Back to Belmont, NC: A walk through the woods

I promised to revive my blogging habit after much encouragement from the wonderful people in the Mobile community. Many of them were shocked by my leaving and some of them were surprised to stumble upon my blog. I will miss all of them dearly and so, moving forward, this is for them and all of the other folks who I've had to part ways with along the path of life.

My customary 10-hour trip was extended to a three-day visit with friends/horticulturists I'll miss in Alabama. I followed a looped path from Anniston to Birmingham to Auburn on my way up. Stay tuned for the next post to hear about the roadtrip.

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The metallic whir of cicadas and katydids reverberates through the panes of glass in the backdoor. They hum the background track to a summer in Charlotte, North Carolina. The sound penetrates through your head despite your best efforts. I can even hear it echo from the days of my childhood. The symphony/cacophony ebbs and grows with the heat of the day and vibrates from the trees of the eastern deciduous forest. It doesn't sound like Mobile, Alabama anymore.

Looking up into the canopy of a Platanus occidentalis, Eastern Plain Tree

Well, life sometimes just takes a different turn than the one you'd like, and sometimes the best place to go in that moment when things are off-kilter is home. Ask anyone who knows me and they would either say North Carolina or Scotland is home to me. In this case, North Carolina is easier to drive to from Mobile.

A walk in the woods is the best remedy a frizzled mind and get a sense of place, so off we went, Sparky and myself, down the trail behind my friend's house.

The trees in the yard of our childhood had grown exponentially from my memory. Through my travels I now knew their scientific names: Betula nigra, the river birch, and Platanus occidentalis, eastern plain tree.

The woodland trail was just beyond the back gate. The canopy had grown lower to the ground so it was almost like going through a green curtain. Invasive mulberries guarded the edge of the forest and the beginning of a deep slope, which dropped down to a creek now choked with runoff from the construction upstream.

Once I'd ducked inside, my eye was immediate drawn upwards as the forest opened up like a cathedral, but instead of stone it was made of great arches of old beeches (Fagus americana), red oaks (Quercus ssp.) and tulip poplars (Liriodendron tulipifera). I was happy to see the lack of invasive plants in the gully below and even more excited to see the colonies of paw paw trees (Asimina triloba) spreading around. There were even a couple colonies with trees old enough to have fruit on them!

Bloodroot, Sanguinaria canadensis

I noticed herbaceous plants with bear claw-like leaves at the edge of the path as it curved around, and immediately recognized bloodroot, Sanguinaria canadensis. It created an impressive carpet down the steep hillside and my imagination took over as I saw it in full flower in the late winter, as if snow had fallen down the slope. Had this always been there?

Before the trail dropped down the hill, the umbrella-like whorls of Magnolia fraseri leaves rose above me and my heart soared. "Hello there!" I exclaimed. I couldn't help myself. I had never noticed any Magnolias, except the tulip poplars, growing in these woods. I saw a few more young saplings before Sparky had had enough and turned me around to go back.

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My walk taught me something, even in a brief time. I had to let go of what I thought I knew of this North Carolina I had moved back to and experience it anew. Things had changed, times had changed. It was a brand new place compared to what it had been before.

Had I returned home after all? My friends and family are still here, so in them, yes. Everything else? We'll see.

City Hall, downtown Belmont, NC

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A Scottish Farewell: Glen Coe and Glen Etive

(1/9/17)- I apologize for the gross delay in a blog post. I have so many stories and such a backlog of photos! I will work on them as I can, but also try to keep moving forward in perspective.

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It was just by chance, a passing comment, that Raini mentioned that since she was no longer employed, she could do a roadtrip up to Glen Coe. Even now, I am not sure whether she knew at the time how serious I was about wanting to go.

It was fitting that a week before I left Scotland to return to the U.S. that I would come back to the place where I fell in love with the country back in 2003. Goodness, I was a just a 13-year-old then; but the Three Sisters are impressive enough to instill awe in even the most stoic.

