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Tuesday, September 16, 2025

Monthly Ferns—Prairie Quillwort & Scale Tree

Prairie Quillwort is 50 centimeters tall (© 2015 Robbin Moran); Scale Tree is 50 meters tall (source). Both are lycophytes—formerly "Fern Allies".
This episode of The Monthly Fern was going to feature Isoetes melanopoda, the Prairie Quillwort, mentioned last month in the wildly popular Prairie Spikemoss post (1). But in my search for information I fell down a rabbit hole and landed with a splash in an ancient Wonderland—a wet lush forest 350 million years ago near the start of the Carboniferous Period (2). After extricating myself from the muck I looked around. Tree ferns, horsetails and dragonflies looked familiar, though a bit large. But the trees were very strange.

It was during the Carboniferous that wetland forests with tall trees first appeared in the fossil record. These were hot humid riotous tangles of vegetation growing in shallow water and muddy peat that reeked of decay. Dense stands of curious trees rose high above the understory. The most common (or best preserved) was Lepidodendron, the Scale Tree. "Scale" refers to the distinctive bark—a network of diamond-shaped leaf scars (Halliday 2022).

Wetland forest of the Carboniferous; large Lepidodendron on left (Meyers Konversationslexikon 1885–1890).
Though they've been gone for 300 million years, we know a lot about these trees. Their fossilized remains are among the most extensive for any plant from any geological period, and for good reason. Not only was Lepidodendron large and ecologically dominant, it lived in waterlogged conditions conducive to preservation. Paleontologists have been able to describe features ranging from spores to leaves to trees, and even stands of trees (Hetherington et al. 2016).

Lepidodendron differed in many ways from the trees we know. Stems of young trees were covered in long ascending needle-like leaves. These fell off as the tree grew taller and wider, leaving a spiraling network of diamond-shaped scars on the trunk. With age the trunk developed a thick tough outer layer—bark of sorts—but underneath was soft spongy tissue instead of wood. At maturity the stem branched dichotomously (repeatedly forked), forming a high crown as much as 50 meters above the ground. The final branchlets were tipped with strobili (cones) filled with spores, to be dispersed by wind (source). This so-called "tree" was an arborescent lycophyte, a fern relative.

Juvenile and mature Lepidodendron on left; trees to right are related lycophytes. Reconstruction from fossils, by Falconaumanni.
Given Lepidodendron's massive build, its lack of internal wood and the waterlogged habitat, it seems it would fall before reaching such heights. What kept it upright? Some credit the thick tough bark. But others argue convincingly for the robust root system. From very long rhizomes grew a profusion of highly-branched rootlets covered in root hairs—on the order of 26,000 rootlets per meter of rhizome! They intertwined with those of adjacent trees, forming a strong anchoring network—"trees holding onto one another for stability" (Hetherington et al. 2016; Halliday 2022).

Lepidodendron truly was an arboreal superstar, dominating the wetland forests and producing immense amounts of biomass for tens of millions of years (3). But it was doomed. By 300 million years ago, the Carboniferous rainforests and arborescent lycophytes were gone, destroyed by widespread drought. Lepidodendron's only surviving relatives are little herbaceous plants—Isoetes, the quillworts.

Bolander's Quillworts in a lake in the Wasatch Mountains, Utah. Andrey Zharkikh photo.

Now we return to the present—to a roadside waterhole along highway #44 in Mellette County, South Dakota, where W. H. Over (4) made his 15,878-th plant collection on July 10, 1924. Isoetes has not been collected in the state since.

