After a wonderful field season in Interior Alaska it is time for me to part ways. Throughout the season I have contributed the majority of my time to an acoustic bat survey. The purpose of this survey was to identify the presence/absence of little brown bats in Interior Alaska. The project area was focused in the Fortymile area near Chicken, Alaska. It was a great opportunity to get out and see the beautiful landscape, and of course pick some wild blueberries. I also spent some time mapping and pulling invasive vegetation. The bat project required a fair bit of field time and we were constantly switching sites, which made it easier to survey a larger area for invasive plants.

It will be tough to leave BLM Fairbanks, AK as I have grown attached to the job, the people, and some of the delicious places to eat around town. I have had an amazing experience here and encourage anyone who gets the chance to work or visit Alaska definitely not pass up the opportunity.

Farewell,

Ryan

Life as a New Englander is settling in nicely. Unlike many Seeds of Success interns and programs, we work out of the big city of Boston and collect in areas that I consider far removed from what most would call wilderness. That being said, I am awarded the unique opportunity of working closely with town, state, national, and nonprofit organizations, as well as many dedicated conservation groups in the area. It is a true feat of society to pull together to prioritize conservation and wildlife in an enduring way.

With most of my botanical experience based in the Southeast, it is a daily shock to pull up maps that are swathed with different shades of green that indicate protected lands and conservation reserves. Having 40+ colleges and universities in the area, and working within Garden in the Woods of the New England Wild Flower Society provides a strong support system for conservation, botany, and resilient ecosystems in general. Even with care and dedication, more work is needed. And in the wake of the natural disaster of Hurricane Sandy, native seed collections are more critical in the fight to restore devastated sites with local plantings before non-native invasive species crowd them out.

As the collection season picks up, I continue to be impressed by the natural properties available to us, the willingness of different organizations to provide information and resources to our project, the efficiency of the collection process, and the rigorous but attainable goals set for our team. I am encouraged to see a system that might be implicated in other regions of eastern North America, where the fewest SOS programs are in operation. Following are some of my favorite experiences from the first two months on the job.

Spending time in vast marsh systems, such as the Massachusetts Audubon’s Great Marsh Wildlife Sanctuary on Cape Cod

Checking phenology for all my favorite coastal species, such as Limonium carolinianum, or Carolina

Using multiple floras to key out cryptic species with my wonderful teammates and mentor Michael Piantedosi

And of course, seeing the fruits of labor off to a new home!

Wyoming sage growing alongside rabbitbrush (Artemesia tridentata-wyomingensis and Chrysothamnus viscidiflorus)

As spring dwindled to an end and days began to heat up, it was apparent that summer was upon us. With summer comes the field season for the Bureau of Land Management employees. As an intern with the Kemmerer, WY field office I was ready to begin spending days outside, surrounded by nature with the sun as a constant companion. As each new season begins it is common to have new protocols which must be learned and implemented. For the summer of 2016 AIM, or Assessment Inventory Monitoring, was the new methodology to be learned. AIM was designed to capture a snapshot of overall rangeland health, while maintaining statistical validity. AIM training took place in Rock Springs, WY for the High Desert District employees. After one week of a combination of classroom and field sessions it was time to hit the field. Such was the plan. However, with the implantation of a new rangeland assessment program comes issues. For most monitoring or assessment techniques points to monitor are chosen by the field staff. With AIM points are generated randomly and are assigned to the field office. For the Kemmerer field office points were not assigned until late June. This meant that field work could not begin until then.

Points were assigned and the field staff was champing at the bit to get out and begin checking points off of the lengthy list. As a range technician I was prepared to go out on AIM points every day I worked, but was taken somewhat aback when my life was scheduled up through the first week of August and marked on a calendar.

Early season tailcup lupine (Lupinus caudatus)

As our AIM team approached our first point the training I had earlier was coming back and the cobwebs were shaken loose. AIM encompasses several techniques to capture rangeland health at a given point. Without going into too much detail, AIM protocol includes a soil pit with measurements taken for effervescence, soil color, soil texture and clay percentage.