The Three Sisters of Glen Coe

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I kept on Raini about when she might be able to go on this trip, and we eventually set a date for an overnight trip. Adventure awaits!

She picked me up from the flat in the afternoon in an effort to hopefully catch the sunset in the Highlands. We wound up the winding roads of the Highlands and did catch the last shadows of the sun on the impressive hills.

Hill between Tyndrum and Bridge of Orchy

We ended up staying overnight at the youth hostel in Glencoe (after the GPS getting us lost three times). The darkness of a clear night and mountain valleys enveloped us as we walked down the road to the local pub for food and libations.

The next morning was a tough start with us trying to get up early for the sunrise, with no food or cafes open. It was definitely a lesson in proper planning.

But the day offered beautiful views. The clouds came back, but remained high so we could see the mountains and glens. It was as if Nature herself was revealing her majesty to us. I was able to blow the Beltane callhorn to the Three Sisters and hear the reply of the glen, and Raini was able to start her photography project with Glen Coe as her backdrop.

Modest Beinn a'Chrulaiste overlooking the road to Glen Etive

Isle of Iona: An overnight stay

The last stop on my May vacation was an overnight stay on the Isle of Iona. I'd been to Iona twice, but had never had time to stay overnight (there is no Sunday ferry or bus service in the off-season!). Finally!

Unfortunately, only my Instagram photos survived the return from Iona. They became corrupted somehow, This is a view from the edge of a cliff looking out into the beautiful Atlantic Ocean. The pink-flowered plant is called thrift, Armeria maritime. It was probably the bravest thing on the island, clinging to the very edges of sheer cliffs, hanging half in the wind.

It was an early start for me from the Craignure Bunkhouse, but the sun was well ahead of me. It was an easy-going bus ride through the beautiful Ross of Mull and the familiar pink marble hills of Fionnphort welcomed me back. The ferry ride was as brief as I'd remembered, but......the warmth of the sun wasn't. As I walked to the Iona Hostel, I broke a sweat.....huh? This is Scotland....right?

The day held so much potential since I didn't have to catch a 3 p.m. ferry. It was already past 10 a.m., but I didn't have to worry. I changed my shirt to something with short sleeves and headed to the beach. The day was clear and the water was aquamarine blue. I picked up rocks and denied the urge to go swimming (because no amount of summer weather would make the northern Atlantic Ocean water any warmer).

Intrepid sheep paths through the heaths to all the far reaches of the island.

I just continued along the edge until the beach ran out and a faint path passed out into the northeastern rocky crags of Calva (map of Iona). I followed it, climbing up and down and around the many hills of the coast. Sheer cliffs dropped into the ocean, into the arms of twelve-foot seaweeds, and heaths twisted in the timeless winds that beat against the rocky hills. The sun beat down and the wind blew around me, but still I followed the endlessly clever paths of the herds of sheep that had come before me. Who knew how old these paths were?

Wind-sculpted heaths of all shapes, sizes and ages.

Once I came out onto a strange hanging field with towering cliffs on either side of it. A perfect grass edge ended in a sea of perfectly smooth stones. In the middle of the sea was a low ruin of a stone wall. The herd of sheep beyond were as surprised to see me as I was to see this wall. I was in the middle of no where, having no idea how long I'd been walking, but here was this ruin. Later, I would find out it is the rumored secret hermitage of St. Columba himself, now known at the Hermit's Cell.

After about three hours of random, extreme hillwalking, I made my way southwest, by way of the sheep paths, as I knew there was a farm that way. I passed the carcass of a sheep that had fallen from a cliff; a stark reminder that what I was doing was still dangerous and that not all sheep are graceful. I came out to a rolling field of perfect green grass, good enough to make any golf course manager jealous, that was being grazed by a formidable herd of even more sheep. I made my way across the field, careful to keep my path straight and away from the sheep with their new lambs, toward the Bay of Angels.

