THE LIVING DESERT

The Living Forest

Unravel the image of forest . . . as a woman with a heavy braid, slowly separating each strand and combing it out, then parting the hair into strands and plaiting it smoothly, until it is even, wound about her head, and forgotten.

Metered by the seasons, the forest rhythm is a slow repeating one of life patterned against life. Beneath the serenity, violence is camouflaged, in this place where the dignity of survival has developed. The separate strands of beauty blend this violence with the adaptations of nature to the necessity of protection, the originality of technique, and the intimacy of dependence.

The dependence is most obvious in the woodland fungi; in the lives scattering to new secret places when a rotting log is rolled aside, revealing the pattern and line of life that has eaten through the decaying wood; in the sudden silent appearance in dark musky places of the mushroom. The subtle overnight springing up of this strange plant introduces its character . . . fragile, often almost drab, but sometimes bursting into brilliant color, it is full of varieties of difference. The more familiar forms, the smooth colorless soft mushrooms, reveal on their underside a frivolity of line, a delicacy of texture. Others adapt exotic forms and glowing color. Tree fungi grow in striped circles around the slender trunks of fallen trees, after threading through the rotting tree to begin the process of decomposition. The ability of these delicate plants to decompose carbon held captive in green plants and release it for nature's use gives them a respected place in the forest cycle.

sudden silent appearance in dark musky places of the mushroom. The subtle overnight springing up of this strange plant introduces its character . . . fragile, often almost drab, but sometimes bursting into brilliant color, it is full of varieties of difference. The more familiar forms, the smooth colorless soft mushrooms, reveal on their underside a frivolity of line, a delicacy of texture. Others adapt exotic forms and glowing color. Tree fungi grow in striped circles around the slender trunks of fallen trees, after threading through the rotting tree to begin the process of decomposition. The ability of these delicate plants to decompose carbon held captive in green plants and release it for nature's use gives them a respected place in the forest cycle.

It is the tree that sets the forest cycle in motion, providing food for much of the community. Bacteria prosper in decaying leaves richly crumbling on the floor of the forest. Insects feed on the tinier grubs that this fermenthouses. The spider spins a treacherous web, swung from leaf to leaf, to ensnare her prey; it catches morning dewdrops or the warm mist that rises after summer rain, and glistens like the finest jeweled lace. The tree provides home and feeding ground; all of the forest life inevitably begins with the tree.

The forest is filled with the sound of survival the chattering scolding anger of a squirrel protecting her midden and her young, with the shrill distraction from her nest. If discovered, the young are moved and hidden again from hawks, pine marten, weasels, and other seeking predators. There are the anguished screams of the captives, the helpless cry of the rabbit, or of the bird returning to the looted nest, the triumphant call of the captor.

There is the instinct of trickery to protect. The coyote builds not one lair, but several decoys so that her enemies cannot discover her too quickly. She will sacrifice herself to save her young, leading her hunters far from the den.

This forest pursuit is one without fury, without hate, but out of the necessity for continuance. The persistence of life is like the forest stream, beginning in a damp da meadow, with its point of origin exposed by spots of brilliant green growing in a spring's seepage. This seepage fills a hollow with dampness, and gathers itself into the beginning of an ocean, running in slow streams with meandering paths to become full flow, fed by many trickling tributaries from beside its path, until after journeys over rapids, falls, through rivers, it reaches the sea. And there the streams are not separated from the rain, or the other rivers, but all become the sea.

Thus the forest cycle the predators, the parasites, the larger species that must thrive on the smaller, the decay all are thrusts of the forest life, competing for completion, and the struggle becomes the living forest.

