Azalea Creek at The Cedars; The Blob and Mule Trail.

 Looking East up the Azalea Creek drainage, following the abandoned mule trail.

The Cedars, the massive "island" of ultramafic rock (=serpentine) in NW Sonoma Co. California is a large place.  Further, the limited number of people who have had a chance to visit its amazing canyons, have generally only seen a small part of the place.  Typically we tour people around our Main Canyon parcel where the trails we constructed make the formidable terrain accessible.  Trails are unquestionably the easiest way to make the inaccessible, accessible, not to mention more enjoyable.

But for those who have visited before, our second favorite place to take them is Azalea Creek, the second largest drainage (watershed) within The Cedars.  Azalea Creek has some exceptional features, including the largest calcium carbonate formation at The Cedars and some of the most ancient old-growth Sargent cypress woodland (Hesperocyparis ((=Cupressus)) sargentii.)

 A view from across the canyon of The Blob, the largest calcium carbonate (travertine) feature at The Cedars. The creek runs diagonally across the picture but is hidden by the trees.

 View toward the central portion of The Blob in late afternoon light.

 

 In the center is a grotto like space, The Maw (sometimes called The Balcony), with its fanciful stalactite-edged hooded roof.

Another unique feature of Azalea Creek is the remains of a mule trail that accessed at least two mining areas in this watershed, this mining area being called the Yellow Streak Mine.  The Yellow Streak Mine is one of three chromite mines in The Cedars, the other two being in the Main Canyon (and known as the Rattlesnake Mine and The Slats).  But these later two mines had a road to take out the ore, and in East Austin Creek over the ridge, the magnesite mines there had a small gauge railroad to haul that out to civilization.  But in Azalea Creek they used a mule, and carved a route through the rocky slopes and talus to get to and from these mines.

Here, looking W down Azalea Creek, an early stretch of the mule trail can be seen carved into the cliffside in the center. It then passes through a woodland and re-emerges near the base of the orange toned hillside, not far above the vegetation near the bottom, but is not distinct enough to see clearly in this image. About half way across this relatively flat area the trail split; one branch heading down to the creek ultimately, the other climbing up to the right where a stretch is visible to the right of, and near the top of, the tall tree in the right corner. 

An approximation of the trail route is drawn in fuchsia below.

A stretch of the mule trail cut into rock; such areas tend to be the best preserved.

Here I am on the trail approaching the first of two mining areas.  Photo by David McCrory.

An interrupted sloping line across the center horizon shows portions of the trail, but in the gully it is completely gone; thus this is as far as most can get, as the drop off is precipitous.  To circumvent these washouts is very difficult and dangerous.  This photo by David is from down in the creek, and for scale, you might be able to make me out in the gully where the upper gullies converge.

 Ultimately the mule trail reached the upper canyons of Azalea Creek, which are deep and so narrow as to be very difficult to utilize for access. Thus the trail had to cut across some steep cliffs and talus slopes to get to the upper mining area, which would have been beyond the right edge of this picture.

 In this closer view the trace of the trail can be seen as a shallow diagonal across the center horizon of this picture - going from the spine of the ridge on the left side to the woods on the right side. The cliffs to the left of the spine have become so eroded, the trail is not only impassable, but it is hard to even find any remnant.

 As the trail continued up this canyon - the North Fork of Azalea Creek - it passed in and out of two wooded zones and then emerged (not visible here) from the center of the left side of this picture.  It then heads over to, and above the strange rock outcrop with the large white spot and continues beyond at the base of the rocks with the marble-cake like coloration.  These ochre colored bands are believed to be the 'yellow streaks" that gave the mine its name.

The terminus of the trail was this strange arcing cliff face about 12' high, with a shallow overhang, .  This area is to the immediate right of the previous picture.

 Looking W down Azalea Creek, Mohrhardt Ridge (not part of The Cedars) in the distance (bluish green).  The two previous pictures would be to the right of this view (though not immediately so), but this view includes about 90% of the mule trail.  The visible parts of the trail are drawn in fuchsia in the image below. The gaps in the center are where the trail is obliterated by erosion.