Over correctly identified his collection to genus—Isoetes. Four months later, TC Palmer called it I. melanopoda, and Daniel F. Brunton agreed in 1995. The specimen resides at the Academy of Natural Sciences, where it has been digitized for all to enjoy (cropped here).
Like all quillworts, the Prairie Quillwort has no stem. Instead a cluster of leaves develops from the rhizome. From a distance these look like clumps of grass, but up close the leaves are distinctive—long, slender, quill-like, and bright green. The leaf bases are broad and pale, forming a swollen rootstock. These usually become black with age, hence the alternative common name—Black-foot Quillwort (plants with leaf bases that remain pale have been called I. melanopoda f. pallida).
Isoetes melanopoda; MWI photo.
Being a lycophyte, Prairie Quillwort produces no seeds. Nor does it have rows of spore-bearing sori on the undersides of its leaves as do most true ferns. Instead, spores are produced in a sac on the inner side of leaf bases.
Isoetes melanopoda; MWI photo.
Surely some readers are wondering ... how is little Isoetes like immense Lepidodendron? Why do botanists think they're related? Answer: It's the roots, especially the way they branch.

"this architecture is conserved among [Lepidodendron's] only extant relatives, herbaceous plants in the Isoetes genus. Therefore, despite the difference in stature and the time that has elapsed, we conclude that both ... have the same rootlet system architecture." (Hetherington et al. 2016)
Lepidodendron and Isoetes rootlets branch dichotomously, narrowing in a stepwise manner. A is a diagram of a rootlet with 4 levels of branching. B and C show rootlets of Isoetes and Lepidodendron (scale bars are 5 mm). Hetherington et al. 2015, Fig. 1 in part.
A final question: Is Prairie Quillwort gone from South Dakota? Has it suffered its own extinction? Maybe so. Skilled botanists have searched for it with no luck. But perhaps they were limiting themselves, looking only in "roadside waterholes" and such. Of great interest to me is its occurrence nearby in Minnesota where it's a state Endangered species. It's distribution there is quite limited—rainwater and seepage pools in quartzite rock outcrops, in the southwest corner of the state.
MWI photo.
This rock—Sioux quartzite—also crops out in the southeast corner of South Dakota. I visited several locations a few years ago, and am tempted to go back now that I have a such a vivid search image for Prairie Quillwort in my head!
Sign at Palisades State Park, SD. Pink marks exposures of Sioux Quartzite in southwest MN and southeast SD.
See any habitat?

Notes

(1) Last week I noticed that views of my Prairie Spikemoss post had skyrocketed. Now Desert Mountain is getting the same level of attention. I'm suspicious. Are chatbots visiting, searching for information? Are AI models being built? Have you had this experience?

(2) In North America the Carboniferous often is treated as two periods— Mississippian followed by Pennsylvanian.

(3) Though long extinct, Lepidodendron remains vitally important. Fossilized remains of those wetland forests with giant trees and abundant peat (aka Coal Forests) drove rapid industrialization in the 18th and 19th centuries, and continue to sustain our dependency on fossil fuels (oil and gas are more common in Cretaceous rocks).

(4) W. H. Over must have been a bright and highly motivated autodidact. He quit school in Illinois after finishing the 8th grade, homesteaded in South Dakota, and by the time of his Isoetes collection, was Museum Curator at the University of South Dakota. He would go on to become one of the state's great botanists. Among his many achievements is the "Flora of South Dakota"—the first comprehensive treatment of plants known for the state. For more about Dr. Over (he was awarded a Doctor of Science degree at age 70), start here and here. I'm still looking for a comprehensive biography.

Sources (in addition to links in post)

Halliday, T. 2022. Otherlands; a Journey through Earth's Extinct Worlds. Random House.
The Carboniferous Period is in Chapter 11, "Fuel". Halliday's descriptions of past worlds are surprisingly detailed, and supported with many citations.

Hetherington, AJ, Berry, CM, Dola, L. 2016. Networks of highly branched stigmarian rootlets developed on the first giant trees. PNAS 113:6695–6700.  https://www.pnas.org/doi/full/10.1073/pnas.1514427113

Moran, Robbin. 2004. A Natural History of Ferns. Timber Press.

