Packing for Distance

Deuter Pack

The fine art of assembling a backpack isn’t so much what you put in it as what you leave out. This is where many hikers make their heaviest mistakes. I’ve seen ridiculous on both ends of the weight dynamic — exorbitant excess (cast iron skillets) to ascetic austerity (tarp kilts of Tyvek).

To hike the A.T., I must carry everything I need to survive a minimum of seven days at a stretch. It is possible to resupply more often, but that pulls the hiker off trail for many wasted miles and hours. I’d rather move forward than run back and forth. Therefore, I’ve been examining every item in my pack for its value. I’m not an ultralight chick, though I may be singing that tune before the trail is done. Survival is the most important thing, but a bit of comfort can make a daunting challenge easier to embrace.

Marmot bag and REI pad

Four essentials are unavoidable. Nothing is more important than the pack itself. Its fit and ability to hold and properly distribute the load is critical. I love Deuter ACT Lite 60+10. It’s comfortable and durable. Shelter is next. Some means of protection from the elements is needed since space in trail huts will be at a premium in March. Modern tents, like MSR’s Hubba, are very lightweight while shielding occupants from wind, rain, and bugs. Sleeping gear — a seasonally appropriate bag (Marmot Angel Fire for cool temps, REI Travel Sack for summer) and pad (REI Lite-Core 1.5) — mean a decent night’s rest, which in turn means a good day hiking. I’ve got these items covered.

Cooking Gear

The fourth essential is all about energy — food, water, and cooking. Calories, hydration, and the satisfying warmth of hot cocoa at the end of a cold, damp day translate to happier, healthier miles on trail. This is where I’ve been concentrating my time and attention — how to maximize the food I can carry without sacrificing calories and nutrition. I will repackage food to reduce weight, volume, and trash and choose healthy snacks with the right blend of carbs and protein to support hard working muscles. A nifty little postal scale helps me track ounces and package appropriately portioned meals. As small as I am, I’d crash in no time without careful attention to body fuel.

Then there’s cooking fuel. I don’t plan to “cook” any meals as such, just heat water for various breakfast and dehydrated dinner options. A single sealable pouch to prepare these meals per resupply should work fine. No cleanup beyond rinsing the pouch and my drinking cup will be necessary. MSR Pocket Rocket stove, GSI Soloist pot, and a fuel canister comprise my current setup. I tested a small canister to see how many meals it would cover and am plotting resupply points around fuel availability.

Arc’teryx Ascent Softshell and Patagonia Ultralight Down Hoody

Water is incredibly heavy (one liter weighs 2.2 pounds) and must be filtered or treated to insure its safety. Platypus’ GravityWorks is my filter system. It is very convenient to fill a hydration bladder in camp but less so on trail. I must carry enough water for the day’s hike (up to three liters) without hauling too much extra.

Clothes, personal hygiene, first aid kit, and safety/camp gear round out the pack. I’ll need a spare shirt, undies, and socks, rain gear, a couple of jackets to layer as needed, and warm, clean sleeping clothes. I’m also bringing my running shoes to wear around camp. They are very lightweight and can double as water or hiking shoes if needed. Given unpredictable March weather in the mountains, I should include gloves, a hat, and crampons. Dead weight if they aren’t used yet crucial if needed. Head lamp, spare batteries, rope, gear repair kit, trail profile pages, cell phone, air horn (bears), and SPOT messaging device are important safety items.

The heaviest non-survival essentials are my paper journal, camera, and voice recorder. Combined these weigh as much as my sleeping gear and tent together.  However, they insure immediate impressions, characteristic details, and quiet reflections do not get lost in the daily blur of footsteps. These three things will help me open any “gifts” the AT may have in store for me and are my best bet to keep this adventure from becoming “just another hike.”

Quest Update: How Am I Doing?

Walking Fern and Rose Moss covering a rock on Ace Gap, Feb. 2012

I never bother figuring my mileage or trail percentage during the year. Math isn’t a favorite subject. Each December I hunch over a calculator and stand amazed at the results.

My quest to hike all the trails in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park began in December 2009. Three years later I have passed the halfway mark!  Not bad for someone who started this adventure as a city-bred tenderfoot. It really is mind boggling how far I’ve come. Here are the stats.

Trout Lily, Injun Creek, Mar. 2012

Total for 2012: 361.7 miles
New for 2012: 208.3 miles
Overall total to date: 735.7 miles
Overall new to date: 459.3 miles (55%)
Trails complete: 87 (58%)

Incomplete trails to finish are Lakeshore, Hatcher Mountain, Thomas Divide, Beech Gap, Hughes Ridge, and Hyatt Ridge. I should check off a few of these in 2013.

Maidenhair Fern, Ash Hopper, Apr. 2012

Some of the longest and toughest trails remain. Now, however, I know I’ll hike them successfully. They do not intimidate me. It is simply a matter of planning — right timing, right gear, right partner(s).