The tide was lower than I'd ever seen it and it made the familiar bay look completely new. I walked through bands of abandoned seaweed stipes and down to look for more stones. I played in the sand and forgot for a moment that I was in Scotland: it felt like a day at the beach back home. I took a brief nap on the beach, listening the tide slip away further and the seabirds cry to each other. I felt my exposed skin start to burn, surprisingly.

My final adventure of the day was to find out where the path I'd seen people coming down on the far end of the bay went. I'd been to the island twice and had never noticed it before. It was a steep climb, well-pounded by foot and hoof. I came to a hanging lake, Loch Staonaig, fenced off from the roaming herds of sheep and cattle, which might have been the source of drinking water for the island. The path itself was in good shape; obviously well-tended. Piles of cairns, rocks of offering, pilgrimage, and homage, dotted the path. I realized I was on the path to St. Columba's Bay.

I came over a hill to see the bay below me. It was a half-moon bay with another sea of perfectly-smooth stones between the cattle and grass, and the waters of the ocean. I carefully passed through the herd of cattle and came to the edge of the sea of stone. There were piles of cairns everywhere, of all shapes and sizes. The logistics of the whole scene made no sense. How had this place come to be this way?

Again, I had the whole place to myself, and enjoyed the sound of the waves and the changing tide as I looked for more stones. What an enchanted end to a solid day of adventures.....

Hiking up Dun da Ghaoithe, "the fork of the two winds"

Don't let the Gaelic spelling (click here for the pronunciation) of this gorgeous Corbett intimidate you; instead try out the view!

Click here for more photos.

No, although the photos do not do it justice, this mountain is more of a gentle giant. The scale is hard to understand from all the photos, but trust me when I say it's spectacular.

Approaching the beginning....

My climb began mid-morning to cool winds and an overcast sky. I was hoping for better weather, but I wasn't going to be deterred: I was finally getting to climb the mountain I've been looking at for months!

Spring had come to the mountain and little woodland ephemerals of all kinds poked out of the grass. The bracken fronds were unfurling, the bog pink was blooming, and the Primulas were everywhere. I began the ascent easily enough, stopping often to peek at the bits of color of all the tiny flowers.

The views were a bit dreary, but I was lucky enough that the clouds were high. It sprinkled on my only a little bit the first half, and soon spots of sunshine were able to break through. I paused at the radio tower, but was eager to see the peaks of Dun da Ghaoithe once more peek out around the bend.

Two people passed me the whole day. It was just the mountain and me.

Skywalker?

It was amazing as I made it to the second radio tower that the roads behind me, if I turned to look at them, seemed to end at the sky, as if you'd walk off the edge of them.

View down from the lunch spot.

Then, the real hillwalking began. I mistakenly followed dear trails more often than I'd like to admit. They knew how to get up the quickest though. At one point I was almost ascending a rock face, but when I came (well, really rolled on to) the top, I almost slipped down the other side of a very steep hill into the next valley. After a moment to catch my breath in the soft moss, the sky opened up around me and I could see 360 degrees around me. I realized I'd perched where a bird of prey usually did by some interesting droppings, but I couldn't blame it for the view.

I finished the climb to the first cairn steadily, calculating my climb amongst the interesting and misleading boulders. The path between the tall cairn and the sudden drop into the valley was a bit unnerving, and I was very keen to put just one foot in front of the other without looking around.

The path between the cairn and the sheer drop into the valley.

The wind suddenly kicked up as I descended the dip between the two points of the mountain. I began to understand why they called it "the fork of the two winds." I had to put my jacket on and put my bandana around my ears, and then finally put my hood up enough to keep from getting a major headache.

The final hill to ascend to the top. Notice the scree.

The wind made the approaching scree climb ahead of me look very precarious. There was another sudden drop if I were to slip or be tripped up by a sudden gust. *Gulp!* But the jagged pieces of rock were surprisingly sturdy and ages of rain had formed gentle stairs up the face. Slowly, and with sure step, I climbed the last major hill between me and the very top (still making sure to give plenty of girth between me and the edge).

