Weekend Wrap-Up (Belated): Phyte Club Hike, Fetid Adder’s Tongue, Lemmy the Movie

Though everyone was getting on smashingly, I’d convinced myself the premier Phyte Club-sponsored (TM) hike was a failure: We’d yet to alight upon the otherworldly and intriguingly-named plant, the fetid adder’s tongue. Kelsey and I had discovered it last year at this time — low to the ground, initially inconspicuous, and totally phenomenal upon on-our-knees inspection. If, now, the eight of us didn’t see it, I was going to be pissed; the chaparral was great and all, with the Ericaceae blossoms like little snowflakes and the silk tassel conjuring Mardi Gras revelry, but it was not satisfying my promise of encountering one of the earliest wild treats of the region. Where the fuck was this fetid flower?

And again, much like the first time, I turned my head fortuitously and there they were, a colony of little baby plants pushing up out of the bare, trailside soil. Right where we’d left them 12 months previous. Eureka! on the Hazelnut Trail, San Pedro Valley County Park, Pacifica, California Coast. Success was granted, we hurrahed in amazement, and got down to examine these two inch-tall, silver dollar-sized flowers. So commenced a photo session:

THROW SOME HORNS!

Typical of the Liliaceae (Lily) family, all the flower parts are in threes. What look like petals — white with burgundy-brown stripes — are actually sepals, or the petal-like parts that cover the flower bud (they’re often green, think of a rose). The true petals are the tiny pale yellow slivers with the maroon tips. Though I’ve yet to see this, supposedly the anthers (pollen sacs) change from green to purple to golden as they mature and finally release their pollen. Unarguably psychedelic.

Fetid Adder’s Tongue (Scoliopus bigelovii) starts emerging in January, making it one of the earliest wildflowers in the region to, in this case, show its stripes. Its territory is the Coast Ranges from Humboldt in the north to Santa Cruz in the south. It’s one of those species, like the calypso orchid or Indian pipe, that is so seemingly exotic even though its native that I never imagine I’ll truly encounter it (by the way, I did finally see mini-meadows of calypso orchids at Mount Tamalpais early April).

Check out the leaves in the photo on the right: broad and elliptical, with parallel veins, another characteristic of the Liliaceae family. The brown blotches are a nice I.D. factor — these irregular polka-dots are an eye-catching match with the precisely striped sepals.

In the photo on the left, check out two things: One, how the bud in the lower corner is sweetly sheathed by the leaves, as the new growth springs from the disturbed soil that was cut away to create the trail. And, two, the maturing fruit on the flower on the right. Can you see how it dips down toward the ground? This curvature is what happens as the fruit ripens, weighing down the slender stem, and is the origin of another common name, “slink pod.”

But I’ve been holding out, saving perhaps the coolest quality for last. Fetid adder’s tongue earns its name — lean in for a whiff and get a nose-full of rotten meat. As Mike said, “This flower smells like shit….Neato!” The flower is pollinated by flies and fungal gnats, so it makes sense to smell like dead carcass, and also to advertise in hues of red, brown, and violet. In fact, this smell/color combo is a common strategy of fly-pollinated plants. Also, banana slugs are said to love eating the flowers (we saw tons of these bright yellow gastropods, but not doing this, which would have been beyond cool).

Manzanita (genus: Arctostaphylos), tortured and free

with over 60 species in CA, Manzanita is a favorite of the chaparral

In addition to the day’s stinky star, the hike as a whole was a winner. Seven of us met at the trailhead (myself full of still-warm lavender scones), and an eighth met up with us by taking the loop trail in the opposite direction, which was a cool surprise. The Hazelnut Trail, when connected with Weiler Ranch Road, forms an easy 4.3 mile loop through typical northern Coast Range chaparral interrupted by the occasional marauding grove of blue gum eucalyptus. A few characteristics of this “elfin forest” ecosystem were readily apparent:

chaparral = evergreen shrubs. Aside from a few coast live oaks, gnarled and magical, the hillsides were amassed with shrubs. Smaller in stature with slenderer stems, shrubs don’t require as much energy as trees, which is essential in this landscape where water is scarce and the coarse soil is low in nutrients,

chaparral plants have deep root systems, anchoring them to steep slopes,

chaparral shrubs interlace their branches with those of adjacent shrubs, often of different species, which is a strategy for both shading the ground in the long summer season of the Mediterranean climate, as well as for shading the plants. It ensures no single leaf will be sacrificed to the sun the entire day,

and chaparral species tend to fall in a few main families. We saw plenty of shrubs from the Big 4: Rosaceae (Toyon), Rhamnus (Coffeeberry, Ceanothus), Quercus (Oaks, Chinquapin), and Ericaceae (Manzanita, Huckleberry). Given these common and beautiful species, maybe the upcoming and much maligned “Big 4″ tour of once revolutionary thrash metal pioneers — Megadeth, Anthrax, Slayer, Metallica — is a moot point and we should all just go hiking in some chaparral instead? (My vote? Do both!)

Vaccinium ovatum (Ericaceae), or our native huckleberry. The urn-shaped, hanging flowers are only about 1/4 inch long.

Obviously this manzanita -- with its fucking perfect, snow white virginal, vanilla cake frosting, hanging clusters -- is related to the huckleberry.