A picture drawn by a guest staying at the Berglund Ranch in 1948 (now Campbell Ranch) of A. L. Laton and his wife Wanda, riding home to Cazadero.  Laton was the operator of the chromite mines at The Cedars.  The mines were about 10 miles from Cazadero and even today in a car, it seems like a very long journey.

New Home Garden for Planet Horticulture

Forestville, Sonoma Co., CA

Gardens, like hope, spring eternal for those who are passionate about plants.
In mid-September 2010, we moved to Forestville in Sonoma Co. and immediately set out to create a new garden.
We cleared away the previous landscape as it had little interest for us, leaving only the paved back patio, raised vegetable bed and 7 plants.

View S from the downstairs, showing cleared back yard on September 17th.

Same view late December 2010.  This part of the garden is now essentially complete and waiting for warm weather to return for new growth. This part was relatively instantaneous, as most of the plants were in containers, and essentially were re-arranged in their new home.

SE corner of the back garden after clearing, mid September 2010.  The purple leaf plum, two Red Flame grapes and a crepe myrtle were left from the original landscape.

Same view as above in late December 2010.  As in the earlier pictures, the planted urns edge the pavement, but beyond, most of the plants are in the ground.  The largest urn, a tijana or olive oil jar from Portugal, creates a focal point from anywhere in the back garden.  Although it is hard to distinguish the individual plants, the plantings will form a woodland of palms, evergreen and deciduous trees and shrubs, large and small succulents with an herbaceous and bulb understory.  There is even a "secret" sitting area in the corner that a garden visitor can discover. (Note: the two sculptural urns and the chiminaria are lidded during winter to prevent them filling with water.)

Snow Melt Part 2; Released from refrigeration, spring flowers return.

Note: Suggest reading Part 1 first.

I often comment on how quickly spring wildflowers come and go here in the North Bay counties of California, but the low elevation progress of springtime is an eternity compared with the mountains.  Up there, plants may stay dormant under deep snowdrifts for many months and then suddenly one day they are out in full sun on an 80 degree (F) day!  This requires a quick response if the plants are going to complete their cycle of growth, flower and seed, especially if they are plants that require moisture and cool temperatures, as these mountains are hot and dry once the snow is gone.

 Toothwort, Cardamine species, sending up a flowering scape within a week after its deep snow cover has disappeared, even before the foliage appears.  Even though I thought I had focused a lot of attention in trying to figure out the names on our local toothwort species (see blog, "Cardamine Uncertainty" from earlier this year), this one also leaves me uncertain.  Probably a type of Cardamine pachystigma which is known from N of here at Plaskett Meadows.  However these plant have pure white flowers while C .pachystigma usually has pink or purple flowers.

The attractive toothwort (or milkmaids) foliage is thick, almost succulent, and is almost silvery on the upper surface while deep purple beneath.  Here it has emerged through a still flattened clump of  Eriogonum compositum, a large-leafed perennial "buckwheat" with huge creamy white flower heads (later of course).  Against the rock is Cheilanthes gracillima, a lovely evergreen fern that will curl up when dry in the summer.

On the rocks!  Here the Cardamine forms a loose colony amongst the fractured rock pieces.  These plants have relatively small flowers that open white and fade white.  Underneath this loose rock are stems, usually about 5 - 6" that connect to tubular strings of tubers.  Over time due to shifting rock, slides, fragmenting root pieces and so forth, sizable clonal colonies develop.

A gem of these high ridges is Purdy's fritllary, Fritllaria purdyi.  Similar in overall size to the talus fritillary in Part 1, these have greener leaves (but a dull grayish green), and the leaves are arranged in a cluster at the base and diminish quickly up the stems.

Fritillaria purdyi is well-known to native plant enthusiasts of the North Bay, and is often a "destination plant" for early spring field trips.  Especially for those who scour the serpentine barrens of Napa, Lake and Colusa Cos., this plant is always a joy to come across in flower.  While the majority of its sites at low elevation are on serpentine, especially in vernally wet swales and barrens, it also has an alternative habitat on the volcanics of The Palisades - in sight of my window as I type this (The Palisades, not the fritillary).  What it seems to want is relatively sterile soils that are wet in winter/spring, but go bone dry later.