Scree steps...?

And then finally, I was there! The wind came rushing from the Atlantic and Ben More to welcome me with such force, that after a look around the summit, I took shelter on the leeward side of the cairn for some rest. The views were spectacular, stretching over to the mainland and almost to Skye and Iona. It was everything I'd hoped and more.

The path finally taken.

September Pilgrimage to the Isle of Mull

Yikes.....this is way overdue!! So, back in September....

I really wanted to do some adventuring outside of Edinburgh before I started at university, and a pilgrimage to the Isle of Mull seemed most appropriate. I hadn't been since 2003 and I'd always remembered it fondly. I'd vowed to return and go hiking, and now was the time.

A quick four-hour train trip through the beautiful Scottish Highlands brought me to Oban, a popular European resort town, and where the CalMac ferry to Islands sets out from.

Duart Castle, the seat of the Clan McLean, as you approach Craignure on the Isle of Mull.

 Click HERE for more photos

From the train straight to the ferry for a beautiful, albeit windy, day scoping out the island and visiting Duart Castle, the seat of the Clan McLean, and my heritage. I took the bus from the ferry to the castle, but walked the three miles back so I could admire the scenery and see if I could find a hidden path up the mountain.

The next day I was on the morning ferry, but after missing the only bus and a miscalculation about a bike, I ended up just walking up the road out of Craignure to see how far I could get to Salen. Well, fate was looking out for me because I discovered a hiking trail at Scallastle, a Scottish Forestry Commission property. The weather wasn't great, with the clouds shrouding the mountain tops and shifting rain eventually drenching me through, but the views when the clouds would clear and the enchanting plants were well worth another trek in the rain.

It was an incredible, but sadly brief trip. But I'll be back soon!

Arthur’s Seat, the royal backdrop of Holyrood Park

One of the remedies for homesickness is hiking and Arthur’s Seat was calling. Holyrood Park is visible from most places in the city, even from the coast of Granton. I’d already resolved to hike it more than ten years ago when I first saw it. Finally, I had a chance to!

After running errands though the bustling streets of the Edinburgh Sunday, I was released to the base of the ancient volcanic hills. Some of them look like old slices of earth that were pushed up millions of years ago. They don’t seem that high, until you see the tiny people climbing all over them.

I assessed how and where I wanted to explore. People had made paths all up the sides of the hills, for better or for worse, besides the main path that lead around the sides of the hills. There was a steep path that quickly ascended the top that was perfect to get to walk along the rim of the rocks and see the city sooner.

It was rigorous, but every brief break was full of breathtaking views of the city. The higher I went the more I could see in the horizon. When I reached the top, I realized I hadn’t reached the top I thought I had. There was a larger mountain, the actual Arthur’s Seat, beyond. A golden valley stretched down below me, so vast the people were even smaller. I saw more hills beyond and more to explore. Yes!

The plants were mostly grasses and flowering herbs on the first hill. Only when I got to the base of Arthur’s Seat did I see trees, and even then they weren’t very tall. Gorse and other shrubs dominated, really. When I rounded the northeastern side of the Seat there were patches of heather all over. Ahh!

I chose another steep path to the top of Arthur’s Sear through a patch of heather. The air smelled like honey and the fuzzy white-bottomed bumblebees were hard at work. Both the climb and the views were dramatic and a couple times I had to remind myself to stop to look at the plants because the way down was straight to the bottom. I took a few breaks to take in the views of the valley below and the land beyond. I was taken aback each time I tried to understand how wide the valley was below. It was like nothing I’d ever seen; so beautiful.

I clambered over the last few rocks and found a path to the top of the mount. The rocks were smooth and slippery from the thousands of people who’d walked over them. I found a seat on the edge looking to the north so I could see over the city to the Highlands. The cold wind ripped over the top, but I was still happy to be on top of the world. I was really here.