Three 25 meter lines are laid out in a spoke design. Along each line a line-point-intercept transect is done. This gives an idea of canopy cover and composition as well as litter content. Canopy gap is then measured. This is important for understanding the percent cover of the transect.

25 m transect

Soil stability is the last measurement taken. This is a fairly straightforward test, giving an idea of the level of erodibility of the soil surface. A plant list is also taken for the plot area by simply walking the perimeter and marking each plant identified.

This was essentially my summer. The soil pit was the duty I was most heavily accountable for. Digging the pit to a depth of 80 centimeters, marking the horizons, collecting and sieving samples for each horizon and finally taking measurements for each horizon. I found the soil pit the most fascinating aspect. Identifying key characteristics of the soil can help one understand why the vegetation that is present is there and any underlying issues. One site was especially interesting. Several horizons were present, the A horizon, or topsoil, was low quality without much of an organic matter presence. The B horizon was absent as the next horizon was a Ct, or clayey C. This horizon was compacted so tightly it was apparent that water could only infiltrate at very slow rate. With slow infiltration comes a higher risk of erosion during average precipitation events. This is one reason I hypothesized that the A horizon was of such low quality. It had no chance to become established due to erosion. To test my hypothesis I poured a generous amount of water onto the topsoil. Infiltration was rapid for about 5 cm. Once the water reached the compacted Ct horizon infiltration slowed and water pooled at the surface, creating runoff and erosion. Of course this was a simple test, but it was a great way to induce deeper thought as to the processes responsible for a sites characteristics.

A soil pit with the soil horizons laid out on a sharpshooter shovel. You can clearly see the distinct colors between them

Days began to blend together. Sites that were once quite distinguishable were now one blurry soil pit. Latin names of plants flew through my mind when off of work reading a book. When out fishing I could not help but take a mental note of every plant I came across. My AIM days are behind me for now. How lucky I was to see so much wonderful country. From low desert sites to conifer and aspen sites high in the hills, soil pits were dug.

During the winter months visions of wild trout flashing through the water and striking a dry fly danced through my mind. I was consumed by a challenge I had found out about last year as a BLM range technician with the Kemmerer, WY field office. This fishing adventure is called the Wyoming Cutt Slam. A challenge bringing anglers from all over the country, the Cutt Slam was implemented by the Wyoming Game and Fish Department to increase awareness of Wyoming’s native cutthroat species and their management. So what is the challenge? The angler must catch all four sub-species of native Wyoming cutthroat trout in their native waters. This sure seemed to me like a heck of an excuse to get out and see some beautiful country while catching new fish!

The certificate awarded to those who have completed the Cutt Slam

My fly fishing buddy and I both ended up in Kemmerer, WY with the BLM for the summer. So naturally we decided it was Cutt Slam or bust. Well, this is a CLM blog. So what is the connection? In the Kemmerer field office two native species of cutthroat are found, the Colorado and the Bonneville cutthroat. Range managers cannot overlook these fish. Whether it is grazing or water development, decisions cannot be made without considering what the impact may be on the native species of trout. Riparian monitoring such as MIM or PFC help to monitor crucial trout habitat and protect them. (Also these were great for helping us find good fishing holes for later.) I learned about this challenge by learning about the fish we are paid to protect first.

PFC on Willow Creek

Now that I have validated this blog, let us move forward! The first fish on our list was the Colorado Cutt. Found in the Colorado River watershed, this trout can be hard to find and even harder to catch. Luckily we monitored on a beautiful stream that held these fish. Upon arrival to the stream, spirits were high. My friend, Grant, cast his fly out on the water and it was immediately struck by a Colorado Cutt. Sadly, he missed the fish. But this was a good sign. I was giddy with excitement as I cast. Thirty minutes later, no fish. No bites whatsoever. What happened? We will never know. Eventually Grant caught his fish out of a nice big pool.