In balance with pursuit is protection. Intricate methods the defensive odor of the skunk allows him to follow his curiosity by providing him with a weapon against the unexpected; the quills of a porcupine compensate for his cumbersome slow body and his lack of agility by protecting him at the closest range. The dappled back of a fawn is hidden in the shimmering of summer sun in aspen, clean yellow-green light shattered by the quake of a multitude of windless leaves; the fawn is concealed in dancing flecks of light. The plumage of the summer birds defies protectiveness, growing gaudier as the mating time approaches. The forest plants share their morning of birth with glimmering hummingbirds, bright warblers, bold red cardinals, thieving jays who wait for unguarded nests to rob. In varieties of nests built from borrowed forest bits, blending with tree, brush, rock, bed of leaves, eggs of myriad shades are laid, tended, opened by the first thrusts of life. Unflying, hungry bits of fluff, mostly mouth, are fed, pushed to flight, then sent free armed with the defense of survival, instinct.

The thrush may build its nest in pine, or brush, rock crevice, or in the most precarious of quaking aspen, where each wind gust rocks the tree to its very base. Each twig is chosen, fitted into the weave of the nest. The thrush settles into the framework, fitting it carefully with a rustle of settling, then flies off for the next fragment. With no uncertainty of recognition, she returns to the tree, flies up the line of trunk to the central branches she has chosen. Her mate observes. Then he approaches more boldly, with a captured bug, and feeds it to her with an arranging of wings, a frantic chirping and chatter the courtship feeding. She becomes interested in his elaborate display, and preens herself, pluming and settling her feathers immodestly, and then flits off, returning to her work.

Wrens and woodpeckers begin the search for nesting holes in hollow trees. The wrens flit, chirping extravagantly, so tiny in the high branches that their voices are the only announcement; the sharp tap of the woodpecker's bill as he ferrets food from a dying tree is a persistent reminder of his presence. His timely removal of destructive insects may save the tree.

The full-flowing streams sound with deep persistent drum thumps when wet shining rocks interrupt the silver rush of water, or when the water falls in a smooth curve over the green moss cover of a fallen tree. Lacy ferns lean to the creek along the bank, casting pleasant shadows on the moist, dark earth. With dancing bob, the water ouzel waits beside the stream to catch his dinner of nymphs or insects, ducking dauntlessly under the cold ripples or walking on the creek bottom, to emerge with his downy gray-black feathers as fresh as before his dip. He is no stranger to this forest place, for he lives there year around, moving to lower elevations in the winter. His nest is a soft brown-green addition to the creek-side cliff, a low rock, a fallen tree near the water, and is built of scraps of moss.

The hummingbird's home is as tiny as the bird; softly lined with cottonwood fluff and covered with lichen, it is concealed on the upper side of a pine branch, or hidden among the delicate leaves of a birch, a tiny cup woven on a branch low over the stream. The hummingbird feeds on insects and the sweetness of forest flowers a jewel-like representation of one of a family of beauties... the broadtail with his trilling wings; the blackchinned, splashed with royal iridescence. The arrogant males dart and shrill at intruders. The females of the family are barely distinguishable by species, with greenish backs and soft yellowwhite breasts.

The butterflies are also flagrant denunciations of protective coloring; and announce most clearly the forest metamorphosis. Against the green of the forest background, the quick wavering passing of the yellow swallowtail, the circling flutters of a pair of white cabbage butter-flies, the flit of the orangeand black-patterned monarch, are bright surprises. The night moths, too, are often finely patterned, sometimes dotted with brilliance; occasionally the luna shows herself her dainty swallowtail the most delicate of greens.

In the high forest, the aspen are bold white stripes against the ponderosa pine, their spring leaves so bright with yellow that the tanager's yellow breast blends with the foliage and only his flaming head reveals him. The rollicking leaves seem delicately suspended from invisible twigs. The warm scent of pine fills the open places under tall straight trunks, topped with the dark green longneedled boughs, where the brown floor cushions footsteps, and the warm wind whispers nearly soundless. Patterned pine pitch oozes in green-white dribbles on the trees, and there is a soft clean scent of crushed spearmint and raw earth dark with humus. The lovely silver-green velvet leaves of skunk cabbage circle the purplish cowl of the unpleasant-odored spathe.