I am really here.

Eva Colberg's Adventures in Madagascar: ISP and Reflections

Here's the last installment of Eva's updates. Everything below is Eva's own words. I hope you enjoy!

Check out Eva's Instagram for more photos of Madagascar and her other adventures:


If you would like to contact her, feel free to email her here.
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Final Mada Update

Eva Colberg

December 19, 2014

It still doesn’t quite seem real; my semester in Madagascar is over, and I’ve now been in Alaska for five days. It doesn't seem so much like reverse culture shock as it does simply figuring out how to live in this country without wasting or forgetting what I've learned and experienced overseas. 

The majority of November was dedicated to my independent study project (ISP). It began with a solitary taxi-brousse ride to a town on the northeastern coast to finally meet my ISP advisor, a botanist for Missouri Botanical Garden. After another, shorter taxi-brousse ride and then a three-hour boat trip up the river to my base village of Manjato, he spent two days of preliminary fieldwork with me. Then he departed, leaving me with my own devices.

Francine (my cook), Edrissia (her step-daughter), and Theresis (Francine's husband and one of my guides) preparing cloves to be dried.

I had two guides and a cook who barely knew any French and certainly not any English between the three of them, making charades and Malagasy the main options for conveying my research methods, daily needs, and basic interactions. Between the language barrier, exhausting days traipsing through the hilly swamps and littoral forests, and minimal contact with the outside world, my ISP was the most mentally, physically, and emotionally challenging portion of my trip.

A lone mature individual of Ravenea krociana, one of my target species.

Triumphantly, though, it paid off. My Malagasy improved greatly, I mastered balancing on one-log bridges, and most exciting of all, I documented the populations of four threatened, endemic palm species, one of which had only been known to exist in two other locations prior to my study. Additionally, my village was incredibly welcoming to me. I had a first-hand view of the intricacies of community-based forest management, and every day of field work was an adventure full of new surprises, from chameleons to rare and bizarre plants. 

After writing up my findings, I reunited with my group in Tulear, on the west coast, for our final presentations, exams, and re-entry sessions. As we made our way back up to the capital, we snorkeled in Ifaty with the NGO ReefDoctor, camped in the canyon of Isalo National Park, hiked to the top of the Tsaranoro Valley near Andringitra National Park, and received parting blessings from the fanahy (spirits) on top of the sacred mountain Andatabo.

The sandstone formations of Isalo National Park.

Ring-tailed lemur (Lemur catta) in the Tsaranoro Valley.

According to the fanahy, I will return to Madagascar, but I already knew that in my heart. On my last night in Manjato, my cook gave me a sprouting potato to plant in her backyard. It felt powerfully symbolic, as if I was leaving a little part of me to grow in Madagascar and give back to it in some way, a small gift of gratitude for all that it has given me.

Sacred cave with offerings as we await our blessings from the fanahy.

Adventures in the Polly Mobile 2: Exploring Ledge End, Climbing Mount Holyoke and Touring Smith College

A view of Southampton, MA and the Connecticut River from the top of Mount Holyoke. It was chilly but a nice place to have a morning snack.

(Click above for photos)

It was looking to be another packed day, but since I wasn't terribly pressed I spent a little time to explore Ledge End before I left. It was a gorgeous early morning, crisp with frost and on fire in the sunshine. It was asleep for the season, but the garden had flares of adventure and creativity, much like the folks who tended it. I made my way around the garden and then was on my way to climb a mountain.

It was such a cold morning on the dark side of Mount Holyoke. I was so thankful for my ski gloves, of which I'd gotten more use of in the last couple weeks than the entire time I'd owned them, and my long-necked jacket (the best $12 I'd ever spent). The side of the mountain went straight up from the road that wound to the top of the mountain. The sun made the angle seem even more extreme. But I was bound and determined to climb it. The trail was slow to start to climb and I took the first trail I saw to begin my ascent. Only after halfway up did I realize I'd chosen a precarious deer trail instead of an official one. I eventually met up with a marked trail and completed the final push through a thick stand of Tsuga canadensis, Canadian Hemlocks. The view of the golden valley below was worth every slip. There were trails that ran the top of the range and I headed toward the Summit House, an old hotel on top of the mountain, where I knew I'd meet the road, because I sure as heck wasn't going back down the way I'd come. I met a very kind man and his dog on the porch of the hotel and we chatted about the trees and the Massachusetts winters as we both walked down the road.

