Recommended field apps for iPad mini?

Field work starts in a few weeks.  Since last season, I’ve acquired an iPad mini with GPS/data capabilities.  I'm hoping to find a GPS app that will allow me to take photos and enter notes when marking waypoints.  There must be some ... do you know of any?  If so, please let me know which you like via Comments below, or by email (hollis dot marriott at gmail).  Thanks!

My new toy tool.

My first project is at Devils Tower National Monument in the Black Hills in northeast Wyoming, finishing up a plant inventory started last year.  The Tower is the most amazing rock I’ve ever seen, even after ca 50 years of looking!  El Capitán in Yosemite Valley comes close, but it’s part of a landscape of similar features.  Not so Devils Tower.  It stands alone -- a beautiful and puzzling igneous intrusion in an otherwise sedimentary setting, the valley of the Belle Fourche River.

"The Devil's Tower on the Belle Fourche in northern Wyoming."  By Thomas Moran, 1894.

For more information about Devils Tower, see last year's posts. 

JC Frémont was here

A Fremont cottonwood grows along the Fremont River in southeast Utah.

John Charles Frémont (USA; 1813-1890) was a mathematician, explorer, topographer, expedition leader, military commander, entrepreneur and politician.  He was considered a hero and a scoundrel, visionary and foolish, was court-martialed for mutiny, lost a presidential election, lost a fortune to poor investment in spite a powerful political position, and was one of the greatest explorers of the American West.  But was this man a botanist?

General J.C. Frémont, from the Carll H. de Silver Fund, Brooklyn Museum Online Collection.

His adventures began with a two-year stint as a math teacher aboard a naval vessel off the coast of South America.  Next he landed a job as an engineer on a railroad survey project, and then in 1838 was made assistant to the accomplished topographer Joseph Nicollet on pioneering surveys between the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers.  Bright and ambitious, Frémont quickly learned the topographer’s trade, and when Nicollet became ill, he took over as leader.  By this time, his application for a commission had been approved, making him a Second Lieutenant in the US Topographical Corps.

The travels of John Charles Frémont.  Sierra Nevada in red, Great Basin in blue.

Frémont went on to lead five exploratory expeditions across the American West for the Army Corps of Topographical Engineers (above), producing much-needed maps and dispelling geographical myths.  His second and third expeditions circumnavigated the Sierra Nevada of California, crossing the range in mid-winter twice (bold? or foolhardy?) and quashing all hopes of finding the Río Buenaventura, said to flow from the interior to the sea.  Instead they discovered an immense area of interior drainage east of the Sierra Nevada where no river ever reaches the sea.  Frémont named it the Great Basin.

Sign courtesy Inyo-White National Forest; click photo to read.

The 19th century was a grand time for plant collectors as well as topographers.  The flora of western North America was very poorly known, and there were tremendous opportunities for finding "novelties" -- plants new to science.  The collectors themselves were a disparate group.  Some were educated botanists but many were self-taught, perhaps with a bit of training in proper preparation of specimens in the field.  They included pioneer settlers, farmers, gardeners, doctors, army officers and miscellaneous free spirits -- all captivated by the promise of botanical discovery.

Frémont recognized the need for botanical material and insisted that specimens be collected on his expeditions.  He himself was the “botanist” on all but one.  He probably was first exposed to plant collecting on the Nicollet expeditions, observing the work of botanist Karl Geyer.  Later, he received advice and direction from the academic botanists to whom he sent his collections.  “Lieut. F. must be indoctrinated, & taught to collect both dried spec. & seeds” wrote botanist Asa Gray of Harvard.

Asa Gray in 1864; photo by John Whipple.

Plant collecting in Frémont's time was not all that different from now.  Specimens were preserved in the field by pressing and drying, and had to be dried fairly quickly to prevent decay and minimize discoloration.  This is easy to do today, at least in the semi-arid country where I work.  Plants are placed in folded sheets of newspaper between pieces of corrugated cardboard making up a plant press.  One can simply strap the loaded press on top of the truck and let warm dry air stream through corrugations in the cardboard.  An alternative, if one is close to civilization, is to set the press on a “plant drier” where heat from lightbulbs dries the contents (too much heat will ruin specimens).

