California's Central Coast, through a lens

"I gazing at the boundaries of granite and spray, the established sea-marks, felt behind me

Mountain and plain, the immense breadth of the continent,

before me the mass and doubled stretch of water."

Those are not my words. Robinson Jeffers wrote them a century ago. But that's very much how I felt after driving across the Rocky Mountains, Colorado Plateau, Great Basin, Mojave Desert, Central Valley, and Coast Range to reach the "Continent's End" as Jeffers called it. He loved this rugged coast with off and on fog—a place where we can "unhumanize our views a little, and become confident, as the rock and ocean ... "

Estero Beach State Park north of Cayucos, in intermittent fog.

Herring Gulls probably (note pink leg).

Cormorants were cooperative, hardly moving while I played with my new camera and lens.

Seabirds as sculpture.

My friend showed me a curious erosion-resistant white deposit near the base of the bluffs. Geotripper Garry Hayes says it's calcite, perhaps from a spring. What do you think?

This one is harder to explain ;)

The next day, I hiked up the Point Sal road south of Guadalupe. It climbs steeply, and then winds down down down to Point Sal State Beach. The road is closed to motorized vehicles, is dirt much of the way, and is quite rough in places. Hard to imagine going to Point Sal in the family station wagon! But that's what we did.

Looking down from the Point Sal road; trailhead is white spot in lower left quarter.

The hills were still green (normally brown by now) and plants were flourishing, thanks to torrential rains earlier in the year.

The beloved and the despised: orange California Poppy and yellow Black Mustard (actually, some people like the yellow patches the mustard adds to our grasslands).

I spotted several giant thistles along the road—about six feet tall! This is the non-native Blessed Milkthistle. It's listed Noxious in some parts of the country, but the California Invasive Plants Council considers it of limited concern, with low rates of invasion and minor ecological impact. I was taken by its dramatic features, especially the boldly mottled leaves.

Silybum marianum.

I turned around at the crest, far above Point Sal beach. Views down can be spectacular, but that day they were mostly hidden by fog—the ocean's breath (channeling Jeffers again).

Looking south with a bit of ocean and strand visible below the fog bank.

The rugged north end of Point Sal beach ... a view I will never tire of!

Tree-following: What to do on a windy Wyoming day?

Mid-photo are the two Rocky Mountain Junipers I'm following, at the base of the Laramie Mountains.

The approach was not a problem.

A few days ago I made a short excursion to visit the junipers I'm following this year. Average wind speed was 28 miles per hour, with gusts to 40. From a distance this wasn't a problem. But up close the trees were frantically waving in the blustery southeasterly wind, portent of an approaching storm system. Indeed it rained buckets the next two days!

Photo at highest shutter speed allowed.

So I took photos of a neighboring plant instead. It was less than 2 cm tall and not much bothered by the wind.

Even after wandering out here all these years, I'm still impressed and astonished that plants can become established and survive in a tiny crevice or depression in bare rock, exposed to the desiccating Wyoming wind. I wonder how old this one is?

The leaves are covered in silky hairs.

The scientific name of this plant is Tetraneuris acaulis (Pursh) Greene var. caespitosa A. Nels. There's an interesting bit of history encoded here. F.T. Pursh was the first to name the species (Gaillardia acaulis), in 1814. Then in 1898, E.L. Green moved it to the genus Tetraneuris. In the meantime our very own Aven Nelson, Father of Wyoming Botany, found populations in the Laramie area that were different enough to be be recognized as a new variety. "Its matted habit, silky-lanate leaves and very short scapes [flowering stems] easily separate it." he wrote in 1899. Nelson's 1898 collection from the "Laramie Hills" was the type specimen (basis for description) for the new variety.

From the Rocky Mountain Herbarium, U. Wyoming. Click image to view labels.

Zooming in (below), we see this is a member of the daisy or aster family (Asteraceae). What some would interpret as a single flower is actually many tiny ones: a round cluster of disc flowers surrounded by ray flowers with strap-like united petals.

Nelson provided no common name, so I checked the Integrated Taxonomic Information System, supported and used by many North American governmental agencies. Officially, this is the Caespitose Four-nerve Daisy, a translation of the Latin. But there's gotta be something better! I suggest Nelson's Silky Stemless Daisy :)

Sources

Information about taxonomic and nomenclatural history of plant species is available at Tropicos, often with links to historical literature, including the wonderful offerings of the Biodiversity Heritage Library. That's where I found Aven Nelson's 1899 article about the genus Tetraneuris.

This is my rather tangential contribution to news from the tree-followers who gather monthly. More here. Thanks to The Squirrelbasket for continuing to host!