My descent was much quicker than I anticipated, but I went ahead and headed to the Botanic Garden at Smith College to see my friend Elaine Chittendon. I was very early so I took the opportunity to take my time and explore the Lyman Plant House, where they had two exhibitions going on: Thesaurus Woolwardiae, Orchid Paintings by Florence Woolward; and Woods of the World. I'm glad I had the time to fully appreciate these high-quality displays. Although I came with no preconceptions, I was thoroughly impressed with the interpretive displays I saw. Smith College should definitely be on your horticultural bucket list.

Elaine with the Cyphostemma juttae, a weird member of the Vitaceae, or grape family.

I pulled myself away from the Camellia Corridor and met up with Elaine. It was so nice to see her and she was so accommodating, fielding all of my questions about the collections and the operations, and horticultural outbursts. She led me through the teaching facilities, introducing me to people along the way, and then through the conservatory for a brief introduction to the collections there, including through the two "genetics" labs. We'd put it off long enough, so we bundled up and it was out to the gardens outside.

The weather had turned grey and cold, but we were not deterred. Apparently the grounds of the college are considered part of the botanic garden, which means Elaine has to go through and keep up with the records for all the plants on campus. Elaine led me through the rock garden, telling me stories as we went, then to beds of red-twigged dogwoods, which we were both a little fuzzy on with the taxonomy. I was impressed with and probably way too excited about the huge tree ring around the historic Metasequoia glyptostroboides. Anyway, Elaine gave me a thorough tour of the campus and showed me quite a few interesting trees across campus, including the Davidia involucrata, Dove tree, which had set seed that year, and a beautiful, huge Platanus occidentalis, sycamore.

Another Google Auto-Awesome, this time of a Sparmannia africana, in the Malvaceae, or hibiscus family.

Adventures in the Polly Mobile 2: Hanging out near Kingston, RI (aka a Summer Town in Winter)

It was a cold, dreary day in Kingston, Rhode Island, as you would expect for this time of year. Not yet the bitter cold of January, but definitely getting grumpy.

East Matunuck State Beach

 

(Click above for photos)

I had to get up super early in the morning to get a parking pass to save my car (and my wallet) from the college parking Nazis. Once I was up I just decided to go post up at Hope Student Center to catch up on some work and get a super reasonably-priced coffee. As the morning zombies filtered in, I realize I blended in, but also didn't. There were people pouring over flash cards and staring blankly at their computers, hopes that the information they needed would beam into their sleep-deprived brains. I was just hanging out. There was only a slight tinge of urgency to my work, but I was spared the future-crushing pressure of being under the academic wire.

Tessa let me know when she was done and we met at the Horridge Greenhouses (here's their blog). I took a quick jaunt through the grounds of the botanical garden to check out the collections. It was a modest offering and came complete with signage! I've really developed a taste for the need to have tags on plants and I was happy to see them (and the Magnolia grandiflora 'Bracken's Brown Beauty').

It was a low-key afternoon and evening exploring southern Rhode Island. Not much was going on and Tessa and I were reminded of the California Dreamin' Mad Libs fiasco that occurred on the way back from the Woody Plant Conference because it was definitely a 'Califonia Dreamin'' day as we were standing on East Matunuck State Beach.

We ended up walking through a forest of Juniperus virginiana that looked like something out of a horror movie and to take the edge off of the experience we contemplated what kind of monster we might encounter. Apparently people with chainsaws were the first thing she thought of. What an irony.