In the meadows of the high forest a breeze begins to turn the newly green grass to silver, then to green again. It catches the water, rippling across small ponds in rhythmic lines, broken now and then by the sparkling leap of a fish or the contrary ripples of a water bug. Salamanders, sometimes called "water dogs," strange small swimming things with tiny legs, remnants of some ancient water life, lie sluggishly at the bottom of the clear mountain ponds, with crawling larvae, much like moving bits of collected mud sticks. Water lilies unfold in waxen beauty above the round green pads.

... the living forest is a world of fairy trails

The beaver, one of the larger members of the rodent family, makes his home in these high mountain ponds, or builds his own pond by damming a stream with mud and sticks. His days are sedentary. During his nocturnal browsing, he cuts trees with his sharp incisors, which are yellow or orange, token of his family. These trees are used to build a water home, or are channeled through canals to the pond, to be stored for winter food. Aside from water plants, the beaver eats the fresh inner bark of the trees he cuts. He and his lifetime mate raise a family of from two to six in the spring.

Much of the forest life, like the beaver, leads a nocturnal existence. The silhouettes of sunset are a signal for the end of work and hunting only to the day-dwellers. The plaintive twilight songs of the other birds begin, and slowly cease, just as the owl begins his lonesome hoot, his eyes intent upon the search for scampering prey. The butterflies stop their dipping flight to rest beneath large leaves, as the moths begin to flutter. The forest mammals begin their prowl for food. The night forest is one of careful hunt, of timid step, of watchful eyes.

The gust of wind in the high meadows is harbinger of a summer rain, and tosses the heads of the flowers that set the fields ablaze with color... the yellow daisies and wood violets; the red of penstemon, cardinal-flower, and "shooting star;" the white of newly-opened primrose, or the soft pink of those that have been open for a day. The air grows heavy with the scent of rain; treetops toss in the rushes of gusting wind. Great heaps of sunlit silver clouds darken to gray and the storm moves over the forest. The rain comes then in torrents, pounding, sometimes cooling to icy hail that bounces and rolls to melt as quickly as it froze. Thunder echoes among the trees in great rolls and outroars the full spring streams; at night, lightning flickers in dark woods and the stars are invisible.

In the time after rain, the coming alive of the forest, the sun breaks through, then fades, until the last remnants of clouds are gone, then floods the forest green with light; steam rises in wispy clouds from the drying ground. The birds flash more brilliantly among the fresh-washed leaves and each of their landings brings the clatter of drops falling onto leaves below; each breeze swells to a tinkling of sound.

Frogs add their deep pulsating croaks to the melody of the sparkling forest, joining the frenzy of crickets. Indolent bumblebees loll among flower petals in the cool air; warmed by the sun, they crawl slowly into the center of the flower. Thus aroused to activity, they fly in droning circles through the beds of wildflowers.

Each thrust of bird bill or bee into the depth of a flower, into the careful cup of blossom, is part of the forest way. The elegant selectivity of nature defines which plant shall be the most enticing in fragrance, in beauty. These draw the bee, the bird, to carry pollen one to one. Or nature protects with thorn the thistle, so that the seeding flower may reach full plume and be carried by the wind, at summer's drying, wind-rustled end.

Then autumn. Sounds of sleep in chill-promising wind; leaves' slow fluttering to rest in the splendor of fall forest floors. The birdless trees grow bare. Frost flecks warn of winter, and outline the now spent burls of seed, the browning leaves. The coyote lends his lonely howl to evening sounds. Rustling, the forest gathers itself in for winter.

The squirrel provides. He is finished now with spring's preoccupation, preparing the nest, tearing strips of the peeling bark of birch or aspen. His family is becoming independent and has less need for his watchfulness. On the ground beneath the bulky summer nest in a high place, he builds a midden, burying pine cones in an elaborate harvest. He climbs to garner his winter's food, efficiently cutting numbers of cones before scampering down the rough brown trunk to begin the burying. By winter his supply has grown to thousands of cones, carefully buried in a heap of needles, leaves, and scales at the foot of the tree. All winter long he depends upon his autumn work. With frantic paws he digs out his harvest cone by cone, and, sitting on his haunches with the cone held upright between his paws, he turns it in rapid concise twirls, eating the meat from each scale, dropping the empty core to add to the midden's floor. By spring, the midden is blan-keted with scales and full of holes, and he is more selective. Rejecting a not-so-meaty cone, he reburies it in one of the many holes.