Grant’s first Colorado Cutt

We fished up about 2 miles of stream, and even spooked out a cow moose with her young calf. I, however had no luck. We fished our way back towards the pickup. I wasn’t pouting, but I was close. Think of a kid in a grocery store who wants the sugary cereal but mom picks out the healthy choice. We came around a small bend when Grant exclaimed that he had seen a fish. I excitedly cast my fly into the hole. Nothing. Several more casts and still nothing. Out of frustration I cast far upstream to a riffle. Bam! A Colorado Cutt exploded from the water and hit my fly and I did not miss this fish. Shakily, I reeled the fish in and Grant netted him. We did no want to lose this fish without a picture. After hours of frustration here was my prize. A small trout many would not even remember. But I was ecstatic. “Twenty five percent done!” we exclaimed.

My Colorado Cutt!

The easiest fish, in my eyes was going to be the Bonneville Cutt. I had caught many last summer and knew where and how to fish for them. We packed up the pickup and headed off to the Bear River watershed. We set up camp then went down to the creek to try our luck. Right off the bat I caught a fish.

My Bonneville Cutthroat

Grant was taken aback after our misfortunes on Willow Creek. Well I had told him this would be easier! He caught his fish just upstream on a hand-tied elk hair caddis fly. Despite almost losing a flip flop and getting stuck in the mud, I think he had a great time. We caught a good number of fish before calling it a day and cooking several celebratory steaks.

Grant’s trusty lab, Sage, and his Bonneville Cutt

Now fifty percent finished it was time to tackle the two wild cards. Those being the Snake River Cutt and the Yellowstone Cutt. Saving the toughest for last and with a hot tip from a coworker, we took off after the Snake River Cutt. Just south of LaBarge, WY there is a road that follows LaBarge Creek into the Bridger National Forest. This road eventually leads to the headwaters of the Greys River. The Greys flows into the Snake River, meaning that Snake River cutts should be swimming throughout the reach. We took off after work, so we did not have much time to fish before setting up camp. We only had time to fish for half an hour before dark. Plus, the river was shallow and wide. Not exactly optimal trout habitat.

The next morning we woke, wolfed down a muffin and still groggy, pulled on our waders and set off. We fished all morning with no bites. We saw a nice fish feeding in a pool but he would not even look at our flies. He had an aloof nature about him one would expect from an English aristocrat. We were simply peasants in his eyes. Aside from this fancy-pants fish we did not see hide nor hair of a trout (just a saying of course, fish have scales). Around two we decided to hike back to camp to regroup and have a lunch. Over cheddar bratwurst we decided to take the road farther downstream in the hopes of finding better fishing. We drove down for about 45 minutes. Alongside the road were several reaches which looked quite promising. Too bad for us, a fisherman was found at each one. Frustrated and on edge, we zoomed down the road farther.

As we descended the Greys was still wide but there was an increase in depth. One section looked quite promising. A braided channel upstream created several riffles and pools. Great trout holding water. I gasped and pulled off the road. We had our fly rods prepared from earlier. We each cast out. I had a bite but missed. Grant had a bite, and he deflty set the hook. It was a nice fish. As it jumped we could tell it was a Cutt. I netted the fish and sure enough, it was a Snake River Cutt.

First Snake River Cutt I have ever seen caught.

Grant set his rod aside. It was my turn. With the pressure mounting, I cast out into a large riffle and had a soft bite. Next cast and a fish nailed my elk hair caddis. It was a beautiful Snake River Cutt with some good size. This was not a small fish! Luckily Grant was on top of netting duties and raced down to the rivers edge, net in hand. He scooped up the fish and there we had it, the Snake River Cutt! All of the anxiety and frustration vanished. I felt as if I was soaring.

One of the most beautiful fish I have ever caught

Seventy five percent done!

It was steak time back at camp.

Summer work picked up and there was less time for gallivanting through the hills chasing trout. We had a tenuous grasp on where to go for the Yellowstone Cutt. They were found throughout Yellowstone National Park, but this area is crowded with tourists and can be expensive. One of the many allures of fishing for cutthroats is the solitude their native habitats provide. So we needed an alternative. Finally we found a creek that provided us with everything we needed. High numbers of Yellowstones, camping, and a somewhat close proximity to Kemmerer.

