 250 476 1171.
E-mail nuktessli@lincsat.com