Autumn is a time of departure after the warning of the first chill nights. The brilliant birds seek a warmer winter home; the bear, the chipmunk, the ground squirrel prepare for a sedentary season; and there is a withering and drying of the plants. But before the black and white of winter replaces summer's green, the forest blazes with the splendor of transition. The Indian tale of the slaying of the Great Bear, his blood dripping to color the forest red, and the fat from the hunter's cooking kettle splashing the yellow, is only fable, but the gradual change is no less unbelievable, even when explained. The same chill nights that sent the birds to flight slows the process of production; the leaves' work completed for the season, the process stops, and the chlorophyl is broken down into its various substances, the manufactured food is sent to the trunk. All that remain are the excesses or the unusables, and these color the leaves from palest yellow to deepest red and russet.

By the mountain meadow ponds, the cattails release their silky centers and the reeds grow dry. The beaver increases his activity in preparation for the coming winter, and the dried heads of once-bold wildflowers burst to spread their seed. Streams flow now less full than spring, and wash the fallen scarlet and gold leaves to their brightest tones. The sun's rays catch the dust of drying leaves in the air.

The first snowfall comes to the high forest earlier than to most locales. One gray, chill day, that has held since dawn a sense of waiting, there begins the almost imperceptible sound of snow, growing to a steady beat

THE FOREST COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY BY BILL RATCLIFFE OPPOSITE PAGE

"SPIDERWEB LADEN WITH MOISTURE." During the rainy season, the forest is most attractive. Everything sparkles with moisture and raindrops. Lighting is best on the spiderweb if the sun breaks through the clouds to add a sparkle on the jewel-like lace. 4x5 Burke & James View camera; Ektachrome E-3; f.16 at 1/25th sec.; 10" Commercial Ektar lens; September; overcastrainy; Weston Meter reading 100; ASA rating 50.

FOLLOWING PAGES

"MUSHROOM" Stropharia squamosa. This mushroom was found at about 9,000 feet elevation, near a decaying log in a very lush forest area, one of the many varieties of beauty to be found in the living forest. I like to hunt for mushrooms for photographic purposes. There are so many kinds in all shapes and colors and found in most wooded areas. Because of the nature of these low growing forms of life, I use a special tripod that is only three inches high. Sometimes I dig a small depression in the soil, to get the camera as low as possible. 4x5 Burke & James View camera; Ektachrome-Daylight; f. 18 at 1/5th sec.; 10" Commercial Ektar lens; August; rainy-overcast; Weston reading 25; ASA rating 50.

"MUSHROOM" Coprinus niveus. Mushrooms make spectacular and beautiful photographs, most impressive if observed from a low angle (to show their underside structure.) With more than four thousand species in the United States, they often must be taken into the lab and studied under microscope for positive identification.

"CORAL MUSHROOM" Clavaria invalii. This mushroom was found in a forest area on a north slope among lush green plants and considerable amounts of grass. Under some tall pines and spruce, several of these "coral" mushrooms were thriving in the shade. "CHOKE CHERRY" - Prunus virginiana. In the living forest there grow many kinds of trees, among them the Choke Cherry. In the fall there is a time of ripening and a time to "harvest" the fruit. Many people gather choke cherries to make jelly which is a very tasty treat. 4x5 Burke & James View camera; Ektachrome E-3-Daylight; f.22 at 1/10th sec.; 10" Commercial Ektar lens; late August; dull day, glimpse of sun; Weston Meter reading 60; ASA rating 64.

"PENSTEMON BARBATUS." Photo taken three miles from Bright Angel Campground at North Rim of Grand Canyon. Here at the junction to Point Imperial or Cape Royal there were hundreds of penstemon in bloom. 4x5 Burke & James View camera; Ektachrome-Daylight; f.25 at 1/5th sec.; 10" Commercial Ektar lens; late July; cloudy; Weston Meter reading 35; ASA rating 64.

