Point Colville Preserve, Lopez Island, WA, 18 June 2012

David and I arrived at the trailhead at 10:23 under partly cloudy skies. We walked briskly along the trail, taking the right fork, wanting to reach the shore for the minus tide at about 10:45. Along the way we heard Olive-sided Flycatcher, Pacific-slope Flycatcher, Spotted Towhee, Chestnut-backed Chickadee, Purple Finch, Orange-crowned Warbler, and saw a Dark-eyed Junco carrying food.

When we reached the open area, White-crowned Sparrows sang from the dog thickets. Harvest Brodiaea and Hooker's Onion bloomed on the prairie, while Puget Sound Gumweed flowered closer to shore. Out on the water between Castle and Colville Islands rested and flew tens of Pigeon Guillemots. Black Oystercatchers called. I counted 41 Harbor Seals hauled out on Colville Island.

We inched down to the tide pool area, where it was less breezy. On his way over to his favorite fishing perch, David spotted a Gumboot Chiton, our first for Lopez. This leathery, reddish-brown mollusk is "acclaimed as the largest chiton in the world." (Sept 1999, The Beachcomber's Guide to Seashore Life in the Pacific Northwest) Black Katy Chitons, much smaller and more common, appeared to be quite abundant.

While David fished, I searched the pools for more marine organisms. The low tide had exposed much, so I was able to see a wonderful diversity of life. One of my favorite species is the bright Orange Sea Cucumber, also called Sea Gherkin after its nubbly, pickle-like shape when its tentacles are withdrawn. Purple Sea Stars tucked themselves under boulder overhangs to wait out the low tide. In the deeper tide pools, Painted Anemones waved their red and green tentacles, while in shallower pools, they looked like globular mounds of jello. Green Sea Urchins blended with the green algaes, some even seeming to camouflage themselves further with bits of shell or algae attached to their dorsal sides. Darting movements alerted me to the presence of Tidepool Sculpins. I hunkered down to study the one to three inch fish, prettily marked with a variety of stripes and speckles in browns, blacks and tans. While there, I noted the shiny, conical shells of Blue Topsnails. The shiniest blue ones looked almost tropical. Moving farther west, I discovered very shallow pools with both Branching and Encrusting Coralline Algaes in dusky pinks, some littered with Sitka(?) Periwinkles. Also in these shallow pools, or in a rock depression, were small conglomerations of Aggregating Anemones, pink-tipped tentacles withdrawn, but the bright color visible in the center of the greenish-gray columns. Bladder Wrack covered several square feet of rock. I remember it, or a similar species, fondly from my childhood on the Connecticut shore, where I called it popping seaweed. My Dad, an oceanographer, told me the scientific name was Fucus and I’ve always kept that Latin appellation inside me. Tucked in crevices of deeper shade, Goose Barnacles* shone white against the black rocks to which they attached themselves. I love their distinctive form and coloring.

Having had no luck fishing, David joins me. He turns over rocks to reveal olive-green Six-rayed Stars, much smaller at four inches across than their larger cousins the Pisasters (to 14 inches across); a Northern Clingfish clinging to the underside of a rock (we were careful to place the rock back in its former position); and a diversity of crabs. Since six-rayed stars eat sea cucumbers, it was not surprising to find them common with the number of orange sea cucumbers also present.

Crabs: kelp, purple shore, flattop, pygmy rock, black-claw*. The Kelp Crab’s olive-brown carapace is shaped like a shield of old. This specimen was much smaller at only a few inches across than the much larger ones I’ve seen on dock pilings in the past. Purple Shore Crabs are my favorites as they skitter about in the tide pools or scurry sideways when a rock is lifted. They are often seen on exposed shores, out of the water. In college, a friend and I studied this species on the shores of Eld Inlet, counting them within prescribed plots.

Back to Colville, where the next three species were all new to me. The Flattop Crab had a very rounded, dark carapace. I admired the long, whip-like antenna emerging behind its eyes. The purplish-red carapace of the Pygmy Rock Crab caused it to stand out in a tide pool. I was amazed to read that the females of this small (to 1-3/4 inches across) species may carry as many as 33,000 eggs (Sept 1999)! Much paler, almost white, with the exception of its foreclaws, and more feisty, the Black-clawed Crab waved its pincers in defiance when David picked him up. I was glad to see such spirit, and after a few quick photos, we returned the crab to its domain.

In the forest, we were to find another new species. Walking back on the eastern trail, I was excited to spot an orchid that I didn’t know growing amidst thick moss. Dessicating, spiranthes-like flowers coiled round the upper stem. Midway up the fine stalk, a pair of heart-shaped leaves clasped the stem. Consulting Pojar and MacKinnnon (1994), I identified the flower as Heart-leaved Twayblade. The authors write in their notes: “The intricate pollination mechanisms of Listera species fascinated Charles Darwin, who studied them intensively. The pollen is blown out explosively within a drop of viscous fluid that glues the pollen masses to unsuspecting insects (or to your finger if you touch the top of the column).” Discovering this delicate sprite was a perfect finale to our Colville outing.

Posted on August 11, 2012 03:59 AM by cbchickadee