ALLURING ORCHIDS

posted 05/16/08
Wildflower season is in full swing. Last week, I stood at the Redoubt at American Camp and, turning full circle, was delighted by the medley of bright colors that spread across the plain. Violet-blue common camas, chocolate lilies, field chickweed, creamy death camas, western and California buttercups, and smaller non-native blooms, including pink filaree, all shimmered in the prairie grass.

I knew that not far away, in Jakle's Woods, more wildflowers were blooming – not so flamboyant perhaps as a field of camas and buttercups, but nonetheless lovely to behold. My thoughts turned to our native orchids some of which were also flowering. Over a dozen terrestrial species bloom in our island forests and meadows. They are small and inconspicuous, some more akin to sprites than to their sensual, showy cousins of the tropics. Once having made their acquaintance, it is a joyful task to follow the succession of their blooms from late March until September.

First comes the fairy-slipper orchid (Calypso bulbosa) - that shy nymph that seeks the solitude of the woods quietly concealed under moss, or a cache of fir and hemlock needles, until its fiery pink bloom emerges and peeks quixotically from the duff. This appears to be an especially good year for little Calypso currently abiding in woodlands throughout the islands.

As we moved into late-April and May, Calypso was joined by the coralroots – also members of the Orchid Family. Coralroots have stems sheathed with reddish scales, rather than with green leaves, due to their lack of chlorophyll. On first encountering budding coralroots, one might imagine that they had stumbled upon a patch of wild, red asparagus, but once the flowers bloom, there is no mistaking the lure of the Orchidaceae.

With orchids on my mind, I decided to walk the Jakle's Lagoon Trail. As I made the steep descent into the woods, sunlight filtered through the Douglas firs, casting a sheen upon the dusting of yellow lichens that clung to the bark of the towering conifers. The forest was relatively quiet except for the exuberant calls of chickadees and nuthatches, the buzzing scolding of wrens, and the far-off serenade of a yellow-rumped warbler. It was not long before I found my first orchid - spotted coralroot (Corallorhiza maculata maculata) just coming into bloom. It is a plant easily overlooked (except by the deer) until you get that first affirming glance, then the reddish spikes seem to appear everywhere – if modestly - beneath the firs. Looking closely, I could see the diminutive flowers unfolding along the sheath – broad white lips spotted with bright magenta. The flower is perfectly adapted for cross-pollination. Among its features, that spotted lower lip is a perfect "landing platform" for insects whose weight on the lip exposes both the nectar and the sticky surface upon which they transfer pollen from previously visited plants.

The corallorhizas are intriguing plants - perennial saprophytes that survive in a symbiotic relationship with certain decaying organic matter. Dr. Eugene Kozloff wrote in Plants and Animals of the Pacific Northwest: "The uptake of nutrients by corallorhizas is accomplished with the help of fungi associated with their roots. The roots of the orchids themselves are short and knobby, but the fungi plugged into them spread out for some distance into the soil and thereby bring in food from a considerable area. Not only are the orchids dependent on the fungi but the fungi are in some way also dependent on the orchids." Some early botanists thought this underground mass of roots and fungi resembled coral, and thus its common name. The coralroots appear to show a preference for Douglas-fir woodlands.

There is also a yellow variant of the crimson spotted coralroot. I have seen it only occasionally over the years. I initially wondered if the bright lemon-yellow plant was a separate species, but Koz explained its classification, and smiled in recognition of another of Nature's variations on an already perfect design.

Kin to the spotted coralroot is striped coralroot (Corallorhiza striata), larger than the maculata, with three purplish-red stripes on each sepal. The striped species is less common than spotted coralroot in the San Juans, but its robust presence makes each encounter a delight. Western coralroot is sometimes found in our woodlands, too; its white lip is not spotted.

While on my walk at Jakle's, I searched for heart-leaved twayblade (Listera cordata) an orchid I had seen here many years ago while taking a botany class. I have also found it at mid- elevations on Mount Constitution. The twayblade is so small as to be nearly imperceptible in the understory. Even though I knew just where to look, still it took me several minutes of carefully scanning its realm, rife with broad-leaved starflower, before I re-discovered the uncommon recluse. The key to finding Listera is to look for the single pair of heart-shaped leaves secured opposite one another midway up its slender 6 inch stem. The subtle purplish-brown flowers are best appreciated through a hand lens - on the plant's level - so minute are its blooms. Northwestern twayblade (Listera caurina) also grows in the islands – hidden deep in moist, coniferous woods. Its flowers are yellow and pale-green.

While searching for Listera cordata, I found dozens of rattlesnake plantain (Goodyera oblongifolia) – another member of the Orchid Family, not yet in bud. This is an evergreen perennial that always adds a flare to the forest floor. Its deep green leaves are etched with white lines and blotches, some say resembling the skin of a snake. It is easily identified, even in those years when the tiny greenish-white flowers do not bloom. Early settlers thought this plant provided a cure for rattlesnake bites – a theory never proven - thus its common name.

Also beside the trail, I saw the dried stalks of other species of orchids from last summer. The elegant rein-orchid (Habenaria elegans) comes into bloom in July and August: delicate and unassuming, its slender spire supports tiny greenish-white flowers with a white spur in open clusters. Alaska rein-orchid will be along, too.

Perhaps the last orchid to bloom each year in the San Juan Islands is ladies' tresses (Spiranthes romanzoffiana). This is a plant of fields and meadows, appearing in the tall grass by mid-July. Spiranthes' vertical rows of creamy-white flowers twist around a central stem in a charming display. Botanist Leslie Haskins described it best: "...the flowers provide a veritable circular stairway for the bees, up which they love to climb, sipping sweetness at every step."

Atkinson and Sharpe's Wild Plants of the San Juan Islands lists seventeen species of orchids growing in the islands – some quite rare. From deep woods and sphagnum bogs to moist meadows and glades, island orchids are more cryptic than ornate making each encounter all the more meaningful. The plants' complex relationship with nearby organisms means that their presence here is surely maintained in a delicate balance with the environment, and with orchid lovers who might seek to collect them for their gardens. To disturb these fragile plants would surely be their undoing as they have, over time, developed a system for extracting nutrients found only in their natural sites. On my walk, I thoroughly enjoyed the orchids on their own terms – in their natural habitat – and I appreciated especially their proclivity for understatement and solitude in our increasingly restless world.

Susan Vernon is a naturalist and writer living on San Juan Island.

San Juan Nature Notebook / Alluring Orchids – text and photographs copyright 2008 by Susan Vernon. No part of this article may be reproduced, except for personal reference, without the expressed written permission of the author.

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