A sweet plant however one looks at it, but fascinating in close up detail.  The tepals (petals and sepals that look alike, 3 each) are sort of thick and succulent, something like the base of a lettuce leaf.  Overall they are translucent, but with variable bronze marking zones, streak and spots.  Hints of green and gold also show through.

At low elevation, Purdy's fritillary flowers in March or early April, although as you move up in elevation it can sometimes be found in May.  On the high ridges of Hull Mt., especially Windy Gap, it is likewise early, but needs to wait until the snow melts.  But it doesn't wait long once the snow is gone.

Initially on opening they face down or outward, turning upward with age.

In distribution this bulb is usually relatively rare - maybe a dozen or two here and there, at most a hundred in one area.  Even on Windy Gap just N of Hull Mt., it needs to be looked for, although I saw at least several hundred plants - most not yet in flower.  Further to the N however there are gravelly ridges with many hundreds, probably thousands of bulbs in relatively small areas (acre or so).  Thus while the number of people who see them in the mountains is limited, the plants themselves are likely to be far more numerous up high than all the lower elevation sites combined.

Typically a plant of few flowers, most often 1-3, but rarely plants with as many as 8 may be found.

Looking down on the glossy backsides, here with a sizable bronze zone.

Clustering foliage at the bottom and flowers at the top.

Although nearly anyone who sees this plant would love to add it to their gardens, it is yet another native that just seems to be impossible to cultivate for any period of time.  While at UC Botanical Garden at Berkeley, we tried to grow populations from many elevations and locales, all without any success beyond a year or two.

And just one more picture before moving on...

As much of an uncertainty now as when I first saw it thirty years ago is another lovely Claytonia found on Hull Mt.  In Part 1 I discussed the lovely annual Claytonia saxosa, however this is a perennial species which forms a small round tuber about 3-4" deep.

This Claytonia  is probably C. lanceolata, the Western spring beauty, although there is not much lanceolate (lance-shaped) about it to my eyes.  Nor does it look anything like the illustration in the Jepson Manual (p.901).  However the description does say that it is variable, and I guess we have to go with that explanation.  On Hull and Windy Gap it is widespread in some areas just after snow melt, but disappears quickly as the heat sets in.

Moving from one uncertainty to the next, a real treat to come across are the dwarf mountain larkspurs in the genus, Delphinium.

This vivid purple-blue mini-larkspur takes a little longer to come up and flower, probably about 2 weeks or so after the snow disappears.  It is one of two possible species, but I didn't key it out when I was there; thus I can't say for sure.  It could be either Delphinium decorum ssp. tracyi, Tracy's larkspur, or D. antoninum, Anthony Peak larkspur, but it takes root characteristics to really separate the two.

The color seems especially vibrant against the gray rock talus.

The foliage is lovely too being nearly orbicular (round) but with deep divisions.  The foliage tips the scales for me in terms of which species this might be, being more reminiscent of the Anthony Peak larkspur, but it is only one character.

Close up of larkspur flower, the lower flower already passing.

Author employing old-fashioned collection notebook on scenic bluff.

A plant I must mention, even though it is not native to California, is a lovely mat forming member of the mustard family, Aubrieta deltoides.  What is special about this plant - and as far as I can tell it is only one plant - is that I first saw this on my first trip to Hull in 1981.  It is located at the base of the stairway up to the Hull Mt. lookout tower - although there are only piers left now where he fire lookout once stood.  I remember puzzling over its identity 30 years ago when a ranger came out of the lookout and she laughed and told me I would never figure it out because it was not native.  Apparently some early ranger - possibly trying to improve on nature - had thought it might grow there and "pretty up the place."  For better or worse, that person had a good horticultural sense as this plant has persisted for most likely close to a half century enduring intense wind, wind cold and summer heat and drought, to flower beautifully every spring.

What I found particularly interesting is that the plant is exactly the same size and the same stage of flowering as when I first saw it.  Imagine running into an acquaintance you haven't seen in 30 years who hasn't aged.  It is both comforting and disconcerting.  30 years erased in a flash of remembrance, the perfect end to a long day on Hull's mountain.