Short-tongued insects, a.k.a. "nectar robbers," are known for cheating pollination and instead sucking out the nectar of manzanita flowers by making a hole near the floral tube. Is that what happened here?

Celebratory beers were cracked just past the negligible peak. A Little Sumptin’ at high noon, good friends, fog drizzle, and a population of fetid adder’s tongues waiting, unknown, around the corner made for a stellar moment. (Hint hint, dear reader, you should get your butt out there next time with us…..Sunday, February 20th, location TBD.)

Two other significant encounters. Marah sp., a.k.a. manroot or wild cucumber, was vining its soft new greenness through the tough shrubs. Pulling up a photo from the Pinnacles post way back in mid-May, the image on the left below is what the spiky fruit looks like when ripe; the photo on the right, which we came upon this weekend, is an earlier phase, when the flower has been fertilized and the ovary is just starting to swell. The petals weren’t even shriveled, at all, yet.

about two inches diameter

baby fruit

The other

the male, we think, because of the puffs of yellow pollen left on my hand

the female, we think, assuming all those little red tongues are the stigmas waiting to get some wind-blown pollen stuck to them

notable plant was a winter-blooming chaparral shrub I’ve been intending to profile on Phyte Club since it started going off in late December. Garrya elliptica, or coast silk tassel bush, has quarter-inch blossoms, pale yellow with furry rosy bracts (some are more peach-colored). They’re flowers that, solo, would be relatively inconspicuous. Instead, they’re stacked one after another like beads on string in one long inflorescence (= the entire flowering part of the plant, usually a cluster, as opposed to individual flowers). They dangle down in a catkin, which refers to a spike-like, often hanging structure that is usually composed of only male (“staminate”) or female (“pistillate”) flowers, rather than both parts within one flower. Catkins are the perfect form for wind-pollination and, not being dependent on insects, generally have very reduced petals or none at all, for why put the extra energy into flashy advertisement when a breezy day will get the reproductive job done? I’ve been seeing catkins on the Garryas at the San Francisco Botanical Garden at least nine inches-long.

thriving in January in the SF Botanical Garden

So, yeah, the inaugural Phyte Club adventure was a success. In real, tactile, dirty life –  it worked! Complete with a post-trail lunch at the quasi-hipster, new Mission St. restaurant Gracias Madre, which was surprisingly awesome for specializing in the seemingly incongruous “vegan Mexican” fare. In the words of Frank, one of my favorite drinking dudes and one never lacking for social things to do: “That was the most fun I’ve had on a Saturday in a long time.”

Lemmy is a winner!

And for me, it had yet to end, having realized it was the first night of the Roxie Theater’s run of Lemmy: The Movie (2010, Damage Case Films). Watching 116 minutes detailing the life of Lemmy Kilmister, the creator and frontman of Motorhead for the past 36 years, was obviously the most appropriate way to continue the day. It begins with him scanning the isles of the Hollywood Amoeba Records in his cowboy boots for a Beatles box set  — “Everyone thinks the Stones were the hard ones and the Beatles were the sissies, but it’s actually the opposite,” he argued — and ultimately shows how Lemmy became one of the most respected musicians in rock ‘n’ roll today. There are tons of interviews, everyone from Billy Bob Thornton to Stacia, the dancer in his pre-Motorhead band, the space-trippy Hawkwind; from his son, Paul, to the adoring Dave Grohl; from Henry Rollins (an obligatory commentator in every rockumentary, it seems) to the bassist of Alice and Chains, Mike Inez.

Prior to the film, I had no idea Lemmy co-wrote Ozzy’s early ’90s ballad, “Mama I’m Coming Home” (the only single Ozzy had as a solo artist that broke into the Billboard Top 40), nor that he has no qualms about wearing incredibly short jean cutoffs or his about his hoarding habit, nor that his major inspiration comes from the first incarnation of rock ‘n’ roll: guys like Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard. His reasoning for why the other members of Hawkwind kicked him out after he was arrested mid-tour in Canada for speed possession was pretty right-on: “What it was was ’70s drug snobbery” (they like psychedelics, he liked amphetamines). His commentary on his legendary relations with the fairer sex were sometimes agreeable, other times brow-raising: At 65, he’s only slept with, by his estimates, about 1,000 women (as opposed to the 2,000 the interviewer suggested). But as he points out, he’s never been married. Considering he’s been a touring musician in a metal band for the majority of his life, he’s right, this isn’t that crazy. The fact he’s swapped girlfriends with his son is a bit more trashy, and his main argument against those who’d call him a Nazi because he collects WWII German knives and memorabilia — that he’s had six Black girlfriends — seems valid yet somewhat of a non sequitur.

Let’s not spoil the entire movie, however. The theater run seems short, done at the end of this week in most cities. This would be a good DVD for your collection, though, so be on the lookout if you don’t get a chance for Lemmy on the big screen. In the meantime, here’s a teaser:

Mainly, Lemmy: The Movie shows a man who’s working his ass off just like the rest of us, trying to create something of interest and get laid, get wasted, and get to drive a military tank in the process. “When you stop being hungry, I think you’re fucked,” he says, providing worthy inspiration to starving, working-class artists everywhere.

Special thanks to Mike, Frank, Elisa, Celeste, Ken, Will, and Jessica for coming out. And to everyone: Keep an eye out for an upcoming post on the details of our next Bay Area Phyte Club hike on Sunday, February 20th.