A Winter Wonderland in the Hocking Hills

Earlier this week Southeast Ohio finally received what felt like its first appreciable snow event of the season.  We've had countless dustings and a few passing systems that left an inch or two on the ground but in the end nothing that made you want to throw your snow boots on.  So when a fresh five inches fell overnight and draped the world in a picture perfect winter wonderland, I immediately felt the urge to get out and enjoy it.

Quiet, snow-covered trail along Queer Creek in the Hocking Hills

I decided the best bang for my hiking buck would be to brave the cold and make the short drive to the Hocking Hills for the day. The snow coincided perfectly with a rare day where I had little on the schedule and I was determined to take advantage of it.  The road conditions were poor and air temperatures only in the single digits during the drive out but the crisp blue sky and bright sun really made the landscape pop under all the snow.

Blackhand sandstone is a work of art carved by wind, rain and ice

I passed hardly any cars during the drive and encountered even fewer people on the trails.  In fact, just about everywhere I went my tire and/or foot tracks were the first to tarnish the previously pristine snow.  The Hocking Hills is easily one of the state's most popular and heavily visited attractions year-round but I had it more or less entirely to myself for the day and loved every minute of it.

A frozen solid Cedar Falls

The morning started off with a quick stop by famed Cedar Falls.  With subzero temperatures the night before and daily highs well below freezing for days on end, I knew its typically graceful flow would be locked up in a tremendous display of ice.  I was not disappointed.  The silence of the scene was only broken by a slow trickle of water behind the massive mask of ice.

Wide view of frozen Cedar Falls in the Hocking Hills

One of the reasons the Hocking Hills was an easy choice for a snow-laden hike was its year-round presence of color.  Most of Ohio over-winters in a variety of depressingly drab shades of brown and gray.  The Hocking Hills bucks that trend with a rich display of iron-orange Blackhand sandstone and evergreen hemlocks.  I'm especially partial to the color of the uniquely patterned sandstone. It's deserving of its own color in a Crayola crayon box coming soon.

Appalachian rockcap fern (Polypodium appalachianum) tightly curled in the subfreezing temperatures

Multiple layers of wool and fleece kept your narrator warm and toasty despite hours spent out in the subfreezing temperatures.  The same could not be said for the rest of the plant and animal life trying to survive the winter.  The Appalachian rockcap ferns (Polypodium appalachianum) that grace many slump rocks and boulders throughout the region looked especially cold.  Their evergreen fronds were all tightly curled inward, as if to shiver off the arctic chill.

Snow, sandstone and hemlocks

Leaving Cedar Falls behind, I made for my next stop in a lesser known part of Hocking state forest in Edison Hollow.  It's off the beaten path but contains much of the same beauty and features that make the region so popular.

Mature forest within Edison Hollow

Walking back into the bottleneck of the hollow takes you through an impressive forest with a lofty canopy and mature timber. Hemlock, black and yellow birch, beech, tuliptree, red and white oak, sugar maple, black cherry and basswood were all present and combine to make a locally significant forest community.  The Hocking Hills rugged and rough topography creates a cool, moist micro climate in its deep hollows which allows for the typically more northern assemblage of trees and plants to persist.

80'+ waterfall at the back of Edison Hollow

 
Once I reached the back of the gorge my eyes were met with an impressive straight plunge waterfall over 80 feet tall.  Much like Cedar Falls, Edison's was nearly frozen solid and only had a small drip of life to it.  The ice pyramid at its base was especially impressive.  It dwarfed me when standing next to it at nearly 20 feet in height and emitted a soft greenish-blue glow through its complex layers of ice crystals.

Snow, wind and light combine for a stunning scene

My visit to Edison Hollow happened to coincide with the sun positioned behind the falls and illuminating the stand of hemlocks at its precipice.  For a few brief moments the wind would pick up and send the hemlock's accumulated snow into the air, creating a heavenly glow of light above the falls.  The sunbeams would stream through the haze of ice and dance in waves and ripples.