Last but not least, and the only plant I'll mention not from the summit ridges, is this lovely race of bowl tube iris, Iris macrosiphon.  Down around 5,000' elevation in the pine/fir woodlands, is this quite yellow form of this widespread and variable species - probably the yellowest it gets anywhere in its distribution.  Creamy forms are not uncommon, but seldom do they possess this strong a coloration.  In our area of the North Bay, blue, blue/purple or deep purple are the most common color forms.

  The variation and splendor of the California flora is always amazing, even after a lifetime of experiencing it!

Snow Melt on Hull Mountain; Fleeting Beauty Follows Vanishing Snow Beds. Part 1.

My first solo trip into the "wilds" of California - at least beyond the immediate Bay Area counties - was to a mountain in the North Coast Ranges named Hull Mt.  This was in 1981, and the destination had been suggested by the late Marshall Olbrich, original proprietor - with his partner Lester Hawkins, of Western Hills Nursery in Occidental in Sonoma Co.  Marshall had been there a few years prior with Nevin Smith, another now-famous name in California horticulture, who is currently an owner of Suncrest Nursery in Watsonville, Santa Cruz Co.  (Both Nevin and Marshall have way too many achievements in horticulture to go into here, but it was their trip to Hull that prompted my first adventure there.)

A view from about 6400' elevation on Boardman Ridge looking up toward the summit of Hull Mt., about 6,850'elev.  A road cuts across to the upper left where it goes over a saddle; but on this weekend of 19 June 2010, it was stilled blocked by deep snow drifts.

 Hull Mt. is located at 039degrees31'19.36"N and 122degrees 58'08.27"W.  It is named for an early settler of Sacramento in the mid 19th century, James Hull.  Hull had a hunting cabin on the mountain, but was found mauled to death, presumably by a grizzly bear.  There is a site (place name) on the topographic sheet of this area named Hull's Grave, which I located back in 1981, marked by the rotting timbers of a large cross.  Even today with our road system and macho vehicles it is a long tiring journey from Sacramento to Hull Mt.; it is hard to imagine the arduousness and perils of such a journey back in the 19th century.

Looking out to the SSW from the bluff at 6,400'; the small city of Ukiah in Mendocino Co. would be in the distant valley of the upper left section of the picture.

The view from the same bluff looking SE toward the rambling multiple summits of Snow Mt. (with snow).  On the horizon ridge to the N of Snow Mt. is the conical silhouette of St. John Mt. and N of that Sheetiron Mt.  To the S of Snow Mt. is Goat Mt.  These are all some of the S-most peaks of the North Coast Range above 6,000 feet.  The montane chaparral here is predominantly huckleberry oak, Quercus vaccinifolia and green-leaf manzanita, Arctostaphylos patula.

On the N side of the pass or saddle of Hull Mt. the snow banks were still 25' deep in some areas where winter snow drops heavily and shadows prevent melting until June or even July.  The dense conifer woodland here is mostly red and white firs (Abies magnifica shastensis and A. concolor).

Although I had returned to Hull Mt. and environs several times in the 80's, it was always with other people, usually on long road trips where we passed through quickly with only brief stops to photograph or collect seed.  Thus I had a yearning to go back and re-visit on a personal journey, maybe even re-discover some of that excitement of seeing it for the first time.  In this regard, I was not disappointed.  The road system was even more confusing than I remembered and the road was certainly in even worse state of disrepair than that first trip when I was sure I was going to ruin my car.  Even with a 4WD truck today, I had the same thoughts on this journey.  But, as usual, I made it up to near the summit before being stopped by snow, and, as usual, the best part of the trip began after getting out of the vehicle.

Although the presence of the snow meant hiking beyond my camp, it meant I was here at the perfect time to see the brief beauty of snow melt plants  in flower.  The first 'beauty" I came across was a plant I had first seen here at Hull in 1981, Fritillaria glauca, the talus fritillary.  It was as beautiful as I remembered.

Talus fritillary, Fritillaria glauca, an exquisite member of the Lily Family, growing out of deep loose talus chips. The paired silver gray glaucous foliage - thus the "glauca" in the species name - is nearly identical to some tulip (genus Tulipa) species.  If you were to turn the flower upward, the resemblance is ever more compelling.