Tools of the trade.

For 19th-century field botanists, drying pressed plants was much more difficult.  Specimens were placed between sheets of paper to absorb moisture.  These had to be changed and dried regularly -- daily if possible.

“We sit for hours before a hot camp fire, with the sweat pouring down our face, to completely dry our papers and plants.  How I wish the plants dried at once, but often it takes several days and sometimes a week ... Each day we must press them between dry paper.  And what a misery when it rains; then nothing or no one is dry!  When it is windy our scarce paper blows out into the meadows.” -- anonymous plant collector (Nilsson 1994).

Once dried, plant specimens had to be kept dry ... and safe.  Many of the collections made on Frémont’s second expedition were lost in a series of accidents, much to his dismay:

“In the gorges and ridges of the Sierra Nevada, of the Alta California,we lost fourteen horses and mules, falling from rocks or precipices into chasms or rivers, bottomless to us and to them, and one of them loaded with bales of plants collected on a line of two thousand miles of travel”

 “when almost home, our camp on the banks of the Kansas was deluged by the great flood, which, lower down, spread terror and desolation on the borders of the Missouri and Mississippi, and by which great damage was done to our remaining perishable specimens, all wet and saturated with water, and which we had no time to dry.”

On the third expedition, Frémont went to great pains to minimize losses.  When they reached the California coast, plant specimens were packed in tin boxes, the ends soldered shut.  These were placed in wooden boxes wrapped in green cowhides, shipped to Panama, transported across the isthmus, and then put on a ship bound for New York, finally reaching the closet botanists eagerly awaiting plant material from the West.

Botanist John Torrey was Frémont's main academic contact; portrait from Harvard University Library.

Most of the plant collectors exploring the western US in the 19th century had little or no training in plant classification.  Specimens were sent east to academic botanists working in herbaria -- called “closet botanists” in the day.  Frémont sent his first batch to John Torrey of Princeton and Columbia Universities.  He did so “somewhat presumptuously” (Welsh 1998), i.e. without prior arrangement, but the package was eagerly accepted by Torrey even so.  He knew the value of the material and the potential for novelties.  Torrey forwarded part of the collection to his colleague at Harvard, Asa Gray.

The California fremontia or flannelbush (Fremontodendron californicum) was named in honor of JC Frémont by John Torrey.  Source.

At least 2100 plant collections from Frémont’s five expeditions went to Torrey, Gray and other closet botanists.  These were to yield 163 new types of plants, including 19 new genera.  This was especially impressive given the great difficulty of collecting specimens:

“... explorations were made on horseback, and by such rapid movements, (which were necessary, in order to accomplish the objects of the expedition,) that but little opportunity was afforded for collecting and drying botanical specimens. Besides, the party was in a savage and inhospitable country, sometimes annoyed by Indians, and frequently in great distress from want of provisions; from which circumstances, and the many pressing duties that constantly engaged the attention of the commander, he was notable to make so large a collection as he desired.” -- John Torrey (in Frémont 1845).

In his report for the second expedition, Frémont told of finding a new kind of cottonwood in the valley of the Santa Clara River in today’s southern Utah.  If he collected any material, it did not survive.  He encountered it again in California on the third expedition, and collected a specimen along the Sacramento River.  It was in the shipment sent to New York by way of the Isthmus of Panama, and finally ended up in the hands of botanist Sereno Watson at Harvard, who in 1875 named it Populus fremontii, the Fremont cottonwood -- one of 40 plant species that now bear Frémont’s name.

“The stream is prettily wooded with sweet cottonwood trees -- some of them of large size ... This cottonwood is of a different species than any in Michaux’s Sylva” (Frémont 1845). Above, a Fremont cottonwood stands before the capitols of Capitol Reef National Park, Utah; below, with cross-bedded sandstone in Harris Wash, Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument, also in Utah.

There are more of Frémont's plants nearby.  Fremont mahonia (Mahonia fremontii) grows on the slopes just above Harris Wash.  Below, a single (compound) leaf with thick sharply-toothed leaflets, followed by the shrub.