Abruptly ending squirrel tracks

Greenshield Lichen (Flavoparmelia caperata)

The winter woods has a silence and beauty all its own, even more so after a fresh snowfall.  Animal activity was sparse with only a few lines of tracks meandering through the trees.  My favorites were the squirrel prints.  Their tracks would abruptly end a few feet from a tree as if it was suddenly snatched up in an alien spaceship's tractor beam...instead of just jumping onto and scurrying up the tree.

Overlooking the Queer Creek valley from atop a sandstone rock outcropping

After experiencing some impressive upward views in the sandstone gorges and hollows, it was high time to gain some elevation.  I chose another secluded and hardly-traveled area in the south-facing ridge line of the Queer Creek valley.  The valley contains a number of nice rock outcroppings that show off their views across the rough terrain.  Once again the dominant presence of the evergreen hemlocks and their snow-covered branches really magnified the charm of the scene.

Virginia Pine (Pinus virginiana)

Mountain Laurel (Kalmia latifolia)

The hemlocks weren't the only source of seasonal greenery.  Stunted Virginia pines and tangles of mountain laurel grew all along the rocky cliff's edges and perimeter.  They were right at home with the other dry, acidic condition-loving plants of the ridge tops like chestnut, black and scarlet oaks, downy serviceberry, hillside blueberry, black huckleberry and sourwood.

Sandstone rock outcrop above Rooty Hollow along the Queer Creek Valley

This past summer was the first time I'd ever experienced this particular part of the Hocking Hills.  These same rocky outcrops and cliff edges above Queer Creek are home to the state endangered cow-wheat (Melampryum lineare) and were the subject of a day's monitoring and surveying back on a hot and humid day in June.  The views and off-trail seclusion of it all made an instant impression back then and I knew it had to be equally good come winter.

Walking back into the bottleneck of Conkle's Hollow

No trip to the Hocking Hills for me is ever complete without a stop by Conkle's Hollow.  I'm fortunate to have seen and experienced as much of our fine state as I have and even after the years and new places, Conkle's still makes me swoon.  Walking back into its deep gorge or walking the rim trails, I never tire of the feel or atmosphere of the preserve.

Sheer sandstone goodness

Conkle's hollow is one of the deepest in the entire state with depths of over 200 feet.  Many people consider Ohio to be flat and featureless.  It depends on where you're standing when you say that I suppose, but they'd best not be in the Hocking Hills!  Where else in the state do you get sheer walls of rock hundreds of feet tall right in your face?

Yellow birch roots exposed and growing down rock

Hefty hemlock

The predominate bedrock material of the Hocking Hills was laid down some 340 million years ago during the Mississippian Period. During that time the region was under a warm, shallow sea where several prehistoric waterways deposited their sediment loads over a series of deltaic complexes.  Over the eons the sediment layers cemented together to form the Blackhand sandstone we know today. Subsequent geological unrest in the region uplifted and exposed this strata of bedrock to the elements, where millions of years of wind, water and ice has carved out the incredible features we see today.

Frozen ice pillars at the back of Conkle's Hollow

Conkle's Hollow is supremely one of Father time and Mother nature's best works of erosion and patience in the state.  It's fun to think about what the preserve and hollow will look like hundreds of thousands of years into the future.  We live in such a brief flash of geologic time it's hard to comprehend the changes that have happened and will continue happening over the millions and billions of years.

Looking back into the bottleneck of Conkle's Hollow from the east rim trail

As the Blackhand sandstone was laid down, the sediments conglomerated into layers of varying erosion resistance.  The bottom and topmost layers are course-grained and firmly cemented, thus being very resistant to weathering.  These layers make up the basements of the region's hollows and their respective rims and tops of waterfalls.  The middle strata is comprised of a much finer grained sand that was crossbedded and weakly cemented, leaving it vulnerable to erosion.  This layer is where you see your recesses, caves and rock shelters.  Conkle's Hollow and the countless others in the Hocking Hills came to exist when a massive crack or fault in the previously more or less solid block of bedrock occurred and was gradually eaten away until it met more resilient rock.  Over millions of years it's gotten as far as what you see in the photo above.  It all comes back to time and the Earth has had a lot of it to work with.