"FERNS AND ASPEN." Photo taken about two and one half miles from Snow Bowl, Coconino National Forest near Flagstaff. Foliage of ferns and grass makes an interesting design in forest photography. Fungi are often found growing in association with the green plants of the forest floor.

"COLUMBINE" Aquilegia chrysantha. Wildflowers grow abundantly in the forest of the San Francisco Peaks near Flagstaff. A favorite of many people is the columbine which occurs in several colors. This one was photographed growing near the road that leads to the Snow Bowl. It is a beautiful forest area. 4x5 Burke & James View camera; Ektachrome E-3; f.25 at 1/5th sec.; 10" Commercial Ektar lens; July; overcast-cloudy; Weston Meter reading 40; ASA rating 64.

"BULL THISTLE" Cirsium lancolatum. The bull thistle is one of the common mountain flowers. Although it is quite forbidding to man, because of its prickly growth, it attracts many insects to its colorful blossoms. 4x5 Burke & James View camera; Ektachrome E-3; f.32 at 1/15th sec.; 10" Commercial Ektar lens; summer; partial shade, some sunlight filtering through trees; Weston Meter reading 200; ASA rating 64.

"MOSS." Moss grows in many places in the forest, most often where shade prevails. They are commonly found in places where there is moisture, on soil, trees, fallen logs and some are pioneerson bare rocks. Like ferns and mushrooms, mosses are among the lowly spore bearing plants that have no flowers. There were many interesting mosses in the Coconino National Forest. 4x5 Burke & James View camera; Ektachrome E-3; f.22 at 1/30th sec.; 10" Commercial Ektar lens; summer; overcast; Weston Meter reading 200; ASA rating 64.

"PINE PITCH." This was taken about one quarter mile from Jacob Lake in the Kaibab National Forest. This portion of a giant ponderosa pine tree had been damaged by fire. I observed several trees like this one near Jacob Lake.

"A WINTER PATTERN IN THE LIVING FOREST." The pattern of frost is a warning of the coming winter season. Soon a blanket of white will cover the forest and footsteps will be hushed. It will be a time of rest for much of the forest life and a time for skiing . . . and photography for man.

"LIVING ICICLES." Along the forest stream grows the Horsetail plant, Equisetum hymale. Common to damp places and seepages of the mountains. Here in winter the splashing of the forest stream has turned the Horsetail into a living icicle. The fast rushing forest stream is just a blur in the lower center of the photograph and green moss shows through some of the ice. "THE WINTER STREAM." Icicles hang along the bank of the forest stream in winter and ice forms over rocks and logs. The days are cold and there is little or no thawing in the shade. Each night another layer of ice is added. Camera shutters must be warm and clean. Any moisture or oil will cause a delay in camera shutter operating and incorrect exposure of film.

"MAPLE LEAF" - Acer grandidentatum. In fall autumn leaves cover the forest floor. Some settle along the stream on the water splashed rocks. Here in the shade, the sky reflects from the water covered rock and the fast flowing forest stream rushes by.

CENTER PANEL

"THE GREEN FOREST." Photo taken three miles from Bright Angel Campground, North Rim of Grand Canyon. This scene is typical of much of the forest area along the North Rim. I believe this is to be one of the most attractive and interesting forests of the West. Everything is so green with lush foliage, complemented by patchs of wildflowers. There are also mushrooms, lichens and moss . . . all the ingredients for interesting forest photography.

"EARLY MORNING HAWLEY LAKE." Hawley Lake in the White Mountains of eastern Arizona is one of the popular camping areas on the Fort Apache Indian Reservation. Hiking, camping, fishing and "enjoying the forest scenery" is all for the taking in the White Mountains. This lake is surrounded by inviting camping spots.

"FROST ON THISTLE." Freezing weather brings a drying of plants and patterns of frost cover many things. It is wise to get out in early morning for this type of photography. The days are often warm enough to melt the frost of night, or a gentle breeze can blow it off.

