It seems like all of a sudden it is the end of July.  The fireweed started blooming about a week ago, marking the height of summer.  Some days, when it’s rainy and cold for days on end, I have to remind myself that it is actually the middle of summer.  Sunny days are like gold here, where everyone tries to take full advantage of them and they are not taken for granted.  The other day I heard the wind blow through the aspens and they seemed to say that fall is drawing near.  The seasons go so quickly in Southcentral Alaska, it’s astounding.  These urgent reminders of time passing are also reflected in the plants which seem to appear full grown suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere.  I try not to feel anxious, but these signs tell me that our seed gathering season is right around the bend and it will be go time any day now.

This past month has been a crash course into the native flora of the Chugach National Forest on the Kenai Peninsula.  I’m pleased with the amount I’ve learned over the past two months, and grateful to get to know an area through this lens.  I remember when I got here in the end of May, I maybe recognized three to five plants.  Now when I walk through the forest I see dozens of familiar faces.  The list of ~30 priority plant species along with their Latin names that our mentor Peter handed us the first week sent my mind spiraling at the time.  Now my co-intern, Sam, and I are using their latin names left and right as we hunt for good patches of them to harvest from, map their size and location, and dig voucher specimens to help confirm the ID of the plant before putting in an herbarium later on.

At first, Peter, our mentor, wanted us to simply become familiar with the plants and ecological makeup of the region and so we utilized a combination of identifying plants through iNaturalist, an Alaska Wildflowers plant app, and keying them out with local floras (especially the grasses and sedges).  Hands on experience makes such a difference in this step.  Initially, I researched plants on our priority species list online before we went out and found them in the field.  This type of memorization is quite taxing and not incredibly effective, though.  Although not for the first time, I was reminded that that something special happens when you get to know a plant in person within its native habitat.  A special type of memory and recognition lodges deep within the heart when I meet a plant in person that I cannot receive by putting information into the memory bank in my mind through a book or computer alone.

Valeriana capitata, Capitate Valerian.  Vibernum edule, Highbush Cranberry.  Elliottia pyroliflora, Copperbush.  Arinica latifolia, Broadleaf Arnica. Eriophorum angustifolium, Tall Cottongrass. Aconitum napellus, Monkshood. Delphinium glaucum, Sierra Larkspur. Heuchera glabra, Alpine Alumroot.

I’ve been quite astounded by one of the first plants I noticed in Alaska.  When I arrived here in the end of May, just as the plants were beginning to grow, there was an odd thick green pad growing from a woody, spiny stalk at about the height of my knee.  It surprised me, as it almost looked like a cactus.  I was very drawn to it and intrigued.  Once it started growing past it’s sprouting/reawakening stage, this plant transformed completely, growing broad wide leaves larger than dinner plates, with incredibly spiny stalks that pushed up 7-8+ feet above the ground with a wing span beyond 10ft in diameter.  I began noticing this plant everywhere, and later realized what a prevalent species it is to the region, abundant in almost every understory.  I very quickly learned that the common name for this plant is Devil’s Club, due to the large spines that cover the stalks and leaves of this plant. With a latin name of, Oplopanax horridus, both of its names are teaming with intimidation.  But despite the evil connotations embedded within its names, I have come to respect this plant deeply, due to its resilience, abundance, and formidable nature. 

Additionally, I’ve come to appreciate this plant the more I learn about its ecological functions and healing properties.  Although the berries are toxic to humans, they are an important food source for bears.  This is true to the extent that bears, more so than birds, have been found to have the greatest impact on spreading the seed of devil’s club, in turn affecting its population size and prevalence across the landscape.  The plant is also said to grow in areas that have been disturbed by humans, especially those impacted by logging.  Indigenous and local people utilize the stem and the root of this plant medicinally.  It is said to have a wide range of potent healing properties, including a strong anti-bacterial and anti-inflammatory.

Because we are working to restore a riparian area and build several wetland areas, the primary species we are looking to gather seed from are also riparian and wetland species.  This includes many sedges and grasses, a couple rushes, and a few forbs.  Thus, as a side effect of trying to find and identify the primary species on our list, my co-intern, Sam, and I have grown an unexpected love for sedges over the past month.  Upon first glance, sedges aren’t as wow-ing as wildflowers or trees.  But needing to utilize a microscope to key out these special plants has deeply developed our appreciation and admiration for these special plants.   