Vase Fungus, Deeplow Gap, Aug. 2012

My overall total mileage is the equivalent of walking from Nashville to Bradenton, Florida, south of Tampa, where I could see the Pittsburg Pirates in Spring Training, or to Omaha, Nebraska…if there was ever a reason compelling enough to hike to Omaha!

2013 promises to blow the soles off my Lowa boots. If I can adhere to my Appalachian Trail plan, I’ll rack up more than 1,100 miles. Smokies hikes in January and the fall will add to that. In one year, I could hike 1.7 times my entire three-year total! Now that would be impressive!

Virginia Creeper, Abrams Falls Trail, Sept. 2012

As always I want to thank my wonderful friends and hiking buddies, particularly Mary McCord, Susan and Allen Sweetser, and Clarence Mayo. The mountains and miles are made even more enjoyable in the company of such supportive and amiable companions.

Fraser Magnolia leaf, Lower Mount Cammerer, Oct. 2012

I also want to thank those of you following my journey on this blog. All those magnificent miles outdoors are the uplifting prelude to untold hours sitting at this computer — transcribing trail notes, preparing photos, researching organisms, and scouring a thesaurus — to strike the right blend of descriptive information and atmospheric tone. My only reward is a sense of accomplishment burnished by the favor of your readership.

Thanks everyone!

A.T. Plan

View above Davenport Gap

There are two reasons why I cannot thru-hike the Appalachian Trail in a single year, Pickles and Tucker. My 15-year-old gray striped tabby and 13-year-old Siamese/Tonkinese are the sweetest, most adorable kitties — faithful fuzzy companions and loving four-legged children. To leave them for six straight months (albeit in the great care of a wonderful cat sitter) is unthinkable. Kate and Sam have left home. Nick is gone. I will not ‘disappear’ on them. In addition, I have some previous commitments this April that should be honored, and I will want to work in some Smokies trails to keep my park goal on track.

Knowing one long trek from Springer to Katahdin is out of the question presents the opportunity to craft a unique experience. There is not a correct way to section hike this trail. Variations are endless, reflecting the time, interests, and resources of each hiker. In a perfect world, my AT desires are to experience the trail sequentially, follow the seasonality of the trail south to north, and remain within the general flow of thru-hikers. Since a section hike cannot accommodate all three wishes in a timely manner, I have opted to sacrifice hiking sequentially and concentrate on seasonal flow.

Narrow Ridge near Pecks Corner

My early consideration to study the trail’s natural history and work on a nature journal plus my April schedule conflict led me to cut the trail into eight roughly equal lengths, each comprising around 273 miles over three-plus weeks. A March start in Georgia will put me at the front with early thru-hikers. By the end of the month, I’ll be in Hot Springs, NC, one/eighth of the way. (I’m redoing the section through the park.) I’ll return home to snuggle my kitties and discharge my duties. At the end of April, I’ll start section three in Virginia (skipping section two) and hike three more weeks. While many of the early thru-hikers will likely be ahead of me, I should still have plenty of serious hiking company.

At the end of the third section, I’ll come home for three weeks, then return to the trail in southern Pennsylvania in mid-June to combine sections five and six (the flattest part of the trail) for a five-week blitz through the mid-Atlantic states.

The drab and dumpy shelter at Siler’s Bald

In 2014, I’ll hike section two in April, section four in late May, and finish with sections seven and eight in late July through early September. Combining two northern sections each year will save travel expenses, give me a chance to test myself on trail for longer stretches, and provide a better feel for the true thru-hike experience.

By the time I reach the double-section hikes in summer, I hope Pickles and Tucker will have learned in three-to-four-week doses that while Mom may be gone a long time, she does come home again. I place my trust in their unwavering faith and love.

This plan allows me to journey north with the seasons and enjoy or suffer whatever weather variances may occur these two years. I’ll have a relatively consistent view of the trail from early spring in Georgia to early autumn in Maine providing the opportunity for a northbound, natural history exploration. Even though I am no longer compelled to turn this adventure into a busman’s holiday, working each day on a predetermined project, I know my instinctual curiosities will sniff out plenty of natural wonders to investigate.

I have developed a detailed plan for the first section and am drafting plans for the other 2013 sections. My gear list undergoes constant scrutiny, and I am working out logistics for food and fuel. I am staying physically active, including winter hikes, yoga, jogging, and strength training, to maintain form, conditioning, and stamina.

In January, I plan to visit the park and complete several trails in the Smokemont area. Backpacking fully loaded will test my mettle for March with a few spare weeks to correct any deficiencies. I’ll have some trail entries for the blog too.