Most of Frémont’s discoveries were described and published by others, but not all.  After the first expedition, he asked John Torrey if he might join him as a coauthor.  Torrey agreed, and some 18 species would be published with “Torr. and Frém.” as authorities (cited authors).

Pinus monophylla Torr. and Frém., the single-leaf pinyon (from Frémont 1845).

But was John Charles Frémont a botanist?  In discussing Frémont’s botanical legacy, Welsh (1998) calls him a botanical explorer but not a professional botanist.  The man certainly was dedicated to the profession, dutifully collecting and drying plants in spite of all the hardships and difficulties of traveling through unknown country by horseback for many months at a time.  To his credit, he generally kept detailed records of specimens and collection locations.  He must have known the flora well enough to recognize plants of interest.  Finally, there's no doubt that his botanical discoveries -- including 163 novelties -- were a major contribution to our knowledge of the flora of the American West.  Sounds like a botanist to me.

The USA 5c stamp of the 1898 Trans-Mississippi issue featured botanist John Charles Frémont. 

Sources (in addition to links in post)

Frémont, J.C.  1845.  Report of the exploring expedition to the Rocky Mountains in the year 1843, and to Oregon and North California in the years 1843-1844.  Washington, DC  Senate Doc. 461, 28th Congress.

Nilsson, K.B.  1994.  A wild flower by any other name; sketches of pioneer naturalists who named our western plants.  Yosemite National Park:  Yosemite Association.

Welsh, S.L.  1998.  John Charles Frémont, botanical explorer.  Saint Louis:  Missouri Botanical Garden Press.

Field Injuries (Accretionary Wedge #55)

This month's Accretionary Wedge is at Maitri's VatulBlog; the topic is geo-injuries.  I’ve not had any memorable ones, even after 35 years.  But I can’t say the same for my vehicles ...

My first field vehicle was a 1968 Volkswagen squareback, also known as the Type 3, the 1600 Variant, and, near the end of our relationship, the Antichrist (as in The Gods Must be Crazy).  I bought it for $400.  It had electronic fuel injection and a computer (!), but no front breaks as the calipers had been pulled off.  A friend replaced them.

During my three field seasons as a grad student, the Variant was terrific.  It had fairly high clearance, and was surprisingly able on bad roads, probably because the engine sat over the back axle.  All problems were minor and easily fixed in situ.  In 1985 I overhauled the engine, thanks to that amazing masterpiece for Compleat Idiots titled “How to Keep your Volkswagen Alive” by the patron saint of backyard VW mechanics, John Muir.  The Variant was happy, and ran beautifully.

Next I got a real job, a dream job really -- as botanist and sole employee of the Wyoming Natural Diversity Database, appropriately acronymmed “WYNDD”.  But it was a shoe-string budget -- no motels, no restaurants, no field vehicle.  I kept driving the Variant, to the far corners of Wyoming.

The old car held up well in spite of its years.  All problems continued to be minor and easily fixed.  But then ...

... there were two major breakdowns, both in Lonetree, Wyoming, both on projects involving the rare Uinta greenthread.  (ok ... these weren’t geo-injuries, they were phyto-injuries.)

The Uinta greenthread, Thelesperma pubescens.
WYNDD; photo by author.

The Unita greenthread grows on the summit margins of several flat-topped "mountains" -- remnants of mid-Tertiary alluvial fans that sloped down from the high Uinta Mountains to the south.  Wind blows all fine material away leaving gravel, cobbles and boulders.

Rim of Cedar Mountain.  Cushions with yellow flowers are the Uinta greenthread, growing on rocky soils derived from the Bishop conglomerate.  WYNDD; photo by author.

The first incident was not terminal.  Near the end of field survey, the engine periodically lost power but still ran. The problem became consistent and I drove 300 miles back to Laramie via every side road available.  But sometimes I couldn’t avoid driving uphill on Interstate 80 at 30 mph.  Fortunately, I was never pulled over.

I consulted with John Muir who suggested the points driving the fuel injectors were bad.  The local mechanic thought probably not, but sold me a used set which fixed the problem.  It was true ... the Variant had made it all the way home on two cylinders!