First off, sedges are incredibly unique and gorgeous on a microscopic level.  Their reproductive structures, otherwise known as the perigynia, are full of trichomes throwing light every which way and creating brilliant hues of subtle earthen colors.  The perigynium, which encapsulates the seed, often has a beak coming off of it, from which the stigma emerges.  The stigmas are also beautiful and feather-like.  Some sedges have bisexual flowers and others have unisexual flowers, giving them vastly different and interesting appearances.  Lastly, sedges, obviously, have edges, which never cease to amaze me with their triangular stem shape.

Sedges are also important to the greater ecological function of an environment.  First, sedges are an important source of food for many animals in the area including bears, muskrats, mountain goats, musk oxen, geese, ducks, and insects.  Sedges also provide crucial transitional habitat in the zone between aquatic and terrestrial environments and important nesting habitats for geese, waterfowl, raptors and songbirds, as well as habitats for macroinvertebrates.  Some species provide important habitat and food for salmon.  In additional to being a pillar of the food web and providing critical habitat, sedges also are important to warding off erosion, stabilizing riparian banks, and filtering out toxic material from the water.  They remove pollutants and sediments from the water, improving its quality.  Two of the sedges we are gathering the seed from – Carex lenticularis and Carex aquatilis – have been identified as an early plant successional stage plants.  They are also deemed pioneer species of exposed mineral substrates that will persist indefinitely once established and limit the presence of other species.

The last plant that I want to highlight is another one that is on our list of priority species to gather seeds from. It has been interesting getting to know, within the broad category of riparian species, some more specific aspects and niches that certain plants prefer. This particular plant that I’ve been especially drawn to is named Angelica lucida, or Seacoast Angelica.  It is a species that is native to this region but present only in certain areas.  The first few weeks I didn’t see any.  Then, one day when I was working alone and Angelica was on the top of my list of plants I wanted to find that day.  During the middle of the day, I decided to sit down at a picnic table next to a lake to have lunch.  I had been hiking around all morning, identifying and mapping plant populations near Trail River, finding interesting plants, but no Angelica.  Then, as I sat at the picnic table, I happened to look over and there was one lone Angelica lucida standing regally in front of a tree.  It almost felt like a joke or a beautiful coincidence, or something in between. And although I took pictures to confirm with my mentor when I got back, I had a deep surety that this was the plant I’d been looking for.

I have to say, I love it when this happens.  When you’ve been looking for a plant for a while, one you’ve never seen before, you don’t know exactly what it looks like but once you finally stumble upon it there comes a deep surety, a deep knowing, bordering on intuition, that you’ve found it.  I’ve since found this plant in select areas but it has definitely increased in quantity as the season has progressed.  It seems to prefer a little bit more of either alpine conditions or proximity to seacoasts.  I later found out that this plant also has strong medicinal qualities including being a strong antibacterial, digestive, and stimulant to the circulatory system. 

As the blueberries begin to ripen here on the Kenai Peninsula, we are hastily mapping out as many populations of our priority species as we can before the seeds are ready.  Based on phenology and timing of harvest last year, it seems the lupine will be the first that we will harvest, starting as soon as the end of this week.  I presume we will then enter into a frenzy period where we will harvest as much as quickly as possible before the dormant period hits.  I foresee quite a bit of harvesting during the next month, both in and outside of work.  As the grass and sedge seeds ripen, so will the blueberries, salmonberries, nagoon berries, highbush cranberries, bunch berries, raspberries, and watermelon berries.  Additionally, salmon fishing is in full swing here on the Peninsula, and I hope to harvest some of those as well.  This next month is going to be a very wild and busy time, as we try to soak up the last strong rays of that warm golden light, and bask in the abundance that is so prevalent in Alaska this time of year!