Frullania Liverwort and Greenshield Lichen on a Yellow Birch at Spence Field

Periodically, the reality of hiking the AT solo breaks into my consciousness, and I become nervous and scared. To tame this understandable reaction and resist any urge to call off the hike, I break the task into small bits mentally and force myself to stay focused on March. It’s just three weeks in the Southern Appalachians, close to home, through the Smokies, a place I know well. An even smaller bite, seven days, gets me to the first resupply and stopover in Hiawasee. Anything is doable for seven days, right? Eight more days and I’m at the next resupply overnight in Fontana with Nancy and Jeff at The Hike Inn. Another eight days and I’ve notched one/eighth of the trail and am headed home. Compartmentalization — sanity rests along this path.

One day, one week at a time, chisel away at those 2,184 miles. Stop if I must, keep going if I can. That’s the only expectation. Success this March and the anticipation of May weather should ease things considerably thereafter. By the time I hit New Hampshire and Maine, I’ll be as seasoned a pro as the best thru-hiker and ready for that final ascent in Baxter State Park.

I do plan to write about my AT experiences here. I’m also planning to tote that titan camera. These entries will not be as detailed as the park trail accounts, but perhaps those of you following my excursions in the Smokies will also enjoy my disjointed leapfrog up the Appalachian Trail.

Determined

Spence Field

I am planning to section hike the Appalachian Trail in 2013 and 2014. This is a new goal, one I have never seriously considered before this year. Why now? At one time, I had hoped my thru-hike of the AT in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park last May would prove a life altering experience. It proved to be just another hike, though it did open the door to this possibility. To that extent, it revealed something new in me. A willingness to forego ease and creature comfort long enough to perhaps purge some of the accumulated poisons from living in a dense, excessive society. Couldn’t I retreat to a cabin in the woods for the same escape? Yes, but an unrelenting sense of isolation seems to hover over that option like a tomb. I feel isolated enough. Just being alone isn’t the answer. In many ways, it is the problem.

Fontana Hilton

In recent months, I have felt enclosed, trapped, buried alive. The desire to break out and engage the world far from my usual routine claws at me from inside. Where should I go? A simple change of address changes nothing else. No single place will suffice. I just want to be in motion. What should I do? This is not a time to repeat or revisit. This requires something different — achievable but challenging, risky but not inherently dangerous, independent but not solitary. To walk the Appalachian Trail among fellow sojourners, each sharing a common intent spurred by individual motivations, seems the perfect solution given my love of these mountains.

AT blazes

For some reason, I felt the need to slap a ‘purpose’ on the hike. A trip of this magnitude should have a practical outcome, a physical manifestation, a ‘deliverable.’  In keeping with my Smokies quest, I thought I might observe, document, and research the trail’s natural history for possible publication, until a simple Google search revealed a well-developed presentation of this premise in book form. I regrouped to apply the same work chiefly toward my own improvement as a personal nature journal. Soon, even this pretense crumbled; it was becoming clear that my trip should not be burdened with ANY preconceptions, goals, or outcomes.

Through much thought, argument, and angst it seems the best approach may be to step outside all constraints and surrender — open up, let go — then quietly examine whatever may be revealed. Free the experience to be what it will. This idea provides a mechanism for fresh perspectives, change, and new beginnings, an opportunity to enlighten if not instruct, and time to think.

False Hellebore on Clingman’s Dome

The allure of surrender has taken hold. Walk, eat, sleep. Follow a carefully set plan to traverse the miles and survive in good health. Beyond that, simply float with eyes, ears, and heart open to receive. If there is something meant for me along the trail, it will find me, take root, and begin to grow. Rather than strive and fret over an effort that may not be right, why not be still and allow the unbidden a chance to appear, like a gift?  All I must do is be watchful and willing to nurture what I am given. Through paper, pencil, and camera I can embrace, explore, and embody this gift.

Sugartree Gap

Nothing is pure; even such simplicity presents a conundrum. Is not the act of surrendering to receive in itself a preconception, a goal with an anticipated outcome?  Is my trip now burdened with this expectation? How will I feel if I should return home empty handed? This is the dreaded question, what if nothing happens? If 2,000 miles on the AT turns out be just another hike, opening no new doors, exposing no new possibilities, what then? Will I not be in the same position as before with one less option? If nothing comes…no gift…will I be all right?  It is a frightening thought.

I suppose fear shadows everything we do in this life. It is an undeniable counterpoint to hope. Unchecked, it becomes a defeatist mindset producing enough doubt to immobilize the best intentions. To be so governed is to give up. I determined long ago to never give up. In March, I walk forward from Springer Mountain, frightened and hopeful.

Jizo in a Puffy

The entrance to Rokkakudo Temple in Kyoto, Japan

Japan welcomes numerous religious faiths, and while its society is increasingly secular, two religions are intimately interwoven in the country’s history. Shinto is the indigenous religion, and Buddhism arrived in the sixth century. Each has distinct variations, and the two are often practiced together. Shinto Shrines and Buddhist Temples liberally dot urban and rural Japan. They are stunningly beautiful, meticulously crafted, ancient works of art.