Looking south out of Conkle's Hollow

This view just never gets old or boring, no matter how many times you've seen it

The afternoon skies had clouded up and a brisk wind was beginning to stir by the time I got to the eastern rim trail.  Temperatures had warmed into the low 20's but that new wind cut like a knife.  Still, it wasn't enough to dull the experience of the rim.  I've soaked in this view dozens of times and taken the same photo dozens more but it never, ever gets even one iota old.

The state-rare resurrection fern (Pleopeltis polypodioides)

I capped off my all-day Hocking Hills hiking extravaganza with a quick stop by a particular hunk of rock to see how one of our hardiest ferns was dealing with the harsh winter conditions.  Just as I expected, the state-rare resurrection fern (Pleopeltis polypodioides) looked just about dead.  But not to fear, it's just playing possum and will be back good as new with time.  This species gets its common name from its ability to dry and shrivel to a near-crisp during times of cold and/or arid conditions and snap right back to a lush, green state after getting a drink.  A fern that can come back from the "dead".  Resurrection, indeed.

I certainly got my wish for a good snowfall at some point this winter but it could be noted that you should always be careful what you wish for.  Another six-seven inches has fallen today to leave a solid foot of the white stuff on the ground.  That can only mean it's time to get out and do some more winter wonderland exploration, right?

~ ALG ~

Autumn Color at Conkle's Hollow State Nature Preserve

Fall coming to southeast Ohio is a moment I look forward to all year long.  It's a bittersweet moment at its core as another growing season has come to its inevitable end but the brief flux of color across the region's rolling, contiguously forested landscape makes winter's impending return seem not so rough.  Since moving down to the Athens area over five years ago, I've made sure to make the most out of living in such a spectacular part of the state.  In order to accomplish that there is one pilgrimage that must be made each and every October to a particular sandstone gorge in the renowned Hocking Hills region.

Looking into the bottleneck of Conkle's Hollow from the eastern gorge rim trail

If I've visited Conkle's Hollow state nature preserve once, I've visited it a dozen and a half times at just about every time of the year.  Its sheer sandstone cliff faces and bluffs rise precipitously from the cool, lush hemlock hollow below and is rimmed by an acidic mixed oak and pine forest community.  The views from the gorge rim trail are breathtaking no matter the season but let's not kid ourselves, nothing can best autumn's scene.

Incredible autumn color from all direcitons

The exposed layer of bedrock at Conkle's Hollow and the rest of the region is known as Black Hand sandstone and was laid down over 350 million years ago when an immense, warm shallow sea covered what is current-day Ohio.  The fine sand grains and rock particles that settled at the ocean's river deltas compacted under an ever-increasing amount of pressure and weight from the younger layers of sediment on top.  As the tectonic plates continued to shift and move over the Earth's surface, the eastern edge of the North American continent was forced up as the Appalachians formed, leaving Ohio high and dry and exposed to the elements.  Over the following hundreds of millions of years the softer surrounding bedrock material has been weathered away by the forces of water, ice and wind to reveal the resistant Black Hand sandstone.  Despite its heightened resiliency even it is not immune to the forces of time and erosion and has slowly but surely been carved out into the unique and fascinating gorges, promontories and rock houses we see today.

Stunted and gnarled Virginia pine along the very edges of the sandstone cliff edges and rock faces

When delving into the botanical aspect of any habitat or ecosystem it's important to know the geologic history and background for the corresponding area.  Geology and botany are intimately tied together and produce predictable results depending on the conditions present.  Conkle's Hollow's gorge rim is a harsh and acidic environment with very shallow, fast-draining soils and exposed bedrock with plant associations pretty similar to the Dolly Sods heath barrens I blogged about in the post prior to this.  Tree species such as chestnut/white/scarlet/post oaks, hemlock, Virginia pine, sourwood and serviceberry dominate with a shrub/herbaceous layer comprised of xeric acidophiles like mountain laurel (Kalmia latifolia), huckleberry (Gaylussacia baccata), hillside blueberry (Vaccinium pallidum), teaberry (Gaultheria procumbens), trailing arbutus (Epigaea repens), striped wintergreen (Chimaphila maculata), partridgeberry (Mitchella repens) and sawbrier (Smilax rotundifolia).