The weekend of August sixth we took off. Full of optimism and with good music on the radio spirits were high. After several hours of driving and a stop at a local fly shop for last minute fly purchases and some tips, we got to the creek. Well, it was packed with campers and their RVs. Not what I had expected! We raced for a camping spot. Finally we found an empty one with a little isolation from the other campers. But when we went down to the creek the water did not look great. The creek was shallow and wide (sound familiar?). Grant was quite upset, visions of fishless hours on the Greys River haunted him as we pulled on our gear and strung up our rods. We tied on flies recommended by the helpful man at the fly shop and took off. Since Grant was in a foul mood I let him fish the first hole. “You can hardly call this a hole” he growled back at me. After several casts with his shoulders slumped, his rod suddenly jumped to life. I stared in amazement as a good sized Yellowstone Cutt leapt out of the water, trying to lose the hook. Grant’s eyes were the size of saucers. I fumbled with my net as I prepared to land the fish. It rushed downstream at us and ended up between my legs. Grant was shouting at me to land the fish while I stumbled about. Finally I netted the fish. “I didn’t think fish like this were in here” grant stuttered. Neither did I.

Look at that smile!

Once again Grant stepped aside. It was up to me to catch one now. Upstream and around a bend we happened upon a nice pool. As Grant held Sage back, I noticed a fish rise. I knew I had a great chance if a fish was feeding on the surface. I cast just above where I saw the fish, letting my purple hopper float directly into the fish’s path. It was a tense moment, waiting for the fly to meander into the strike zone. When the fish rose and took the fly I was ready to set the hook. My rod bent and my reel whirred as the fish took off. After a minute or two I was able to navigate the fish in close enough for Grant to net him. He did a much better job for me than I had done for him.

Yellowstone Cutthroat, finished with the Cutt Slam!

With great jubilation we continued upstream. We caught more fish than we could count that evening and the next day.

Eventually we made it back to camp for, you guessed it, steaks. This time we also brought along some cigars, for celebratory purposes. We had completed the Cutt Slam.

Conservation of our native species is crucial to maintaining what makes America and Wyoming special. All of these fish were caught on public land. Our land. Every citizen of the United States can fish these beautiful waters for native cutthroat.

The Snake River winding beneath the Teton Mountains

Maintaining these rivers and lands is what makes the work I do something I love. Without proper stewardship it would be almost impossible to complete the Cutt Slam. So go forth into the wilderness, chase these beautiful trout throughout the hills and mountains of Wyoming. Trust me, you will not be disappointed.

If there is one concept that has been reinforced during my time on the Exotic Plant Management crew, it is that invasive plants grow where people go. When we create a new settlement or adventure into an unknown land, we carry with us tiny seeds that germinate and grow. And so, while I was drawn to this internship because I wanted to learn more about plants, what I didn’t anticipate was learning more about people. Much of our work involves surveying places that humans once occupied, as well as land that they continue to use today. What has struck me is standing in a place that was once a part of someone’s life; a part of someone’s story. Looking at an abandoned house can give us a glimpse into a place once full of life and meaning.

A few weeks ago I went to an abandoned homestead near an old copper mine that once belonged to a family that had an infamous battle with the park service. Being on that property and learning the history that had occurred there revealed another layer to the job that I once thought I understood in its entirety; not only am I surveying for plants, but I am also gathering small tidbits of data on humans as well.

Last week I went back to another district of the park, in the towns of McCarthy and Kennecott. Though this was not my first time there, it was my first experience being up close to some of the mines in Kennecott, an abandoned mining town. Kennecott struck me as such an interesting place mostly because of its oddity as an industrial town in the middle of Alaskan wilderness. Further, as an abandoned town, it remains (mostly due to restoration) in the state it once was so many years ago. This place serves as a memory of a very specific and unique time and place that was once shared by so many people.