Rokkakudo, side view

My favorite is Rokkakudo, a tiny hexagonal Buddhist Temple, nestled among tall modern buildings in downtown Kyoto. It was originally built in the late sixth century. Its small plot features a pond with koi fish and swans, a fountain shaded by a cherry tree trained in the shape of a wide parasol, and a weeping willow tree upon which people tie their fortunes for good luck. Other tinier shrines dot the grounds, and a small gift shop is staffed by temple monks and two very sweet women. Rokkakudo is the birthplace of ikebana, the custom and art of arranging flowers in a vase.

Pigeons on the roof covering the Purification Fountain at Rokkakudo

Pigeons love this little place. Considered flying rodents and discouraged at most city buildings, the pigeon is embraced at Rokkakudo, which has made the bird its symbol. Bags of seed are sold to feed the motley selection of gray, blue, white, and brown birds in the resident flock. In the temple’s six-sided main hall, a half-buried brass Buddha peers from a jumble of religious accoutrements that looks more like a crowded antique store than an altar. It is cool, dark, and screened to keep those flying symbols from getting in and wreaking havoc.

Parasol-shaped cherry tree at Rokkakudo in March 2010

When we visited in March 2010, the parasol-shaped cherry tree was in full flower to our utter delight and amazement. The surroundings are more subdued in November, but the swans, fish, and pigeons each offer their own poetic grace. To the left of the temple is a long row of assorted, short stone statues. Most are clothed in a red bib tied around the ‘neck’ and a knitted cap covering the ‘head.’ These statues are representations of Jizo.

Jizo Bosatsu (Bodhisattva) is revered in Japan. He achieved enlightenment long ago but refuses to become a Buddha until everyone is saved. He’s something of a jack of all trades, helping just about anyone with anything to ease suffering, though he is particularly associated with children and expectant mothers. Japanese Buddhism has refined Jizo’s role to become the guardian of all unborn, aborted, miscarried, and stillborn children.

Jizo statues at Rokkakudo

In Buddhism, it is the Karma individuals accumulate on earth that helps them cross the Sanzu River to reach the afterlife. Without sufficient good deeds, the dead must pile rocks by the river in hopes of proving their worth and obtaining passage. Evil spirits often knock these piles down, frustrating efforts to cross over. Babies and young children have not built up Karma, plus their deaths caused their parents much pain. This puts them at a distinct disadvantage.

Grieving parents appeal to Jizo, dressing him in cap and bib for the protection of their poor child, seeking his assistance. Sometimes small stones are placed near the statue to further their child’s task and help her cross the river quickly. Small toys are often left there too.

Jizo and stuffed dog at Rokkakudo

At Rokkakudo, there is a lump of rock no longer discernible as a Bosatsu figure (if it ever was) adorned with a fresh red cap and bib. A small round rock has been placed in front of this mossy Jizo, and by its side is an old stuffed toy, a dog, faded and moldered, looking as though it, too, is slowly turning to stone.

The following week, Kate and I are in Tokyo walking through Zojoji Temple to the Tokyo Tower. Passing rows of small Jizos, our attention is arrested by an unexpected flash of bright blue fabric. A brand new Jizo statue is smartly clothed in a red-and-white striped, long-sleeved oxford shirt. Over this is a sky blue puffy vest with a hood by Mountain Camp. The shirt’s cuffs are tucked into the vest’s pockets. Fresh flowers and a colorful pinwheel are placed on either side.

Jizo at Zojoji Temple in Tokyo

Amid rows of traditional statues bearing faded red bibs and knit caps, this hip little Jizo stands apart, starkly different and so adorable. He would fit right in with the chic bustle of Tokyo’s streets. As an outdoor gear enthusiast, the sight of his puffy vest is just too cute. I cannot resist the urge to smile. The reaction tempers quickly, however. I understand quite well the deep stab of sorrow he represents. Somewhere in this city are two loving parents with heavy hearts and empty arms.

The Asian Connection — Japan and the Southern Appalachians

Kate and I at Todaiji Temple in Nara, Japan

I have studied the flora of my home state, Tennessee, for the past 15 years. Initially, these efforts focused on those plants suited for gardens and managed landscapes. In recent years, a heightened interest in ecology led me toward the naturalist’s perspective to include all plants and other organisms functioning as a biological system within their physical environment. This view guides my trail accounts.

I recently spent two weeks in Japan to see my daughter Kate who lives there. I had last visited in March 2010 and enjoyed the stunning display of cherry blossoms (sakura). This trip was timed to see fall color. Kate’s itinerary for us, including five days in Kyoto, a day trip to Nara, and an overnight trek to the mountains of Nikko, focused on the heart and soul of Japan in autumn.

These may seem two disparate paragraphs, yet they share a common bond far beyond the author, a bond that many theorize dates back to the Tertiary up to 65 million years ago. For the past 260 years, botanists have noted certain plants found in both eastern Asia and eastern North America. Botanic explorations around the globe revealed similar plant genera and species, similar ecological niches, and a similar climate in these two continental regions. Floristic similarities were also found in parts of Europe and western North America plus a few other scattered locales.