Unbeatable fall colors at Conkle's Hollow

As the story goes, Conkle's Hollow got its name from an inscription once visible on the western wall of the gorge that read -W.J. Conkle 1797-.  I can't imagine trying to rappel my way down the rock faces of the hollow with the technology and advancements of today, let alone over 200 years ago.  Whomever Conkle was, they certainly had more guts and adventure than I do; no way would I have been able to do such a task.  One wrong move and you're leaving your bones behind at the bottom of the hollow instead of your name!

Sheer sandstone cliffs rising nearly 200 feet above the valley floor

The sandstone cliffs look as imposing as they are impressive and boast vertical heights of nearly 200 feet, making it arguably the deepest hollow in the entire state.  The small creek that gently flows on the valley floor will continue to deepen the hollow millimeter by millimeter as time marches on and only add to its impressive physical relief statistics.  The mixture of evergreen hemlocks and bright yellow birch and tulip poplar at the bottom contrast nicely against the scarlet and orange of the oaks above the pale sandstone during the fall season.

Looking south out of the mouth of Conkle's Hollow and across the Hocking Hills

The fall foliage show has been exceptionally good this year with cool temperatures and wet weather sticking around for most of the month.  The leaves were nearing the end of their peak earlier this week during my visit but there's still time to get out there and see the views and scenery for yourself before it's done and gone for another year.  The view above is one I've admired and soaked in on numerous occasions and one that seems to get better upon each renewed visit.  No roads, no buildings, no powerlines, just ridge after ridge of contiguous forest ensconced in autumn's perfection.

Close up of one of Conkle's most prolific sandstone promontories 

I often tend to favor posts that take the reader places they've rarely, if ever been or perhaps never even heard of but sometimes it's hard to resist sharing a location that just about everyone is familiar with.  Conkle's Hollow is well-known, well-loved and certainly well-visited, as I can't recall a time when the parking lot hasn't had a majority of its spaces filled.  I'm thankful such a timeless and quintessential landscape for the region is preserved and protected as a state nature preserve and open for the public's enjoyment.  I highly encourage anyone reading to get out and visit for yourselves before winter clinches its cold and icy grip over Ohio; whether it's just one of a long string of visits or your first time!

A Secluded Trillium Paradise

For the past few years I have thoroughly enjoyed bringing to life the botanical and natural wonders of my great home state of Ohio.  It's been a great pleasure to share with you, the readers my travels and experiences that I am blessed and fortunate enough to have the time and desire to seek out.  Often times while out on these botanical excursions my mind is churning with ideas and excitement on the next potential topic and adventure I can paint on the computer monitors of those who aren't in the field with me.  It's a worthy responsibility and privilege to have this blog allow others to vicariously live through my camera lens.  I always look forward to the next story I can't wait to sit down and write out.  That being said, I think this one definitely fits that bill...

Looking into the sandstone ravine

This past weekend found you blogger cruising the back country roads of the Hocking Hills region in attempt to seek out some of spring's finer wildflower shows and displays.  The skies hung low and dark with the threat of rain constantly on the horizon which cast an aesthetic shadow on the landscape and created a stillness I found eerily comforting.  I eventually came to the spot a friend had suggested for marsh marigolds (Caltha palustris) in bloom in a spring seep along the road.  I pulled off to the side and exited my vehicle and began to walk back down the road when I noticed a small break in the forest and a deep ravine crawl back into the hills that my friend had also mentioned to keep an eye out for.  I could feel the cool, moist air flowing out of its sandstone walls and brush past my face, enticing me to explore its depths.

Narrow sandstone cliffs and overhangs of the small gorge

I shouldered my camera gear and slowly stepped into the mouth of the narrow ravine and was instantly immersed into a world of sandstone and the quiet trickle of water that had slowly but surely carved out this beautiful example of time and patience.  To one side of the gorge stood sheer cliffs and overhangs of weather-resistant bedrock and the other steep slopes covered in a dense mosaic of spring wildflowers.