~Remnants from Kennecott~

While I have been thinking a lot about the relationship between plants and people, rest assured, I have had plenty of time among the plants. A couple of weeks ago, I was able to go to a new region of Alaska, to the coastal region of Yakutat, as well as to Dry Bay in Glacier National Park. The similarity of the ecoregion to PNW was both spectacularly beautiful, as well as a comfort in its likeness to my Oregon/Washington roots. I even got to see my old friend, Mimulus guttatus, for the first time outside of a greenhouse! There were so many other beautiful flowers to be seen, including Fritillaria camschatcensis and Dodecatheon pulchellum, however both were past their flowering time. I could have only imagined these fields with both of them in flower. One of the plants that we definitely saw in flower was Leucanthemum vulgare, a beautiful invasive that we monitor. It is possibly the only invasive that I have slight remorse while removing.

~Yakutat sunset~

~Leucanthemum vulgare~

Though the bulk of our field season is winding down, our team is keeping busy. I will be going on more Elodea surveys in lakes throughout the park later this month, as well teaching a course on plant identification at a culture camp. I am particularly excited for the culture camp, as our preparation for it has brought together many of the themes surrounding people and plants I have encountered this season. People and plants are inseparable entities, and when we learn about one, we inevitably learn more about the other.

-Natalie

Wrangell-St. Elias National Park and Preserve

A glorious transformation of my coffee mug, orchestrated by my field partner.

These five months in Central Oregon strike me as a montage celebrating the Dionysian. The district, especially to the south in our swath of sage grouse habitat, was at first sleepy, cold, blanketed in its last sheet of snow, filled with just green-gray sagebrush rustling in the freezing wind; it soon stirred with little basal starts that my naive self dreamed were potential collections but ultimately were weedy little bur buttercups (Ceratocephala testiculata); and then things exploded into being and colors, yellow asters leading the way and mimicking the sun in their rays, blue pea-shaped lupine shocking the landscape with vibrancy, crimson-orange paintbrush charming even as their roots drilled into the roots of other plants to steal a little water and nutrients here and there. It had been a wetter winter than the last, so it almost seemed like flowers fell over themselves in portraying their luscious petals to their pollinators, and to me, the collector. And just as quickly, they dried, shriveled up, proffered some seed (if we were lucky), then disappeared, many leaving not even a shred of a remnant of their being. It was an explosive affair, and we felt a certain manic excitement when we timed it just right, or were just fortunate enough, to haul in a good batch of seeds. There were times, too, when often-monitored collections just spirited away, and our drive home was far more dejected. Sometimes the flash of flowers were just that, and no seed were to be found nearly at all.

There were celebrations of thunderstorms, which more often than not found me at the top of hillsides; I’d rush to the rig with my seed bag under my shirt, then watch as the rolling clouds and flashes of lightning danced across my vista then away. There were windy days on scapes, watching as the achenes of the invasive Lord Tragopogon dubius (which presents itself in a pappus ball bigger than a softball) took flight in impressive flocks. There were the rowdy roads that had us bouncing about in our rig’s cabs, our seatbelts straining to keep us in the vague radius of our seats.

The stately but invasive Tragopogon.

Between that all, there were the quiet days. Quiet days filled the bulk of our time, but they blur together in memory. The one blended scene is this: the sun is bright, sometimes painfully bright. It was hard to pick out the particular shade of dried plant from the other shade of dried plants with sunglasses on, so we bore with the sun. Even when my field partner and I were working at the same site, we drifted away from each other to maximize the land we covered, so much of my time in the field was alone. My sunbleached senses snagged on the snapping of seed from plants, the clicking of my little metal movie-theater counter, the horseflies insistently orbiting and sometimes biting, the wind drying sweat from our brows – or just as frequently, hijacking a couple of the lighter seeds. Sometimes a cow would challenge us to a game of who could moo louder. Our ears craned for the rattling of snakes and we jumped when we rustled past a plant with seed pods that mimicked the sound.