"BOG CREEK IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS." Photo taken along Bog Creek near McNary in the White Mountains. Numerous small but beautiful streams are found in this region. This photo of Bog Creek was taken near one of the many pleasant campgrounds provided for the summer vacationers. 4x5 Burke & James View camera; Ektachrome E-3; f.29 at 1 sec.; 10" Commercial Ektar lens; July; cloudy-dull day; Weston Meter reading 13; ASA rating 50.

LAST PAGE

"RINGTAIL CAT" - Bassariscus astutus. Found in many parts of Arizona, the Ringtail Cat is the only species of this family found north of the Mexican border. These beautiful animals are not often seen because of their nocturnal habits, sleeping during the daytime and searching for food at night. 4x5 Burke & James View camera; Ektachrome E-3; f. 16 at 1/100th sec.; 10" Commercial Ektar lens; October; shade, electronic flash fill; ASA rating 64.

On the dry leaves left by fall. And the forest begins to fill, and with its filling the snow falls more silently on snow until all that is left of autumn are the leaves now growing damp beneath the white cover, or those last few falling ones that soon disappear as the cold cover of winter draws itself over the forest floor. All the color of the other seasons is gone and what remain are the stark lines of trees against gray sky, white snow, the silhouettes of branches stripped now of their leaves and left in delicate design, the lingering birds in gray and soft brown, their nests exposed in the tree they rest in, before they, too, leave the forest until it is warm once more.

The ice of winter parasitically climbs from streams, on reeds and weeds, growing in frozen crystals, and much beside the stream remains green. Beneath the drifts of snow, rodents tunnel warmly. On top there are the tracks of rabbits, deer, or squirrels; the scales left after a cone feast.

In earliest spring there is a stirring. It begins with one bird's return, the thrust of one green sprout through damp warm beds of fermenting leaves, the last crack of ice falling into the faster-rushing fuller streams. The swollen creeks are dark and gray between banks still piled with melting snow; then, with the advent of spring rains, continued melting, the water turns to mud tones, carrying swells over banks in places, leaving a mat of dusty weeds, mud dried on them, in the wake of the small flood. Rodents who have selected a creek-side home find themselves flushed out for a time.

The stirring grows with each succession of days gray from low heavy clouds full of spring rains, with days hidden by early fog floating in white, cold grandeur in front of a white, cold sun.

Through the still melting snow pushed the first tenacious hold on spring, the lavender anemone, the sturdy "wind flower," a promise of the inevitability of the season.

There are strange adaptations in the forest cycle. Trees of different varieties, whose seeds have fallen close, grow within each other's branches, in circling embraces. And during the most horrible of all forest happenings, the fire, there is a studied disregard for enmity.

It is to this forest that a man, the visitor, comes, with tidy homes in tents, trailer, pack, or cabin. He brings the scents of frying bacon to mingle with the clean smell of the dew-freshened morning world of the forest, and the smoke of his fire winds high into the dark boughs above him. His voice is a little softer and his ear is tuned for the sound of the day's beginning the cold, clear brook running beside his camp, the first bird's call timed to meet the glow of sun and the spreading light, the crack-crack of a rabbit's bush-bound leap. He welcomes the sharp flush of cold cheeks for its contrast to his hands growing warm around the coffee mug; the rub of wool against yesterday's sunburn; the unfailing deliciousness of an outdoor breakfast. And for a time, man, too, has found his place in the forest cycle.

In the forest, man can find suggestions of the primeval, traces of evolution, a witness to the subtle dignity of nature's balance; nature does not deal in excesses, but necessity; not in destruction, but continuity.

The slant of light, the shape of leaf, the rock-rippled brook flow, the stirring wind, all change the forest pattern, weaving their careful details around the violence that is there, sounding the scale of sustenance that goes from the total parasitic growth to the quick-strong predator.

The seekers and the sought, the new growth and the decay, the prey and the quarry, all have their place in the world of the living forest.