It is snowing at Ryuzu, the ‘Dragon Waterfall’ near Nikko

When the same or closely related organisms are found in two or more widely separated regions it is referred to as a disjunct distribution. There are many examples large and small of interrupted ranges, but the Asia/North America disjunct was the first on a large scale to be recognized and has attracted the interest of scientific notables from Carolus Linnaeus (the father of modern scientific classification) to Asa Gray (Manual of Botany) and Charles Darwin.

Darwin corresponded extensively with Gray and encouraged him to further explore this floristic affinity between the continents. Darwin was nearing publication of On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection (Nov. 1859), presenting his theory that species populations evolve over time. In the same year, Gray published a paper on the “diagnostic characters” of plants collected from Japan by Charles Wright in which he records “observations upon the relations of the Japanese flora to that of North America, and of other parts of the Northern Temperate Zone.”

Kanmangafuchi Abyss in Nikko

None of his predecessors had postulated an explanation for such long distance “relations.” Gray did. He used plant fossils, current theories of geological history, and Darwin’s ideas of evolution and common descent to support the concept of a previously extensive flora now disrupted. (Boufford and Spongberg 1983) Twenty years later European botanist Adolf Engler, also using fossil evidence, proposed a wide ranging flora during the Tertiary Period of the Cenozoic Era.

Kanmangafuchi Abyss in Nikko

By the start of the Tertiary, seed-bearing plants (angiosperms) had become the dominant terrestrial plant form. Throughout this period spanning 63 million years, continents inched northward and the climate cooled from uniformly warm and tropical to seasonally cool and temperate. Migration pathways over exposed land bridges (Bering to Asia and North Atlantic to Europe) fragmented and disappeared. Continental uplift and development of polar ice caused an epicontinental sea across the North American plains and the Mississippi Embayment along the gulf coast to recede. Broadleaf evergreens retreated southward, deciduous hardwoods (once restricted to high elevations) expanded rapidly to take their place, and conifers colonized high latitudes and upper elevations.

Kiyomizu-dera Temple in Kyoto

Scientists have theorized that as these changes gradually evolved, a broad belt encircling the northern latitudes favored the development of a rich and widespread flora dubbed the Arcto-Tertiary Geoflora. This flora reached its fullest expression in the Miocene Epoch when the Temperate Broadleaf Deciduous Forest (TBDF) was king. Further geologic and climatic changes would introduce barriers of separation, reduce area coverage of the TBDF, precipitate extinctions, and initiate evolution of distinct species within genera.

View from Nanzenji Gate, Kyoto

Asia and Europe became isolated from North America. The Rocky Mountains rose creating a rain shadow that changed the central plains from forest to prairie and isolating the continent’s western portion from the east. Quaternary glacial advances struck areas unevenly. Europe’s flora was hit hard by extinctions, North America’s was likely reduced particularly in the northwest, and Asia’s escaped much harm.

This Viburnum in the mountains of Nikko is remarkably similar to our Hobblebush (V. lantanoides).

When early botanists first noticed these continental-scaled plant disjuncts, they identified most of the paired plants as the same species. Further study, however, proved the majority to be distinct, though related, species in the same genus or separate but closely related genera in the same family. Ecological research shows that these paired, distinct species typically occupy similar habitats and plant communities in their home ranges. “The similarities of the forests of Japan, central China, and the southern Appalachians in appearance as well as in ecological associations are in many instances so great that a sense of déjà vu is experienced by botanists from one of the regions visiting the other.” (Boufford and Spongberg 1983)

Pawpaw, member of the tropical family Annonaceae, adapted to temperate forests. It is a more primitive flowering tree.

The disjunct species strongly tend toward certain characteristics. (White 1983)
1. With few exceptions, the plants grow in temperate, moist (mesic) forest environments.
2. Most of the species are woody, broadleaf deciduous plants.
3. Herbaceous species are typically perennial, spring blooming, early leafing ephemerals from rhizomes or tubers adapted to life on the shady forest floor.
4. Many of the disjunct plant families are older from an evolutionary standpoint. Their flower structure is more primitive than other existing flowering plants (ranalian complex). These families include Magnoliaceae – Magnolia; Ranunculaceae – Buttercup, Meadow-rue, Liverleaf, Clematis, Black Cohosh, and Dolls Eyes; Annonaceae – Pawpaw; Lauraceae – Sassafras and Spicebush; Calycanthaceae – Sweetshrub; Berberidaceae – Barberry, Blue Cohosh, Umbrella Leaf, May-apple; Menispermaceae – Canada Moonseed; and Nymphaeaceae – Water Lily.

There are only two species of Liriodendron (Tulip Poplar). The other is in China and has larger, deeply lobed leaves and green flowers (no orange).