Trillium-lined slopes

Lobed spleenwort (Asplenium pinnatifidum)

My steps were slow and carefully calculated as my boots glided over the soft sand and past rocks glazed over with a slimy film, waiting for their chance to send the ill-footed tumbling into the chilled water.  Growing out of the cracks and crevices of the sandstone were an assortment of ferns perfectly situated to the moist and cool conditions of the hollow.  One that caught my attention were the artful fronds of the lobed spleenwort (Asplenium pinnatifidum).  You'll have to excuse the blurred nature of its portrait above; the darkened skies and deep shadows of the ravine don't combine well with a handheld camera and long exposure.

Red and large-flowered trillium carpeting the lower slopes of the hollow

As I crept deeper into the narrowing hollow and rounded a sharp corner my eyes were suddenly met with one of the most incredible floral sights these traveled and experienced eyes had ever seen.  Hundreds, if not thousands of red trillium (Trillium erectum) and large-flowered trillium (T. grandiflorum) carpeted the precipitous slopes in a fashion nigh on unbelievable.  Each seemed to have been laboriously and tediously situated to perfectly exemplify every individual plant's handsomeness.

Sea of red trillium

My heart began to beat faster as my mind tried to comprehend what I was standing before.  It's ineffable to truly communicate the emotions that were coursing through my body at the sight of such prosperity and beauty.  To many it may sound inane to react in such a way at the mere sight of some flowers but for anyone who knows me understands it's so much more than that.  Each one of us spends much of our lives in the struggle to find and maintain a sense of unity and happiness that gives our minds peace.  Nature has always been that nucleus for myself and its moments like this that continue to strengthen my resolve and reinforce that the path I have chosen for myself is nothing short of exactly what I desire.

Quite the show of red and white

Trillium ensconced hillside

You know you've found a place worth its weight in gold when no photograph you take could ever do its true self any justice.  The camera lens can only just begin to scratch the surface of its beauty and splendor; this secluded trillium paradise can only begin to fulfill its prophecy in person and in all three dimensions.  It really is the epitome of a "you'd had to been there" type of situation.

Red trillium (Trillium erectum)

The most sensational part for your blogger was the dizzying quantities of red trillium present throughout the inner stretches of the sandstone hollow.  I'd seen them before here and there throughout the Hocking Hills region but oddly enough it's always been the white-colored variant (T. erectum var. album) that was the dominant form.  The rich crimson petals may dazzle the eyes but your nose is in for quite the opposite reaction. Red trillium are also commonly known as the stinking trillium for the foul, pungent odor emitted in an attempt to attract pollinating insects.

The sight of all the trillium never gets old

Many other predictable spring ephemerals graced the slopes as well but none could muster the power to overcome the majestic trillium that grew overhead.  It's hard to grasp just how long this site must have existed while remaining undisturbed by the destructive hand's of mankind.  Trillium can take up to a decade to reach flowering maturity and to have so many, so tightly packed together all down the several hundred yards this hollow stretched is quite the remarkable and time-consuming task.

Red trillium (Trillium erectum)

Red trillium (Trillium erectum)

A sudden breeze and cold nip to the air awoke me from my trillium-induced daze and caused me to realize the skies overhead were darkening further with swelled clouds that promised rain.  I certainly could have stayed in the mighty company of these marvelous wildflowers all day and never tired of their presence but precipitation and camera equipment do not mix very well.

Back end of the hollow

The entire drive back my mind continued to envision the scene I had just left and the astonishment I would never forget at the first sight of such an unbelievable accumulation of spring ephemeral wonder.  I hope to find time to return before the trillium are completely kaput for the season but also look forward to what other secrets this impressive site may hold later in the year.  I think it's safe to say I've found another spot to add to my growing list of great places that remain in our state.  Who knows what else lies out there, waiting to be found by the willing and curious.

The Hocking Hills and a Very Rare Fern

I'm always on the hunt for the next rare plant to cross off my life list.  Whether it's a thousands miles away and requires a long, carefully planned journey or just a ways down the road, all experiences are unique and worth the effort in their own respective ways.  This past weekend your blogger found himself with a mild case of the winter blues and decided what better way to break out of it than to get out for some hiking.  So I layered up, threw some boots on, and headed out with the specific task of finally visiting a secretive site with one of Ohio's rarest vascular plants.

