Kalmiopsis leachiana | survival in a land of extremes
Eighty years ago to the month these Oregon botanists were walking in the mountains west of Cave Junction when Lilla hesitated while gazing at a red patch of flowers, she got down on her knees and exclaimed "I have never seen anything like it before! Isn't it beautiful? I believe it is new." Her first impressions of the plant led her to conclude it might be a new form of black laurel (Kalmia polifolia). She combined that belief with the greek root "-opsis" meaning "seeing, like, sight, appearance" and coined a name that is forever in the heart and minds of plant lovers—Kalmiopsis. The two spent the following years searching for other locations throughout the rugged Siskiyou Mountains where the plant might be. Ultimately, a total of 20 individual locals have been identified—all of which are protected within the Kalmiopsis Wilderness.
Surviving on a lonely, rocky ridgeline high above the Chetco River is just fine with the ancient Kalmiopsis. Notice the pattern of burn across the landscape—caused by the Biscuit Fire in 2002. Fire has been a common occurence here for thousands of years.
I chose a different corner of the wilderness to explore for my first trip than did Lilla and John. At the end of a long and winding drive from Brookings, Oregon the Vulcan Lake trailhead materialized in the mist. Through light rain and heavy fog Skylar and I departed into the unknown, following the Johnson Butte trail to Dry Butte and Salamander Lake. This trail is along a rocky spine that is circumvented by the serpent-like Chetco River—whose headwaters are filtered by the refined relict I was searching for. The trail ultimately leads a hiker to the most extensive habitat this rare species has secured—once on the ridge near Dry Butte Kalmiopsis leachiana takes purchase for several square miles.
The orographic effect defined—mountains in the Kalmiopsis trap dense coastal air masses, where west side meets east side.
Upon entering this realm, it seemed I had traveled back in time. When the tertiary forests dominated the northern landmasses of Earth—beginning around 60 million years ago—gymnosperms were in decline and angiosperms were evolving rapidly. Vast forests of magnolia, beech, chestnut, elm, alder, birch, aspen, sequoia, and ginkgo shared a common canopy. As the climate cooled these forests became restricted to regions where temperate conditions remained—places like the southern Appalachians, the mountains of eastern China, and the Klamath Mountains. Today, the Klamath Mountains still hold relicts from that time in the form of Brewer spruce, California pitcher plant, redwood, and one of the most restricted and rare plants in the world—Kalmiopsis leachiana. The species that were able to find these refugia, and find success over millennia of climatic changes, have an ancient stock of genetic codes—a library with a refined message.
The striking pink of the cinnamon smelling Kalmiopsis leachiana flower.
The Kalmiopsis Wilderness is a crossroads. Rainy season storms can nourish the land with nearly 250cm of precipitation each year but this rain appears to have fallen in a virtual desert if one visits the in summer. Why is this? Because of the harsh soil derived from ancient ultramafic rocks—high in iron and magnesium. These ophiolites are known locally as serpentine outcrops and the heavy metals they contain are restrictive to plant growth. Where the rich soils of the coast foster the tallest trees in the world with 250 cm of rain, the harsh soils of the Klamath Mountains foster diminutive species with the same annual rainfall just inland and upslope. Serpentine is not only restrictive to plant growth it is also porous—so plants must be adept at water storage or retention to survive here. With heavy rain comes erosion and the Kalmiopsis Wilderness typifies the big shouldered canyons common throughout the Klamath Mountains, sculpted by downpours. Here, along Johnson Butte trail, the Chetco River is cut from serpentine origins and spills toward the ocean, thousands of feet below. Where I stand is the chosen outpost—over millions of years—for one of the oldest (if not the oldest) members of the Ericaceae family.
In a land of rain, porous soils and summer heat make fire a common occurrence. Kalmiopsis leachiana flourishes eight years after the Biscuit Fire of 2002.
This landscape is not only sculpted by precipitation and geological character but by fire as well. The greatest fire in Oregon's modern history swept through the southwest corner of the state in 2002. It was called the Biscuit Fire and burned nearly 500,000 acres across a landscape that receives significant rainfall but one also exposed to extreme summer heat. The porous nature of the soil compounds the drying and in the summer of 2002, after a dry winter, the forest was ripe for burn. The small amount of intact forest which survived the burn—whether it was luck or slope or a combination—is not composed of large and/or old tree specimens. This evidence suggests to me that frequent fire is a common and complex component of this ecosystem—and has been for several thousand years. This diversity is compounded by these harsh extremes—wet and dry, cold and hot, serpentines, fire or not. All of these conditions create a proliferations of microsite on which diversity thrives.
Conifer saplings are flourishing, shrubs are returning, and the Kalmiopsis leachiana—which many feared may disappear due to the fire—may be expanding its range. At a minimum it is burgeoning where there was burn. Diverse plant growth is re-establishing complex vegetation types that, to my amateur botanist eyes, were often so complex as to be confusing. In and around the Salamander Lake/Dry Butte area I saw associations I had never seen before. For instance, Brewer spruce (Picea breweriana) growing near Pacific madrone (Arbutus menziesii) and salal (Gaultheria shallon)—where coastal meets mountains. The most confounding message sent by this diversity is that it exists because of, rather than in spite of, the harsh conditions fostered here—intuitively it would seem that the extremes would inhibit diversity. However, this is the ancient meeting ground.
After a fire, survival is achieved by only the hardiest conifers and angiosperms in the Kalmiopsis—a land of extremes.
As the fog rolled in, I spent my last few moments in the wilderness with my new favorite relict—enough time for it to share itself and its landscape one last time before my return. I realized Kalmiopsis leachiana is a keystone member of this dynamically primal landscape and clearly of ancient stock. It has shared—over millions of years of deep time evolution—its primordial genetic code. My wife taught me that Kalmiopsis leachiana exhibits numerous characteristics that generalize the Ericaceae family. For example, the petals are fused, it has a woody stem, leaves are leathery, simple, and oval with entire margins, and they thrive on harsh soils. Kalmiopsis has surely shared these characteristics with other Ericaceous plants over time. We find many uses for it progeny, a heritage which includes food sources (think blueberry pie!) and delightful landscaping companions (think rhododendrons). Clearly, we are all quite familiar with this family. In that way Kalmiopsis leachiana—a purveyor and steward—is a part of us all.
Kalmiopsis Wilderness on Conifer Country
NPSO Article from 1991
Forest Service Wilderness Page
NPR Story on the wilderness area after the fire