Research on disjunct species in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park showed these plants “concentrated in mesic low- to mid-elevation forests.” (White 1983) White noted that these habitats are already richly diverse and the disjunct species increase that community diversity. This temperate forest type, called mixed-mesophytic and known as the “cove” forest in the Smokies, is characterized by greater species richness than any other forest type in temperate climes. The Appalachians and central China are the only areas globally where mixed-mesophytic forests currently exist. (Yih 2012)

Our native Ginseng

Approximately 65 genera have been identified as disjuncts appearing only in eastern Asia and eastern North America. Wofford (1989) listed 46 of them as occurring in the Blue Ridge of Tennessee. The list includes Aletris (Colicroot), Melanthium (Appalachian Bunchflower), Tipularia (Cranefly Orchid), Buckleya (Pirate Bush), Pyrularia (Buffalo Nut), Liriodendron (Tulip Poplar), Adlumia (Allegheny Vine), Astilbe (False Goat’s-beard), Hamamelis (Witch Hazel), Cladrastis (Yellowwood), Pachysandra (Allegheny Spurge), Stewartia (Mountain Camellia), Panax (Ginseng), Pieris (Mountain Fetterbush), Halesia (Silverbell), Campsis (Trumpet Creeper), Phryma (Lopseed), and Mitchella (Partridgeberry).

Silverbell (Halesia) has three species in eastern North America and one species in eastern Asia.

For the 26 genera additionally found in western North America, more than 90% occur in Tennessee’s Blue Ridge. (Wofford 1989) These include Tsuga (Hemlock), Clintonia (Bluebead Lily), Disporum [Prosartes] (Nodding Mandarin), Trillium, Calycanthus (Sweetshrub), Dicentra (Dutchman’s Breeches), Aristolochia (Dutchman’s Pipevine), Mitella (Bishop’s Cap), Tiarella (Foamflower), Rubus (Blackberry), Rhus (Sumac), Geranium, Aralia (Devils-walkingstick), Leucothoe (Doghobble), and Menziesia (Minnie Bush).

Our native Pachysandra, Allegheny Spurge. There are at least two other species in China and Japan.

Adding Europe to the mix, the four regions share at least 20 genera such as Erythronium (Trout Lily), Veratrum (False Hellebore), Ostrya (Hophornbeam), Clematis, Cimicifuga (Bugbane/Black Cohosh), Hepatica (Liverleaf), Asarum (Ginger), Rhododendron, Philadephus (Mock Orange), Platanus (Sycamore), Waldsteinia (Barren Strawberry), Cercis (Redbud), Staphylea (Bladdernut), and Aesculus (Buckeye). (Wofford 1989)

Western North America and the Southern Appalachians share 150 genera including Xerophyllum (Turkeybeard) and Dirca (Leatherwood). (Wofford 1989) I have photographed so many of these plants during my Smokies hikes!

Allegheny Spurge has mottled winter foliage and very fragrant flowers in early spring.

DNA studies have enabled botanists to more accurately scrutinize the evolutionary development of these plant species (phylogeny), and they are finding a mixed bag of information. It paints a far more complex history that “may have involved multiple historical events at very different geological times in different genera.” (Xiang, Soltis and Soltis, 1998) In some instances, genetic work reveals that paired disjunct species are not as closely related to each other as to other relatives indicating continued species evolution and diversification after separation.

Ginkakuji Temple in Kyoto. Note the large clump of Miscanthus grass behind the tree on the right. Miscanthus is an invasive plant in North America.

Some believe Asia was at or close to the center of origin for flowering plants. It has far richer plant diversity, more genera and species, than eastern North America. Asian temperate forests contain approximately three times as many tree species as similar forests in North America. (Guo 1999) Xiang, Soltis, and Soltis (1998) state “eastern Asia, with its 2,753 genera of seed plants, has a biodiversity far greater than that of eastern North America, which has only 1,230.” They cite the “extreme example” of Lindera (Spicebush) [east Asia has 80 species, eastern North America three] and assert this could be attributed to Asia’s “complex topography…promot[ing] a greater rate of speciation due to the abundance of varied habitats and natural barriers that could allow different populations of a species to evolve separately.”

China’s flora, not extensively explored and cataloged until the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, was of particular interest for its diversity of woody species. Botanists were not the only people intrigued with Asia’s botanical riches. Horticulturists, noting the similarities in climate and plants, accurately estimated the likely success for cultivation of Asian species in North America as ornamentals. Charles Sargent, first director of the Arnold Arboretum (Harvard University), raised seeds sent to him from China and pushed for the collection of more specimens including living plants. (Boufford and Spongberg 1983)

Sweet Autumn Clematis, an invasive vine, is the Asian equivalent of our Virgin’s Bower. Photo Chris Evans, River to River CWMA, http://www.insectimages.org

This climatic, floristic, and ecological affinity has a distinct downside. Asian plants grown in North America may find the local accommodations much to their liking. Freed from evolved competition and predation (insects and disease) back home, their new digs pose little impediment to growth and spread. North American plants, fighting their own battles with native competitors and predators, are quite unused to the foreign competition and have yet to evolve effective means to fight back. Many lose ground to aggressive exotic species which then take over habitats, drastically diminishing diversity. Other organisms dependent on the displaced native species lose too.

