Frost sparkled on the picnic tables at the Alaska Geographic Field Camp in
Denali National Park and the thermometer still read 30 degrees Fahrenheit even
though the sun had risen four hours earlier at about 3:00 a.m. In pairs and
trios, ten women bundled in puffy coats and winter hats emerged from tent
cabins tucked into the white spruces and converged on a small yurt where Susan,
our Alaska Geographic naturalist, had just brought out the coffee.
Alaska Geographic runs several types of educational programs in Denali National Park. Susan—a recovering microbiologist—was our host for this course. |
Over hot cereal topped with pecans, cranberries, and yogurt, we discussed
our plan for the day. The cold snap had fueled doubt among us students that we
would find many wildflowers blooming in alpine areas. Carl Roland—botanist for Denali
National Park—just smiled knowingly. Spotting a small, white flower with a
bluish cast to the undersides of its six, cream-colored petals gave me hope,
though. Carl identified it as windflower—Anemone
parviflora—and we put the first species on our list for the Wildflowers of
Denali field course.
By the time we arrived at the place where Tattler Creek intersected Park
Road, abundant sunshine had raised the temperature considerably. Here, Carl
pointed out a yellow anemone—Anemone
richardsonii—hiding under the willow shrubs. Then we crashed uphill through
thickets of thigh-high dwarf birch with dime-sized leaves, stopping often to
look at new plants.
This species of yellow anemone grows on both sides of the Bering Strait from Russia, through Alaska and Canada and into Greenland! |
It was a relief to climb out of the brushy ravine and emerge onto the
open tundra with low growing mats of vegetation. Turning to look around at the
snowcapped peaks of the Alaska Range, I reflected on how far I’d come since
leaving Wisconsin.
Glancing down, though, I spotted the familiar ovate leaves and
bell-shaped flowers of a blueberry bush. With a blueish cast and more rounded
shape, these leaves did not belong to the common Wisconsin species of lowbush blueberry
(Vaccinium angustifolium), but its
cousin, bog blueberry (Vaccinium
uliginosum). Still familiar to me, I’d come to know this plant while
canoeing in northern Minnesota and wetland monitoring in Maine. Someday I’ll
travel to Iceland, Scotland, Scandinavia, the Alps, Russia, and Japan to visit my
little friend in all of those places.
This pattern is known as circumpolar distribution. Bog rosemary,
bearberry, cottongrass, twinflower, and stiff clubmoss are some other of my
favorite Northern Wisconsin bog species who share a similar global range. Their
adaptations to severe cold, short growing seasons, and other challenges help
them thrive both at high latitudes (circling the North Pole) and high altitudes
further south. If you tilt a globe and look at it with the North Pole in the
center, you also see that there’s a lot of land up there. Plants don’t
recognize international boundaries.
This species of blueberry (Vaccinium uliginosum) is rarely found in northern Wisconsin, but it is actually widespread around the top of the globe—a pattern known as circumpolar distribution. Map from www.flora.dempstercountry.org. |
Beyond the blueberries, a scattering of creamy flowers with bright
yellow centers nestled into a mat of hearty, dark green leaves. These rose-relatives
are called mountain avens. Immediately I thought about my friend Caitlin who
did her graduate research on flowering phenology across the continent in the
White Mountains of New Hampshire. Mountain avens are her favorite flower.
This species, Dryas integrifolia (as
well as the two anemones we saw earlier),
is considered “amphiberingian,” which means that its distribution spans the
Bering Strait in North America and northern Eurasia, but doesn’t extend into
Greenland or Europe. The Bering Strait was a land bridge that connected Alaska
to Russia when sea levels fell during times when more of Earth’s water was
locked up in glacial ice. Plants, animals, and even people may have used this
temporary travel route. Because it was ice-free and kept relatively warm by the
ocean, it was also a refuge where plants could escape the grind of glaciers.
Sunshine warmed us on the tundra, and we spent hours on our knees and
bellies identifying carpets of alpine flowers. I needn’t have worried that we
find enough to look at—these plants know how to make the most of a short
summer.
As we crashed back through the brushy ravine of Tattler Creek, Carl pointed
out ruffled leaves and fuzzy buds that would soon bloom into a bear flower—Boykinia richardsonii. This showy stalk
of white flowers is a remnant of Alaska’s Tertiary Period forests. It has been
growing here for more than 2.58 million years—since mammals became dominant and
the continents moved into their current locations.
In Denali, there are 233 plant species—29 percent—who are considered
circumpolar. Throughout the park, sparsely vegetated alpine areas support higher
plant diversity than lower, warmer places with higher productivity. Doesn’t
that seem backwards? Shouldn’t the higher, colder, more extreme environments support
fewer plants?
The key here is that during
the past 300,000 years, treeless, steppe-and-tundra-like landscapes have been a
constant. Other habitats—and their plants—disappeared. The plants that stuck
around at the edge of the glaciers were pre-adapted to the conditions in the
current alpine zone. They may not have always existed right here on the slopes
above Tattler Creek, but their journey to get here would have been a whole lot
shorter than mine.
Emily is in Alaska for the summer! Follow the
journey in this column, and see additional stories and photos on her blog: http://cablemuseum.org/connect/.
For 50 years, the
Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. Come
visit us in Cable, WI! Our new exhibit: “Bee Amazed!” is open.
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