My down time too was a celebration of the outdoors, since folks can find nearly any outdoor activity they like within a half hour drive from Bend. I found myself climbing and hiking every weekend, even after long weeks in the field. I thought I would stay here after this internship, but alas… community college is cheaper in California.

I’m changing tracks after this internship. As much as I loved the work and the mission for SOS, there are other avenues I’m planning on exploring next. Still, what a wonderful season to end my foray into botany as an occupation. I intend to continue annoying my hiking partners by stopping at every flowering forb I see.

Vi Nguyen, Prineville BLM

Astragalus obscurus… probably. The Hitchcock Astragalus key is as long as it can be cruel.

The ever cheerful Eriophyllum lanatum – “oregon sunshine”

For a while I couldn’t stop whipping out my phone to take a picture of every Lewisia I saw. It was excessive and I see that now.

Headed down Hole in the Rock road today to finish our collection of Sphaeralcea coccinea (scarlet globemallow). Hole in the Rock is a famous dirt road from Escalante all the way down to Lake Powell. It follows the track the Mormon pioneers took from Escalante to the (then) Colorado River. From Hole in the Rock, present day travelers can reach numerous exciting places to explore — Peekaboo and Spooky slot canyons, Coyote and Willow Gulch, Chimney Rock and so many more. There’s also plenty of fun plants to find.

We started out early because it’s monsoon season here; almost every afternoon it pours rain, and when Hole in the Rock is wet, the red clay road turns into a sliding mess akin to ice and snow and slush all mixed together. A few weeks back my co-intern and I tried to get down it to check on our globemallow population…only to slide off the road into a sand due. Good times. We got the truck turned around eventually — I channeled some good old fashion Michigan snow and ice driving skills — but we weren’t too keen to get stuck in the same position again.

After some backtracking and a couple pit stops, we got to our site, finished collecting and then headed off to catch lizards for awhile. We’re working on some baseline species surveys on Grand Staircase, meaning we get to hike across the desert with lizard catching poles (glorified fishing poles) to see what species we can find. We measure, weigh, and photograph all of the lizards we catch, while getting a lot of strange looks from hikers who think we’re crazy people fishing in the desert.

Great Basin collared lizard (Crotaphytus bicinctores) found down Hole in the Rock

Humans are bedazzled by gold and driven to unearth this precious metal. Alaska had the well-known Klondike Gold Rush in the late 1800s, but few people realize that there are still active mining claims. The glory days may be gone, but the living heritage persists. Miners are rather industrious and their equipment powerful. These extractive processes, as one can imagine, have an effect on the hydrology, water quality, plant communities, wildlife, soils, and overall ecology. The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) has started to employ the Assessment Inventory Monitoring (AIM) program to better understand these impacts and quantify the reclamation progress. AIM was originally developed for BLM grazing lands throughout the western region and are now being adapted for the Alaskan landscape. We received training in Chicken, AK and then completed our first assessments up the Dalton Highway. This past week Brad Casar, Soil Scientist of Homer Soil & Water Conservation District, fellow CLM Intern Sam Snodgrass, and I went into the White Mountains to examine gold mine reclamation sites in varying stages. Sam and I focused on the vegetation assessments using the point-line intercept method to determine cover and species diversity. It was a productive and full week with some of our own golden moments. We feasted on wild berries, viewed bumble bees lapping up sugar excretions from aphids, and fell asleep to the sound of a waterfall.

A water color inspired by mountain experiences.

So many wild berries including this blueberry plump and juicy for the picking!

Active mining area with remnant structures from older claims

Conducting AIM across this landscape of early seral species.

A mosquito prepared Sam Snodgrass amidst Alaska Rhubarb, Polygonum alaskanum, going to seed.

A scenic outhouse on one of the mining claims.

Fellow CLM Intern Sam Snodgrass presenting two bouquets of flower to a miner, one highlighting native forbs and one to discourage non-native invasive plants.

Sphagnum moss with sporophytes.

A bumble bee lapping up the sugary excretions of the aphids.