Our native Clematis, Virgin’s Bower

In Tennessee, 135 species are listed as known or possible exotic invasive plants. Nearly half, 60 species, are native to Asia and the overwhelming majority are woody (trees, shrubs, or vines). Many other species are generally ascribed to “Eurasia.” Among the most serious pest plants, 18 of the 26 species ranked as a Severe Threat in Tennessee are from Asia. Sixty-six species on the invasive list may be found in nurseries for cultivation, and 40 of them are from Asia.

The same pairing of remarkably similar plants occurs with some of the invasive species: Burning Bush (Euonymus alatus) and Hearts-a-bustin’ (E. americanus), Japanese Wisteria (Wisteria floribunda) and American Wisteria (W. frutescens), Japanese Honeysuckle (Lonicera japonica) and Trumpet Honeysuckle (L. sempervirens), Sweet Autumn Clematis (Clematis terniflora) and Virgin’s Bower (C. virginiana), Japanese Meadowsweet (Spiraea japonica) and Virginia Meadowsweet (S. virginiana), Asian Bittersweet (Celastrus orbiculatus) and American Bittersweet (C. scandens).

Great Blue Heron at Ryoanji Temple in Kyoto

The disjunct phenomenon is not limited to plants. Similar species have been discovered among fungi, arachnids, millipedes, insects, and freshwater fish. (Yih 2012 [Wen 1999]) Experts continue to research, debate, and refine the interpretation of data collected to more fully illuminate this fascinating connection.

Information for this blog post was derived from the following scientific papers, articles, and Web sites. If my limited scientific study has led to any misrepresentations, I take full responsibility for these errors.

Boufford, D.E., and S.A. Spongberg. 1983. Eastern Asian-eastern North American phytogeographical relationships: A history from the time of Linnaeus to the twentieth century. Annals of the Missouri Botanical Garden 70:423-439.

Graham, Alan. 1993. History of the Vegetation: Cretaceous (Maastrichtian) – Tertiary. Vegetation and Climates of the Past, Flora of North America. floranorthamerica.org

Guo, Qinfeng. 1999. Ecological comparisons between Eastern Asia and North America: historical and geographical perspectives. Journal of Biogeography 26:199-206.

White, Peter S. 1983. Eastern Asian-eastern North American floristic relations: The plant community level. Annals of the Missouri Botanical Garden 70:734-747.

Wofford, B.E. 1989. Floristic elements of the Tennessee Blue Ridge. Journal of the Tennessee Academy of Science 64/3:205-207.

Wood, Carroll E. 1972. Morphology and phytogeography: The classical approach to the study of disjunctions. Annals of the Missouri Botanical Garden 59:107-124.

Xiang, Qiu-Yun, D.E. Soltis, P.S. Soltis. 1998. The eastern Asian and eastern and western North American floristic disjunction: Congruent phylogenetic patterns in seven diverse genera. Molecular Phylogenetics and Evolution 10:177-190.

Yih, David. 2012. Land bridge travelers of the Tertiary: The eastern Asian-eastern North American floristic disjunction. Arnoldia 69/3:14-23.

Radford University, Biomes of the World and Arcto-Tertiary Geoflora

https://php.radford.edu/~swoodwar/biomes/?page_id=94

https://www.radford.edu/~swoodwar/CLASSES/GEOG235/biomes/tbdf/arcto/html

Lower Mt. Cammerer Trail, Oct. 26, 2012

Sutton Ridge Overlook Spur Trail

A quick trip to the mountains gives me a chance to work in a one-day hike. Mary joins me on a gorgeous Friday to perambulate Lower Mt. Cammerer, a 7.5 mile trail rising gently from Cosby Campground to the Appalachian Trail east of Mt. Cammerer and its iconic octagonal lookout. We begin at the hiker parking lot, taking Low Gap Trail for 0.4 mile to its intersection with Lower Mt. Cammerer.

The first 2.5 miles are relatively flat, skirting the base of steep Rocky Face Mountain and crossing the broad stretch of land accommodating Toms Creek. A brief uphill tick at the start and a half-mile dip after Sutton Ridge are the primary deviations. The trail bumps out around Sutton Ridge at 1.4 miles. A short spur trail (200 yards) leads up to an overlook offering a northern prospect of the ridge’s extension and Riding Fork’s valley.

