"Active Canker on mid bole"

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*Craaaaaack whoosh rumble*

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We looked up from the task at hand to witness yet another chunk of ice come tumbling off the steep northern escarpment of Mount Rainier. The plume of dust and ice was barely visible through the wildfire smoke coating the region, but the sound was indicative enough of what had just occurred. We were coming off the 3rd intense heat wave of the summer, the memory of 108 degree days in Seattle forever etched into our collective memory. It was surreal, to monitor signs of change in an ecosystem you can watch literally crumble while you work. Had the entirety of the thick ice sheet coating the summit slid off that day, I would not have been surprised. 

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That was my first experience monitoring white bark pines (Pinus albicaulis). It was memorable, grief inducing and magical all at the same time. Not a lot of ecosystems undergoing intense stress can inflict such a wide range of emotions in a person. I was awestruck by the scenery, in love with the fact that for a majority of the year, these magnificent trees were hidden under feet of snow, unreachable to anyone who tried to cross their path in the winter. 

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Whitebark pines have been disappearing from the western United States for decades. Due to a combination of factors, including an introduced pathogen called white pine blister rust, climate change, fire suppression, and mountain pine beetle outbreaks their numbers are dwindling and they are currently being evaluated under the endangered species act (ESA). Such a listing is vital for this species, which the US Forest Service warns may go extinct within my lifetime if nothing is done to save it.

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I spent a few weeks of my field season out with these magnificent beings, monitoring them for signs of mortality, active and inactive cankers from the blister rust pathogen plaguing stands across their range. I even went and scouted cones one week, where I found a giant white bark and had the pleasure of being berated about my business by a Clark's nutcracker.