What adjectives come to mind when you think about an ancient forest? For many people, the list will include words like incredible, majestic, awesome, inspiring, cathedral-like, and timeless. There is nothing wrong with any of those descriptors, of course.
Close your eyes and conjure up a mental image of an old forest, either from your personal experience, or from images you have seen. If you live in North America, your thoughts might include soaring California redwoods or moss-laden Olympic rain forest giants, complete with well-groomed trails. Nothing wrong with those images, either. In real life, however, forests are far more diverse, and often far more messy.
The Daily Bucket is a nature refuge. We amicably discuss animals, weather, climate, soil, plants, waters and note life’s patterns spinning around us.
We invite you to note what you are seeing around you in your own part of the world, and to share your observations in the comments below.
|
For starters, the very definition of old-growth or ancient forest is a matter of opinion. A grove of massive sequoias, that’s an easy call. But what about a stand of 50-year-old conifers with a few scattered 500-year-old trees that survived half a millennium of wildfires? Or the area in eastern Washington where I am currently working, where tree ages range from around 70 at the low end, to several hundred at the high end?
My tendency is to not get hung up on definitions, because such arguments can distract from more important matters. For purposes of this diary, I’m going to include those mixed-age stands, because they include a large component of old trees, both living and dead.
With no further ado, I shall share some pictures and thoughts from two months of working amongst trees that are so old, they’re older than I am. In eastern Washington, northern Idaho, and western Montana, areas with sufficient moisture support a mixed-conifer forest type. Species include western hemlock, grand fir, western redcedar, Douglas-fir, western larch, Engelmann spruce, subalpine fir, ponderosa pine, western white pine, and lodgepole pine. Hardwoods such as black cottonwood and quaking aspen are also included in the mix. That’s quite a list; a field worker with insufficient experience can be quickly overwhelmed by the variety. I listed the first three species on purpose, because they are very common here, and are highly prone to decay.
A wide variety of fungi attack the roots and boles of individual trees. Standing trees in an older forest will run the gamut from unblemished, to having small decay pockets, to being so rotten that you wonder how they remain upright.
At some point they do come crashing down, usually during a wind event or a heavy snowfall. Unlike those pretty calendar pictures, the forest floor is buried beneath jackstrawed fallen trees of various vintages. Although the land is moist enough to support heavy tree growth, the logs still take decades to crumble into soft pieces. As I navigate through my woods from one measurement point to the next, I must negotiate situations such as these.
When a tree goes down in a densly packed forest, it often sets off a chain reaction, where the carnage can go on for hundreds of feet, often taking down trees that are otherwise healthy.
A day’s work in an older forest can be more exhausting than inspirational. Some days, the downed logs go on relentlessly. But along the way, I learn a great deal about the life cycle of the mixed-conifer forest. Decay and death is part of the cycle.
But is this forest typical of what has been growing in the area for centuries, or has fire suppression contributed to its current state?
In my next diary, I will attempt to tackle the topic of fire in the forest, looking at some very recent research on the subject.