Sunday, September 7, 2025

Desert Mountain—Utah's latest GeoSight

"now a quiet, remote monument to that violent geological time." (Smith 2025)
Desert Mountain's peaks and ridges lower right quarter of photo; white mark is high point (Google Earth).
Desert Mountain is small mountain—an isolated cluster of low peaks, ridges and knobs in Utah's West Desert. The first geologist to write about it thought "Desert Hills" more appropriate (Loughlin 1920). But its story is huge—complicated and filled with drama. And being geological, it's long.

We could start 300 million years ago, when collisions on both sides of a young North America were deforming it far inland, for example in today's western Utah. Or we could start 300 million years before that, when western Utah was covered in shallow water of the great Paleozoic Sea. Or we could go back yet another 300 million years to the creation of that sea, when the supercontinent Rodinia was coming apart. But we won't. Instead we'll start three months ago, on a hot spring day.

Shortly before I left home, the spring issue of Survey Notes showed up in my mailbox. Inside was a GeoSight—a new one, and in the general area of my travels. Of course I would go there! Of the many resources offered by the Utah Geological Survey (UGS), my favorite is GeoSights. I visited my first, the Honeycombs, in 2012. Awed by the rocks and their story, I've been geotripping to GeoSights ever since.
Sunset on the Honeycombs, 2012.
My visit to Desert Mountain was about 80 miles round trip from Delta. I took UT Hwy 6 north to the Jericho Callao Road, then drove west. Pavement soon gave way to gravel, a bit rough in places but generally good. The road crossed open juniper woodlands and sparse dry grasslands, with expansive playas to the south. After 22.5 miles, with Desert Mountain visible nearby, I stayed left at a junction and was soon at its base.
Approaching Desert Mountain from the north. Kelly Hewitt photo via Google Earth.
Rocks abound, trees not so much; pale band close to road is a fence covered in tumbleweeds.
The road continued along the base of a steep slope with granite outcrops, then climbed a short distance to Desert Mountain Pass where there was no shade to be had. I parked and reread Jackson Smith's GeoSight article inside the van, cooled by light breezes wafting through opened windows and doors.

Desert Mountain was born c. 30 to 40 million years ago, during the Great Ignimbrite Flareup which ravaged much of Nevada and western Utah. For 15 million years large volcanoes, supervolcanoes and complexes of supervolcanoes (1) produced on the order of 5.5 million km3 of volcanic material—great clouds of ash that blocked the sun, huge volumes of rock fragments hurled hundreds of miles, and searing pyroclastic flows that destroyed everything in their path. For comparison, the 1980 Mount St. Helens eruption produced only one km3 of material (source).
Geologic map shows rock units discussed here. Blue B's mark shoreline of glacial Lake Bonneville, black lines are faults, labeled arrows are mine (Smith 2025).
Today's rock outcrops suggest that the life of the Desert Mountain volcano had three stages. In the first, viscous rhyolite oozing from vents formed thick deposits of lava. Rhyolite outcrops are the remains of this relatively peaceful eruption (not part of my tour).

But while the lava oozed ever so slowly, trouble was brewing below. Gas was accumulating in the viscous magma, increasing in pressure until it literally exploded. Massive amounts of rock fragments and ash were sent flying. These pyroclastic deposits are said to be common east of the mountain, a project for a cooler day.

The eruption largely emptied the magma chamber, causing the roof of the volcano to collapse. The result was a caldera—a very large bowl-shaped depression. When the roof collapsed it broke up into a mishmash of preexisting rocks and erupted material, forming today's volcanic breccia. I may have seen it at Desert Mountain Pass, adjacent to the beautiful pale granite outcrops.
A close look at the volcanic breccia of Desert Mountain (UGS).
Desert Mountain Pass. Is that volcanic breccia behind the granite? I thought so at the time.
From the pass I drove south, using the geologic map to figure out what I was seeing. Occasionally I spotted large outcrops of much darker rock. This is granodiorite, an older intrusion predating the Desert Mountain volcano (age unknown).
Utah Juniper on pale granite; dark granodiorite in distance.
The star of the show, hands down, was the beautiful pale granite, the youngest and most extensive of Desert Mountain's rock outcrops. It was not present during the cataclysmic eruption, arriving later in the volcano's life. In the third stage, remaining magma rose but didn't reach the surface. Instead it cooled deep enough to form visibly crystalline rock—an exceptionally pale granite sometimes called leucogranite (2).