The flower color of talus fritillary is mostly a bronzy purple-brown, or sometimes with more golden color on the inside giving an tawny-orange.  There can be pure golden yellow flowers on some, though rare here, and none were seen on this trip.

Fritillaria glauca is restricted to Northern California and southern Oregon, though I have seen it almost exclusively in the North Coast Ranges (as opposed to the Klamath region).  It is only 4 or 6" tall and is easy to overlook, but is almost always on the N side of a ridge or peak, in what are called "snow beds", those areas where snow lingers the longest.  While some plants are solitary, most form small colonies, the largest colonies can be 12" across.

 On some flowers the petals seem to flare back more than others, although it is possible that this feature is merely an older flower, it is hard to determine being there only such a brief moment in time.  These sites tend to be extremely windy and it could simply be a flower blown open by the wind.

In the evening light the sun shines into the flowers giving them even more radiant beauty.

Another jewel of a plant is an annual in the Portulaca family (Portulacaceae) called Claytonia saxosa.  Those in some parts of the country know the genus Claytonia as spring beauty; here in the West, we mostly know them as miner's lettuce (Claytonia perfoliata)  or a variety of other short-lived annuals and perennials.  Two common annuals in our part of CA, found mostly on rock faces, talus and ledges are Claytonia exigua and C. gypsophiloides, both which have sea-anemone-like foliage and tiny white, pink or pink-stenciled flowers.  However both can occur in such numbers during late winter or early spring to be quite colorful and lovely, C. gypsophiloides being the showiest due to its larger and more numerous flowers and the brilliant satiny reflective quality of the inner petals. 

Although I love seeing our low elevation species of Claytonia, there is something unexpectedly fresh and fun about C. saxosa.  It also grows in masses on rock talus and rubble, a habitat seemingly inhospitable to a tiny annual, as the soil may be 4-8" below where the plant appears.  If one moves the rocks aside, you see that while the ball of foliage and flowers appears on tops of the loose rocks, there is a thread of root that travels through the soil-less rock pieces until it hits real soil down below.

I first came across this in the evening when the flowers were closed for the day, but just the red ball of condensed foliage, bracts and buds was gorgeous.  This plant is about 2" in diameter (5cm).  The foliage initially is a greenish gray, but with the intense sun quickly turns red or pink, making these tiny annuals stand out from the barren rock slides.

Nestled in its bed of rock fragments, the plant seems to appear almost instantaneously after snow-melt, ready to flower and set seed almost immediately - the whole life cycle probably occurring in less than 3 weeks.  Once in flower, the plant has a semi-succulence that permits it to ripen seed even if broken  off of its roots.

Once morning comes, the pink/red ball of foliage becomes a ball of flowers.  This area has been free of snow for about a week.  (The other plants are the prostrate Lupinus albifrons v. collinus on the left and a single leaf of Fritillaria glauca on the right.)

The extensive gravel "pavements" of some of these montane ridges can have thousands of these tiny plants such as here at Windy Gap just N of Hull.

The expression, "Cute as a button" comes to mind often with this species.

The next species is a widespread spring perennial of many habitats, but when it grows at snow melt, it is yet another plant, quite unlike what I see regularly at low elevation.  This species is Western buttercup, Ranunuculus occidentalis, in the Buttercup Family, Ranunculaceae.  When I was first seeing this back in 1981, the high montane forms were given a varietal name, var. ultramontanus, which is no longer recognized (as distinct from the species), but which, given its unique gestalt, is at least a good label for this expression.

Just a few days, maybe only one, since the snow departed, and the flattened vegetation sprouts relatively large showy buttercup flowers well in advance of its foliage.  The grass is Danthonia unispicata(?).

Close up of several flowers and the silky foliage just starting to expand from the ground.  Eventually this will produce a stem over 1' tall and branched, much like the typical species.  But at this stage it resembles some of the butercups that are totally restricted to snow beds, such as Ranunuculus eschscholtzii of the mountains of Western N America.

Part 2 will feature another fabulous Fritillaria.

 And goodbye to our lovely Fritillaria glauca.