The next episode did not have a happy ending.  In Lonetree once again, the engine refused to run even though it turned over ... and over and over.  We pushed, we towed ... no luck.  It stayed in Lonetree, I took the Greyhound bus to Laramie, borrowed a pickup, rented a dolly, drove back to Lonetree, and towed the Antichrist home.

John Muir advised checking the electronics of the fuel delivery system -- sensors, wiring, computer, etc.  I tested.  I replaced.  I even tried a different computer.  I gave up when I found a 1978 Datsun pickup for sale for $900.  It only broke down once.

When I think back on those adventuresome days, I miss my Variant a little and even get a bit misty-eyed.  It served me so well.  But in truth, I’m happy not to be dealing with an ancient electronic-fuel-injected air-cooled engine anymore.

The Variant's last incarnation, as Antichrist, was not all bad.  It was the inspiration for my first web publication, at Car Talk Haiku:

Hot hot sun beats down.

Ancient air-cooled engine stops.
Dead VW.

On the Rocks -- my favorite field brew (AW#54)

Glacial Till is this month’s host of the Accretionary Wedge (#54) and the topic is:  On The Rocks: Geo-Brews and Geo-Cocktails.  GT explains that one doesn’t have to drink alcohol to participate, so I’m in.

From UWSO via FB; source unknown.

I drink an occasional beer during summer field work but it's not required.  And my taste would impress no one, though it was shared by one of the greatest violinists of all times, Jascha Heifetz.  Coffee, on the other hand, is essential.  Espresso is the brew of choice for field work and road trips.

  Images above and below from BroadusMontana.com.

My first encounter with espresso was during a field project eighteen years ago when I stopped in the town of Broadus (population ca 400), on the Powder River in southeast Montana.  It's the largest community for many miles and I suppose a regional hotspot for cultural advancement.  There was a large sign on the drive-in (restaurant) -- “ESPRESSO”.  I went in to get food and overheard a middle-aged gal in line ahead of me explain,

“It’s like a whole pot of coffee in one cup!”

So I ordered one.  I can’t say the beverage was memorable, but the concept was.

I found espresso in Broadus, Montana, which claims to be the “wavingest town in the west”...
do the poor citizens now have to wave at every car with out-of-county plates?
(You may need to refresh or click Will to get a wave.)

Over the years, I’ve perfected my camp espresso.  Here’s the recipe, optimized for first-thing-in-the-morning, makes one cup (somewhere in the world, people drink from cups small enough that this would make three).

camp stove (building a fire takes too long)

“3-cup” stove-top expresso maker (here a durable stainless-steel Bialetti)

espresso coffee, i.e. finely ground

canned evaporated milk, optional

~1/4 teaspoon powdered cardamom, optional (cardamom??!)

Pack filter with coffee, add cardamom if desired (more about this below).  On cold mornings, first boil water to fill and heat cup; cover to keep warm.  Brew espresso.  Add evaporated milk to taste.

Now about that cardamom ...

Cardamon pods, a Wikimedia photo by Luc Viatour.

Cardamom is highly-revered in many parts of the world, and has reigned as Queen of Spices for over a thousand years.  It is the distinctive ingredient in gahwa, a beverage thought to have originated with the Bedouins.  Recipes on the Web range from equal parts coffee and cardamon to predominantly coffee.  I prefer the latter, which is fortunate given how expensive this spice is!  Many recipes include sugar.  Not for me ... sweet coffee has never made sense.  On the other hand, a sweet snack goes well, like dates or figs.

Enjoying a cup of gahwa in cowboy country.  We’re more progressive than you might think.
Photo source.

Marching through flowers “of the most exquisite colors and perfume”

En route to the Black Hills, 1874.  Photo by Wm. H. Illingworth, from Wyoming Tales and Trails.