Sourwoods and Red Maples on Sutton Ridge

The view and quiet atmosphere provide a pleasant side diversion for trail hikers, and a small log bench offers the temptation to linger a while. Sutton Ridge can serve as an easy destination for lunch on a day when hiking isn’t the priority. Sourwoods and Red Maples display rich coloration in the soft light on this cloudy morning. Yellow petals of a single sunflower signal the only blossom visible on the ridge. Bracken Fern fronds are brown and curled.

The view from Sutton Ridge Overlook. Autumn color has drained into the valleys.

Overall, autumnal foliage is patchy and has drained into lower elevations. The general effect is golden and rather subdued for this time of year. Red Maples are the stars, but they sport more orange and yellow than their name would imply. After Sutton Ridge, the trail descends into a cove and crosses a small creek that is part of Riding Fork. The creek’s water trickles down a long cascade of stepped rock now covered in fallen leaves.

Eastern Hemlocks catch falling hardwood leaves.

Light breezes tug at leaves and break their weakened connection to twigs. Streaming swirls of yellow flutter among thin gray trunks and murmur a soft sibilant mantra in the mountain quiet. The forest floor is a kaleidoscope of warm hues, offset by pale tan leaf undersides and complimented by cool-toned evergreens. Many leaves have become ensnared in densely twigged, sparsely needled Eastern Hemlocks during their brief downward trek.

Some autumn leaves start off brown. Oaks in particular typically have rich, medium brown fall color. Red Oaks near the top of the trail are dropping huge leaves as large as my boot. Fraser Magnolia leaves are also very large and are colored an orangey brown that at times can take on a more mustardy, baby-pooh tone. Freshly fallen magnolia leaves are flat, smooth, and supple. As they dry, they begin to pucker between the veins and curl, eventually shriveling to a fraction of their original size.

White Snakeroot with a visitor

Lower Mt. Cammerer sweeps around in a wide arc and meticulously works its way in and out of numerous folds (Sutton Ridge, Leadmine Ridge, Rowdy Ridge, and Groundhog Ridge) radiating north, northwest from Mt. Cammerer and Cammerer Ridge along the Smokies crest. Creek drainages between these ridges fan outward, all destined for the Pigeon River. The trail maintains a remarkably steady rise between mile 2.5 and 6.0, with an elevation gain just over 1,200 feet, and the climb is anything but difficult. A mile and a half before the A.T. junction, the trail levels out again. There is a short, steep section just before it levels, but about the time I begin to huff and puff, I find myself sailing on flat ground.

Appalachian Trail junction

The trail is usually wide and not bad in terms of rocks or roots. A few places near the bottom and the top are a little rougher. This time of year can present problems when leaves mask these scattered impediments.

There are sections where the trail’s main path is narrow and situated on the outer edge. The inner portion is slanted and rough with clumping plants, making it unsuitable for walking. This narrow path’s edge sometimes cants downward. A foot placed too close may give way downslope. A horse had done just that, its hoof carving a deep gash in the soil.

Bleached fronds of New York Fern

It may be 7.5 miles long, but this trail’s gentle demeanor attracts a number of visitors. We encounter several riders on horseback and other hikers. The weather is predicted to change rather dramatically tomorrow, and people are enjoying today’s gift. It began with a low blanket of clouds obscuring sky. By the time we reach Campsite #35 at 3.5 miles, sunshine has cut this blanket to shreds revealing a gloriously mild, mid-autumn day. A patch of sunlight illuminates one particularly colorful tree in the distance, likely a Red Maple, sparking its foliage into a radiant, fiery glow. Mary calls it the “burning bush.”

Blue Wood Aster

She and I lunch at the trail’s junction with the A.T. It is a wide, level spot with sitting logs. To the northwest, a tranquil wooded slope rises toward Mt. Cammerer.

The trail’s many coves are fairly rich as evidenced by clumps of mottled Liverleaf foliage and a dense patch of Maple-leaved or Blunt-leaf Waterleaf. Red-twig Doghobble leaves are deep red. Some isolated fronds of New York Fern look bleached — ghostly white drained of color with just a hint of green in their stems. At the higher elevations, Blue Wood Aster is still in the prime of flowering, and a few White Snakeroot flowers can be found.

Pear-shaped Puffballs

Mary sees a cluster of round, stalked mushrooms on a log — Pear-shaped Puffballs (Lycoperdon pyriforme). Typically fruiting summer to fall, this fungus occurs in large groups on decaying wood, whitish when young and darkening with age. These sporocarps are now fully mature, a greenish olive drab, each with a single, large pore at the apex to release gentle puffs of dark powdery spore.

The return trip is a breeze except for the climb to Sutton Ridge. It’s interesting that the most demanding uphill portion occurs when hiking down Lower Mt. Cammerer. We walk past the junction with Low Gap Trail to our trail’s true terminus on the backside of Cosby Campground, then follow the road to the parking area. Today’s hike totals 15.3 miles, a new personal best for me, achieved in seven hours not counting our 30 minute lunch.