The primary goal I came into this internship with was to delve deeper into the role that native seed systems are playing within the greater context of restoration efforts both in Alaska and in the greater US.  Investigating various types and methods of restoration has been of central focus of my work and studies for a while now.   Over the past couple years I’ve been curious about what native seeds systems look like on the ground, how people are implementing them, and how they are building them out.  Personally, I can’t help but think at the systems level; a wide angled, zoomed out view of the integrated whole.  Therefore, when I’m learning small details I tend to draw them to the larger context to make sense of them within the greater whole.  Therefore, within the subject of native seed systems, I’m constantly thinking about how they play into greater restoration projects and methods, and how they fit within some of the most pressing global issues of our time like climate change, widespread extinction rates, and deeply embedded social injustices. 

I was able to steep within these questions and contexts during the first couple of weeks of my internship.  My position is based in the Chugach National Forest in Moose Pass, AK, and I work out of the Kenai Lake Work Center.  The setting is quite stunning: old rugged snow capped mountains that fall into the sea.  The interior of the Kenai Peninsula is dappled with many alpine lakes, most of aqua hue.  Some of the rivers run the same color.  I arrived in time to see the snow still reigning in the alpine areas (over 800 inches fell here last winter) and exactly as the red salmon began to run.  As I write now, two weeks later, it is the day after the summer solstice and everything has awakened and is thirsting for life.  Since the summer seasonal window is so much shorter here than the lower 48, the summers really come in a burst of life that makes you come fully and wildly alive too.  I feel like a child again, refusing to sleep because I don’t want to miss a thing.

The history of this place, and context of the restoration project where our seed collecting efforts are being funneled, are wrapped within the raw elements that initially formed this unique environment and make this area so awe-inspiring.  65 million years ago when the Kenai Mountains were formed, gold formed load deposits within the rocks during its crystallization.  Due to the weathering and then the glacial formation about 2 million years ago, the gold was further dispersed.  When the glaciers melted, starting about 12,000 years ago and continues to accelerate today, streams especially reworked and uncovered the dispersed placer gold, or gold that has been separated from sand or gravel due to erosion and weathering.  The seemingly disconnected presence of gold on the Kenai Peninsula is the underlying impetus for our seed gathering this season.  This is because our seed collection is for a riparian restoration project on US Forest Service land that is within an active mining claim.

The site of the mining and restoration project is on Resurrection Creek on the Northern coast of the Kenai Peninsula, just outside of a small town called Hope, AK.  This river runs into the sea at the Turnagain Arm and is critical spawning and rearing habitat for a keystone species of this region: salmon.  Chinook, coho, chum, and pink all used to run this river.  But during the gold rush of the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, miners significantly altered stream channels and wetlands of the creek to the extent that it decimated salmon habitat and populations there.  In the early 2000’s, the first USFS restoration project on this mining claim, referred to as “Phase I” took place.  This portion of the project restored a 1.5 mile stretch of the creek to mimic a more natural flow by digging new stream channels which meander, creating pools and side channels, as well as ponds and wetland areas with the intent to create an environment where salmon can run, rest, and spawn once again.  The results were quite successful and almost immediate.  A year afterward, Chinook salmon numbers increased six-fold, and have only continued to increase. Pink and chum salmon have also returned.  During Phase I of this project, the area was largely allowed to revegetate naturally, alongside some monitoring and minimal necessary treatments towards more aggressive invasive plant species that arose.  Twenty years after the implementation of Phase I, the restoration of the riparian native plant community has been largely successful, alongside the restoration of the salmon.

The project that our seed collection efforts this summer will be contributing to is the second portion of this restoration project along Resurrection Creek, deemed “Phase II.”  This phase is an additional 2.7 miles of stream downstream from Phase I to be restored in a similar manner and for the same purposes.  The only difference this time is that this project must be done by standards set by the Army Corp of Engineers.  Due to these standards, the USFS is required to revegetate the restoration area with a certain percentage of wetlands and needs to achieve 75% vegetative cover in the restoration site within 5 years. Given the barrenness of the site and quality of ground material present there now, this seemed like quite a lofty goal to me.  But with all challenges acknowledged, these are where our efforts come in. 

