Dad, are you crazy? my son was probably thinking as our van rocked and shook in the 60-mile-an-hour gale. Wind-driven clouds careened across the ground. We came all the way up here to the White Mountains of New Hampshire so you could take pictures of moths, ants, and flowers in this weather?
I reckon my son was thinking like this since it was his first time on Mt. Washington, and our mid-June weather down home in Pennsylvania had been beautiful. It had also been very pleasant down in the valley before we reached the top of this huge mountain.
We had just driven up the long winding road to the top of Mt. Washington. Near the top, we pulled into a parking area for a connector trail that crosses Nelson Craig Trail and leads down to the Alpine Garden Trail. Here, in this parking area near the mountaintop, is where our van shuttered in that 60 mph (100 km/h) wind that was ripping the clouds across the top of Mt. Washington. Through those flying clouds, we could occasionally see the nearby mountaintop with patches of snow, even though this was the middle of June.
We gathered our gear and our courage, and, with difficulty, exited the van. With our backs to the nasty wind, we carefully picked our way down the trail. The trail soon dropped down to a bench, which, fortunately on this day, was somewhat sheltered from the wind. There, mostly out of the ferocious wind, we could enjoy the alpine garden.
This treeless, rocky alpine area is a beautiful, fascinating landscape full of blooming flowers, dwarf plants, and their associated insects and animals. Alpine areas are like a rock flower garden filled with rocks, ever-present lichens, and many other interesting plants and wildlife that the Creator has given the ability to flourish in a very harsh environment. By “dwarf” I mean the azaleas aren’t even as tall as my finger is wide. By “harsh” I mean it was the middle of June and we could see people skiing on the snow patch just up the mountain from us. In other words, the alpine inhabitants deal with a short growing season and extreme weather. My fascination with the alpine inhabitants has called me back multiple times. I think I could spend every summer up there enjoying this rhododendron-covered mountain.
One fun alpine-ish thing to do is to switch roles with the rhododendron. At home we have patches of giant rhododendron so tangled and thick I’ve given up trying to crawl through them. Up there, I tower over the Lapland rosebay (Rhododendron lapponicum) like the giant white pines at home tower over the giant rhododendron patches. Up there I can be a giant for the day.
Another fun thing about a visit to the alpine community is observing the alpine plants, their friends/enemies (associated insects), and their combined amazing life stories. For example, I once, for scale in a photo, placed my fingers beside a Lapland rosebay and was promptly attacked by ants. Either the ants were protecting the flowers because this was a food source, or my fingers were placed too close to the entrance of the ants’ nest. I believe these were the red-bearded ants (Formica neorufibarbis).
In alpine areas, these ants nest under certain rocks that get a bit extra warm in the sun. Raising their brood under a rock warmed by the sun helps the ants with thermoregulation. Imagine looking out across the rocky, flower-covered landscape and thinking about the ants’ ability to select “hot rocks” for nesting sites…. “Ahhhhhh, this rock is just right for a cozy home!”
While we are at it, imagine the ants moving their brood closer to or farther away from their rock as a way of adjusting for optimum temperature. I think around home I’ll practice predicting which rocks will have ant nests under them by measuring the rocks’ temperatures with a laser/infrared thermometer.
I’ve seen the red-bearded ants nectaring on the alpine azaleas (Kalmia procumbens). The alpine-loving ants feed mostly on nectar from the abundant flowers or honeydew from root aphids. (I didn’t do any digging in the alpine garden, so I didn’t see these ants tending their “cows.” But I have seen that happening on string bean roots while I was pulling them up and also on other roots. Did you ever dig to see what was happening down there in an ant nest?)
I’ve also seen an ichneumon wasp nectaring on the alpine azaleas. It was probably fueling up for its quest to find and parasitize some of the many wolf spiders I saw among the rocks.
Speaking of rocks, on the day of the crazy wind on Mt. Washington, I saw numerous insects sunning themselves on the rocks—March flies, shield bugs, bees, flies, spiders, and even moths.
My all-time favorite alpine insect is the moth Anarta nigrolunata, possibly because it has been such a challenge to get close enough to get good photos. On this particular cold, windy day, I spotted my moth sunning itself on a rock and managed to get a photo of it before it got away. I snapped a shot (from too far away to suit me), but when I tried to get closer, it flew. They are very skittish and/or were busy laying eggs on some of the dwarf shrubs, maybe the squashberry or willows. Now I’d like to see for myself exactly what host plant it lays eggs on. What do its caterpillars look like? How does its life story work in this harsh environment?
Then what about the bearberry willow, the mountain cranberry—all these miniature forms of many kinds of flowers, shrubs, sedges, rushes, bulrushes, etc. that are found in this incredible alpine habitat? Then there are the lichens. So. Many. Lichens.
Just a little warning…after you visit an alpine garden, you’ll likely want to go back again and again. Also, when you visit, it’s wise to be prepared for nasty weather. (We were slightly ill-prepared. Instead of layers of jackets, we should’ve had winter coats, gloves, and hats.) Oh, and if there’s a chance of lightning…well, perhaps that’s a story for another time.