That may have been the final eruption but obviously there's more to the story, for the granite no longer is fully buried. Exhumation started about 17 million years ago, when the part of North America between the Wasatch Mountains and the Sierra Nevada (today's Basin and Range Province) began to stretch east to west. This extension deformed and fragmented older landscapes, including Desert Mountain. The caldera was uplifted, tilted and fractured, allowing erosion to slowly expose and sculpt the lovely granite.
Desert Mountain granite. Sonny Wilson photo, via Google Earth (cropped).
Granite on the west side of Desert Mountain. gjagiels photo, via Summit Post.
Spectacular outcrop at south end of Desert Mountain. Hmmm ... what are those black and white bands?
There's one more chapter in the Desert Mountain story. It's incomplete, difficult to properly place in the overall timeline, and has rock classification issues. But there's also fun to had.

Sometime after the granite was intruded—perhaps while the magma was cooling or later during extension (or both)—molten material filled fractures forming dikes. Whitish aplite dikes formed first, followed by dark andesitic dikes (3). How do we know the order? By their cross-cutting relationships! These are fun to find and worthy of attention for the story they tell. At Desert Mountain, the white dikes cross the pale granite and are therefore younger. The dark dikes cross both the white dikes and the granite and are therefore the youngest of the three.
 Wonderful display of cross-cutting relationships; white arrows mark less conspicuous aplite.
I considered camping at the base of this outcrop but it was much too hot for me. On the drive to Delta, I stopped and took one more photo of the beautiful pale granite. Then I continued south.
See the dike?

Notes

(1) Desert Mountain is part of the Thomas-Keg-Desert mountains caldera complex (DeCourten 2003). The Honeycombs, mentioned early in the post, may be related.

(2) The pale granite at Desert Mountain was called leucogranite early on (e.g., Kattelman 1968). Now "leucogranite" is increasingly used for a pale granite formed in collisional tectonic settings, for example in the Himalayas (E. H. Christiansen, personal communication). For more, see Miller's excellent Perspective (2024). He explains that though collisional is by far the most common tectonic setting for leucogranite formation, it can form in others, including extensional, if certain conditions are met (e.g., composition low in aluminum). In any case, "leucogranite" is used in Jackson's GeoSights article; Christiansen prefers "granite". [Suggestion to UGS: In GeoSights articles, cite a few sources for additional information.]

(3) The dark dikes also are controversial. According to Jackson, the rock "apparently" is very dark lamprophyre—a catch-all term for various peculiar ultramafic rocks not amenable to the usual classifications (source). Christiansen and colleagues prefer andesite.

Sources (in addition to links in post)

I'm grateful to Eric Christiansen, Professor Emeritus at Brigham Young University, for answering my questions about igneous rocks at Desert Mountain, and for his appreciation of cross-cutting relationships.

Brigham Young University. 2013. Supervolcano in Utah: massive ancient volcano discovered by BYU geologists. YouTube.

DeCourten, FL. 2003. The Broken Land; adventures in Great Basin geology. U. Utah Press.

Loughlin, G. F., 1920, Desert Mountain, in B. S. Butler, and others, Ore deposits of Utah: U. S. Geol. Survey Prof. Paper III, 444-445. PDF

Miller, CF. 2024. Granites, leucogranites, Himalayan leucogranites ... Elements 20(6):359–364. doi: https://doi.org/10.2138/gselements.20.6.359

Rees, DC, Erickson, MP, Whelan, JA. 1973. Geology and diatremes of Desert Mountain, Utah. Utah Geological & Mineralogical Survey Special Studies 42. PDF

Smith, J. 2025. Geosights: Desert Mountain, Juab County, Utah. Utah Geological Survey, Survey Notes.