In late July of 1874, Lt. Col. George A. Custer lead an expedition of 100 wagons and 1000 men into the high Black Hills, after more than three weeks of travel across the “dry and woodless country” of Dakota and Wyoming Territories.  There they found themselves in grasslands quite unlike those of the plains.  The change was so striking and so welcome that the soldiers reveled in the lush grass, and decorated the headgear of their horses with wildflowers.  For the next few days, they traveled through spectacular shows of flowers, and grass sometimes as high as a horse’s shoulder.  Custer described these meadows in a report to the 43rd Congress of the United States of America the following year:

“Every step of our march that day was amid flowers of the most exquisite colors and perfume ... it was a strange sight to glance back at the advancing columns of cavalry, and behold the men with beautiful bouquets in their hands, while the head-gear of the horses was decorated with wreaths of flowers fit to crown a queen of May. Deeming it a most fitting appellation, I named this Floral Valley.”

In a letter to the editor of the St. Paul Pioneer, expedition botanist N. H. Donaldson was equally effusive:

“Everybody was making bouquets.  All sorts of interjections were used to express wonder and admiration.  Some said they would give a hundred dollars just to have their wives see the floral richness for even one hour.”

Marching through a Black Hills mountain meadow.  Photo by Wm. H. Illingworth.

Now, in late July of 2012, I’m off on my own expedition to the Black Hills, traveling across the “dry and woodless country” of eastern Wyoming.  Fortunately I’m not walking, and the trip should take only six hours.  This is an expedition in search of the luxuriant mountain meadows that so enchanted Custer’s weary soldiers 138 years ago.  Unfortunately, we’re unlikely to find many.

En route to the Black Hills, 2012; Lost Springs is the rest stop halfway.  Photo courtesy Idunno00923.

Last summer, we did a comprehensive inventory of mountain meadows in the Black Hills of South Dakota.  We assessed grassland quality based on species composition (native vs. non-native) and degree of disturbance.  Of the 78 high meadows surveyed, only eight were ranked A or B!  All are located in dry drainages in the southern part of the Limestone Plateau in the western Black Hills.  Further north, small relic patches of native grassland sometimes are found on lower slopes, but the lush meadows in drainage bottoms that were described by Custer and Donaldson in 1874 now are mostly non-native hay grasses -- timothy and smooth brome.  We don’t know their original composition; even by the time of the first botanical studies in the 1920s, they were largely taken over by timothy.

Native Black Hills montane grassland in Redbird Canyon; note fairy ring.
Photo by Helen McGranahan (Black Hills National Forest).

Assessing a high-ranking grassland in West Hell Canyon.

Black Hills montane grasslands are an interesting mix of grasses, in keeping with the “botanical crossroads” nature of the Black Hills.  Richardson’s needlegrass is a northern and Rocky Mountain species.  Timber oatgrass grows from southeastern-most Russia across Canada and south through much of the western US.  Shortbristle needle and thread is a northern species found only as far south as the Black Hills.  Prairie dropseed grows mainly in the Midwest; it is near its western limit in the Black Hills (Barkworth et al. 2012).

Native grasses in upper Gillette Canyon.

The Black Hills of Dakota ... and Wyoming (click to view).

The 2011 surveys provide only part of a comprehensive picture of Black Hills mountain meadows -- the part in South Dakota.  Contrary to popular opinion, a sizable portion of the “Black Hills of Dakota” is located in Wyoming.  In 2012, Black Hills National Forest is funding montane grassland inventory in northeastern Wyoming, to complete the picture.

The Limestone Plateau, habitat for Black Hills montane grasslands in South Dakota, continues into northeastern Wyoming, and much of our effort will be in that area.  Based on what we saw in 2011, these meadows probably will be mostly hay grass.  But there are several other high-elevation sites of interest, underlain by igneous rock emplaced late in the uplift of the Black Hills (Paleocene, Eocene times).  An intrusion in the Bear Lodge Mountains in the northwest Black Hills includes a huge block of Precambrian granite that forms a series of bald summits called Warren Peaks.  Reconnaissance in 1998 suggested these grasslands are similar to those of the Limestone Plateau but not quite the same.  I'm curious.  What mix of species will we find?  Will they be native?