A sudden but welcome snow band that dropped a couple inches very quickly

The drive from my residence to the Hocking Hills region is one of the most scenic and enjoyable in my section of the state.  Winding county roads take you through numerous hollows and ridge tops; each with wonderful views perfectly representing southeast Ohio.  As I neared my destination a sudden but welcome snow band moved through and quickly dropped a couple inches of fresh white powder.  The already stimulating drive instantly turned into one of the most memorable in recent memory.

Gorgeous winter wonderland under the Hemlocks

The surprise snow left behind a gorgeous winter wonderland that was artfully captured by the evergreen hemlocks and rock outcroppings.  The snow stuck to the branches and contrasted handsomely against the dark green needled canopies.  Eastern hemlocks have always been one of my favorite species of trees with their cinnamon brown bark and aesthetic growth form.  They abound in the cool, moist forests of the Hocking Hills and only add to the intrinsic value of the landscape.

Snow covered hemlock

Hemlock needles

The Hocking Hills are widely known for breathtaking gorges, cliffs, and rock shelters/houses cut out of Blackhand Sandstone; a particularly weather-resistant and consolidated formation of sedimentary rock.  Places like Conkle's Hollow, Ash Cave, and Cantwell Cliffs famously show off these geologic wonders and their accompanying plant communities.  Within a very select few of the region's sandstone alcoves and overhangs lives the bounty of my search: the Appalachian filmy fern (Trichomanes boschianum).

Appalchian filmy fern (Trichomanes boschianum)

In the darkest recesses of this particular alcove are the petite and dainty fronds of the filmy fern.  This small patch is one of only three populations known in the entire state; all occurring within the Hocking Hills and in quite close proximity of one another.  It timidly grows from the sandstone ceiling with its roots tucked tightly into the cracks and fissures, feeding directly off groundwater that continuously seeps in from above.

Appalchian filmy fern (Trichomanes boschianum)

Don't let looks deceive you.  Each frond is only a few inches long and excruciatingly thin with some parts of the plant only one cell thick!  Its evergreen nature mixed with the surrounding associate mosses and liverworts give a flash of color from the shadows even during the grey winter months.

Trichomanes boschianum North American distribution: courtesy BONAP

You would think with this fern's special habitat niche of cool, moist caves and alcoves in non-calcareous rock dominating the area that this plant would be much more common but that's curiously not the case. Consulting a map of its natural distribution you can see the Hocking county record in Ohio is quite disjunct from any others and is currently the most northern station known.  You have to travel a hundred miles or so south into Kentucky and West Virginia before it occurs again.  Ohio botanists have looked for years in every nook and cranny they can access with very little success at discovering additional sites.  Luckily a couple years ago a friend of mine doing his masters work on the flora of Crane Hollow did manage to find only the third known population of this fern in a rock shelter high above the gorge's floor.  If there's more to be found you can bet they are in similar, nigh-on-unreachable places.

Being 'more' common to the south, I would hypothesize this Trichomanes moved north during a warming period and settled into appropriate habitats in extreme southern and southeastern Ohio.  Once the climate shifted again to something more unfavorable, the ferns northern extension died back but luckily the Hocking Hills acted as a refuge and allowed these small populations to hang on today.

Appalchian filmy fern (Trichomanes boschianum)

In a perfect world I'd love to share the locations for plants like these so others could see and experience its dainty charm for themselves.  Unfortunately due to its extreme rarity combined with a very fragile ecosystem/existence it's best this little fern be left alone and unknown to the masses.  Even the slightest of alterations could quickly spell doom for it from too much human interaction.

Appalchian filmy fern (Trichomanes boschianum)

It's not only people but nature itself that could just as easily erase it from this small, cramped grotto.  If the subterranean water supply should ever cease or a change in humidity and shade occur, you can bet this plant would be gone in no time at all.  Its future existence seems to balance on the edge of a knife and I hope it continues to beat the odds and cling tenaciously to that sandstone ceiling.  It would be a shame for our state's biodiversity to lose out on such a fascinating and charming little fern.