The first day I went to the site, I couldn’t believe how devoid of life it felt and looked, nor the enormity of the project.  Although the force and beauty of the river were present and its wildly meandering movement had been restored, the barren, compact gravel substrate covering the river’s banks and flood plains following its reconstruction made my stomach churn.  It was a gray moonscape, without a drop of green.  We walked the site and saw where the future river would flow.  Not only were enormous amounts of earth and rocks being moved and molded, but we walked down the restoration site for maybe about a mile and it seemed to stretch on and on.  It was truly incredible the lengths to which this project is going to restore habitat for salmon, as well as other species.   My advisor, Peter, pointed out areas of vegetation downstream filled with native riparian species, like horsetail, that we could salvage out of the future river’s path to be transplanted in areas where they could continue to thrive if the transplanting worked.  The project was exciting, interesting, and complex, but needless to say, it felt quite daunting.  This was our garden, but instead rich topsoil, we had nutrient poor gravel and instead of well versed cultivars, we had particular, finicky, yet resilient wild seeds and transplants.

Later that week, Peter and I took two trips to Anchorage to pick up over 7,000 native plant starts to be planted at the restoration project this summer.  These were grown from the seeds that Chicago Botanic Garden interns had collected the previous season here in the Chugach.  The transplants were grown by the Soil and Water Conservation Districts centralized in Anchorage.  When we arrived to pick up the plants, it was a circus of volunteers carrying large flats of plants you usually don’t see grown as plugs.  The regular gardener might not have been very impressed as many of the plants weren’t as showy as you usually expect to see grown in a cultivated manner.  But to the seasoned eye, this was something extra special.  Native sedges and grasses that are particular and finicky about their growing conditions and habits were big, bushy, and beautiful.  Carex mertensii, carex aquatalis, carex canascens; flats of sedges that you typically only see growing in the wild, had emerged rapidly after being cold stratified and were anxiously waiting to get to their new home.  The managers and volunteers were very excited about the gift that they had grown as well.  I learned that much of it had been trial and error, as so many of these species had no previous protocol on how to be grown from seed.  It was quite the puzzle loading the plants in the trailer and carting them 2 hours southwest to the restoration site.  But almost all of them made the journey, and there was a SCA (Student Conservation Association) crew there ready to plant and water them over the next couple of months as they get established in their new home along the river at the restoration site.

Later that week I helped plant these transplants into a makeshift wetland area.  A few weeks previously, thousands of willow stakes had been planted around the terrestrial perimeter of the future wetland.  These stakes were already beginning to bud.  Below the stakes, where slow moving water met muck, we planted several sedges and a forb including carex mertensii (Merten’s Sedge), carex aquatilis (Water Sedge), and Mimulus guttatus (Monkey Flower). I’ve spent seasons working on farms and planting gardens, but I had never planted in the muck before.  Surprisingly, it was incredibly enjoyable and satisfying.  A feeling of gratification swept over me afterwards when I got to see a previously gray and brown mudscape promisingly carrying dapples of bright green life.

 It was captivating to think about how the species we just planted on the landscape might exist and maybe even thrive and adapt there for potentially hundreds or thousands of years to come.  It felt strange to play such a powerful role in the future of a landscape like that, though.  We were shaping and cultivating the foundation of an ecosystem.  Something about that felt like we were wielding too much power and control.  But simultaneously, the feeling that came after planting those riparian species caught me off-guard.  Whether that was because my actions were truly beneficial to the ecosystem at large or simply because I perceived them to be, I’m not sure.  But it was surprising that such a seemingly small action could have such a palpable and positive impact on my spirit.  Because of the scale and complexity of environmental and social issues we face in the world today, I am deeply critical about the actual and longterm effects that restoration projects have in an area.  But I must admit that I felt cautiously hopeful after the planting…maybe humans can have a truly beneficial impact on their surroundings, I thought.  Maybe this is an example of it.

One thing I can say for sure is that after planting native sedges and grasses in Resurrection Creek, I suddenly felt an incredibly deep connection with, and a building sense of care for the wellbeing of this place and ecosystem.  I felt ready and inspired to begin getting to know these native plants on a more intimate level, and to start gathering their seeds for the future foundation of this ecosystem.