Whatever it is that grows on Warren Peaks, it won’t be there much longer.  Rare Element Resources reports that the crest of the southern Bear Lodge Mountains “contains one of the largest disseminated rare-earth element (REE) deposits in North America as well as extensive gold occurrences.  The Bear Lodge Project has high-grade light REE and significant quantities of heavy REEs, favorable metallurgy, outstanding infrastructure, and it is located in one of the world's best mining jurisdictions [i.e. the State of Wyoming], recently globally ranked fourth by the Fraser Institute.”  So it goes ... more change is in store for Black Hills montane grasslands.

From Bear Lodge Mountains Rare Earth Element Deposit, Wyoming State Geological Survey
(map by Rare Element Resources, Ltd; click to view).

In the Company of Plants and Rocks will be inactive while in the field.

AW#47 -- Field Notes

This month’s Accretionary Wedge is being hosted by Jennifer at Fuzzy Science, and the topic is Field Notes.  Now that’s a broad one! ... I’ve been waiting to see what came to mind.  It finally appeared just in time for the deadline today, June 31.  These are botany field notes, perhaps at first glance not appropriate for the geoblogosphere, but they are notes about a plant that grows in rock ... and not just any rock.  And like all field books, when we peruse them we can visit the past, and sometimes even meet the early explorers and share in their discoveries.

The page above is from an early field book of Aven Nelson, Founding Father of Wyoming Botany.  The University of Wyoming Library currently is scanning all his field books, and soon they will be available online.

Nelson was hired by the University in 1887 as Professor of English.  It was only after all six of the faculty had arrived at the new university that the president discovered he had inadvertently hired two English professors.  Nelson had attended six botany lectures as an education student, and so was made Professor of Biology.  He went on to make many pioneering contributions in botany in Wyoming and the Rocky Mountains, and was an inspirational teacher, with many of his students becoming prominent botanists themselves.

Nelson's collecting areas in 1894 and 1895 (click to view).

Laramie columbine;
by Isobel Nichols.

In 1895, Nelson was in the midst of a “systematic survey” of the Wyoming flora, devoting his summers to expeditions by horseback across the state.  On August 4, he was hiking up a canyon in the rugged Laramie Mountains of southeast Wyoming when he discovered a small columbine growing in granite on the east side of Laramie Peak.  In his final report the next year, he described Aquilegia laramiensis, the Laramie columbine, one of the earliest of his many botanical discoveries.






[Fast-forward ca 110 years ...]

Field botanists collect a lot more information now than in the good-old-days (click to view), but of course we don't have to travel by horseback and care for our trusty steeds (until they break down).

In 2003, the Laramie columbine still was known from only a few locations, all in the Laramie Mountains, most on lands managed by the Forest Service and Bureau of Land Management.  Off and on over the next six years, we worked for these agencies to inventory and prepare a status report on the apparently-rare Laramie columbine.  It was a tough job, but the scenery was fantastic, and I was awestruck whenever I found elegant little columbines growing in nooks and crannies of rugged granite outcrops.

In keeping with its name, the Laramie columbine grows only in the Laramie Mountains of southeast Wyoming.  It remains a rare plant even after extensive survey, though it is fairly common within its rugged and tough-to-access habitat.  It grows mainly in Archean granite outcrops, but also in metamorphic rocks from early Proterozoic accretionary events. The columbines are restricted to well-shaded sparsely-vegetated microsites, and looking for them is a bit like hunting for easter-eggs ... chocolate easter-eggs that is, i.e. well worth the effort!

I had a personal reason to be excited about this project, for I had "met" Aven Nelson during my first encounter with Wyoming botany.  As a budding botanist and seasonal ranger at Devils Tower National Monument many years ago, I was curating the herbarium and came across plant specimens collected by George W. Giles in a project for the Work Projects Administration (WPA) in the early 1930s.  In his field notes, I could feel and empathize with the enthusiasm of a young botanist.  I read correspondence regarding the specimens he had prepared and sent to Professor Aven Nelson at the University of Wyoming, the leading expert on the region's flora.  And now here I was, following in the great professor's footsteps in the rugged Laramie Mountains.

Aven Nelson in the field, from UW archives.

For more on Aven Nelson, the Laramie columbine and the northern Laramie Mountains, see Plants and Rocks: columbines and granite.