Category: Nature

People who know me well, know that I have a thing for slugs.  I enjoy spending time in the forest and sometimes I’m inspired to capture an image of these lovely, delicate, creatures.  In this post, I’d like to share a couple of these images, perhaps with some slug facts, so everyone can get to know my gastropod friends a little better. 

This first image provides a dramatic contrast of the black Arion ater, sometimes called a licorice slug, with what seems to be a lovely white specimen of a Ariolimax columbianus, otherwise known as a Banana-slug, because sometimes they are bright yellow.  (I also have since read that the young Arion can be white, so I wish that I examined this pair a bit more closely… but see its faint spots, and its smoother texture, that says banana-slug to me.  Still I am open to other opinions, if you have one please do speak up.)

The Arion is a native of Europe and considered an invasive species in the land where I observe him.  Of course he’s not really a him, but I expect that he’s not fussed about pronouns.  Slugs are hermaphrodites and while they prefer to find a mate, they can self-fertilize should they find themselves alone.  An individual slug can lay over a hundred eggs every couple of weeks during the later months of summer.  It takes just under a month for a slug egg to hatch, but perhaps a bit longer once the days start getting colder. Then it takes about 9 months for that juvenile to become an adult, allowing it to start reproducing the following summer. 

There is a lot more I could say about slug sex, but really is anyone listening?  For now I’ll just add that the hole on the side of its head is a “genital pore” and while it has both male and female gametes, it doesn’t actually have a penis…  They are really so interesting, for such humble creatures, ideally you can see why I pay them homage during my time in the forest.

The Ariolimax is a native slug of the Pacific Northwest and one of the largest you will find.  It can grow up to 25 cm in length and can live to be up to seven years old.  In my opinion a critter has to be a bit wily to spend year after year, homeless and without legs, living so close to the forest floor. Knowing this, perhaps we should not underestimate the wisdom and experience that this species have earned?

Here is another image of the perfect Ariolimax. This time olive green, the colour they often express where I spend my time in the forest.  But who are these fine friends the he/she is spending time with?  Why it seems that it they are examples of the Yellow-bordered Taildropper! Also known as Prophysaon foliolatum, another native of my hometown’s forests.

This beautiful tail-dropper is very distinctive, look at the reticulation on the main part of its body, the yellow border and the black stripes of its mantle.  When this critter is attacked it can self-amputate, and release a great deal of sticky slime along with its severed tail.  Theoretically, the attacker is then distracted by the slime and the tail piece, allowing the vital remaining front parts of the specimen to escape. This Prophysaon grows to about 9 cm in length, and when full grown it could release the back 3 cm of its length during its signature tail-drop.

Before I wrap up this post, here is one more image of our friendly tail-dropper. 

I really enjoy the slugs a lot and I hope that after reading this, you will appreciate them more now too. Take care and when in the forest, please do watch where you are stepping…

Late in August my lovely adult son and I shared an amazing dirt-road trip camping trip and in this post I’d like to share some of the highlights of the first day our adventure.

We started our day started early and travelling to Port Alice was a simple task. It did take us two tries to leave Port Alice, but once we figured out how to drive past the old pulp mill we were on our way to our first night’s destination, which was Side Bay, located to the north of Brooks Peninsula.

Of course the weather was wet, and at times the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up, but this did not dampen our spirits at all, being determined to seek out adventure.  Unsure of the correct radio channel to use to allow us to follow the safety protocols of industrial forestry roads, we stopped to chat with some logging truck mechanics who were gracious enough to provide us with an overwhelming amount of detail intended to help us reach our destination.  With our radio tuned appropriately, we expressed our gratitude and set off on the muddy industrial roads.  Within minutes we were behind a giant road grader and the operator also flagged us down for a chat, making sure that we were prepared to traverse through the industrial environment which is a main economic driver of northern Vancouver Island.  Again, we expressed gratitude for the thoughtfulness of his efforts, and we continued on our way.

With a well-known backroad map book at hand, the route appeared relatively clear, and my son proved to be a reliable navigator.  By listening to the radio we remained aware of where vehicles were moving and we passed several crew trucks, exchanging friendly waves with each driver as they went by.  Unfamiliar with all the road names, we were grateful for the abundant road signage and we changed our radio channel at the appropriate time when we reached the crest of the watershed and began to descend down toward the West Coast.  We were headed toward Mahatta River but would turn off on to Restless Main before we reached the settlement of this name.  However, shortly before we turned of off Mahatta Main, we did make a stop at the Mahatta River Recreation Site where we used our butane powered camp stove to heat up our lunch.  The rain fell a bit more gently at this point, lunch was delicious and we were super excited to be well involved in our adventure.

Setting off again we easily found the turn-off and soon recognized that except for the recreational traffic similar to us, this mainline was relatively inactive and therefore it was not currently being maintained.  Lush west coast foliage encroached the road surface from each side, and along with the frequent and sometimes deep potholes, caused us to continue our journey at reduced speeds.  This did not phase us much, and although there were a few road sections with active erosion, they were mostly marked with pink ribbon and we passed by without much concern.  The most dramatic road section was where a shallow creek has escaped the culvert it once flowed through, and the small stream was now freely flowing across the road.  After stopping and getting out of the vehicle to check the depth and gradient of the stream, we did what had to do and just drove through it.

With the stream crossing behind us, it felt like we had committed to camping somewhere along that road. I was starting to get tired and the rain was still falling steadily. Every time we passed a widening in the road I found myself thinking, “Let’s just set up camp here.”, but about 20 minutes later we started to catch glimpses of the ocean side through the trees. We checked the GPS and yes, we were almost there.

We parked by a bridge, with the beach in plain sight, we both put our rain gear on and walked down the road to inspect whether my SUV could get us a bit closer for the night. A friend had told me that you could drive right down to the beach, and we found that this was true, so we did.

It was a glorious feeling to have succeeded in reaching our adventure destination and the bay was just as beautiful as we expected. My son and I were filled with joy and we high-fived and at his request we posed for a selfie.

After some brief exploring, we set up a tarp using my car as a base and also got a fire going with the help of a small candle and some dry firewood that we brought from home. We had a chainsaw with us, but we didn’t have to use it, as others similarly prepared had left some firewood cut up into various sized pieced. Although it was the intention, I found myself surprised when a couple of hours later we had a roaring blaze going.

In the cooler we brought pad thai and fried rice that I had prepared at home and we heated this up in a frying pan. Wish some peanuts sprinkled on top, it was awesome. My son also wanted to roast wieners on the fire. He had a flat rock set up on which he planned to “toast” his bun. It sounded good in theory and almost worked the first time, but when he went back to make a second hot dog, the rain was falling harder and his bun got quite soggy. He was a good sport and we both laughed, he added mustard and he ate it anyways. It probably helped that he had been consuming lager for several hours by that time, while I made do with some homemade lemon-ginger kombucha.

The evening went by quickly. We had a small two-man tent which I set up in minutes, but because of all the rain we decided we’d both sleep in the back of the SUV where the seats were already down. Based on this decision, I put the tent away, thinking there was not point in letting it get soaked and dealing with a very wet tent in the morning.

So as darkness approached, we set up our sleeping pads and bags and climbed into the back of the car. I was reading a classic book about theosophy which we had been discussing during the drive and my son asked me to read a chapter to him while he fell asleep. What mother would deny reading her son a bedtime story, I was tickled that he requested such a thing.

I was wearing a very bright headlamp and as I started to read my son began to notice the extremely high number of mosquitoes that were in the car with us. Mosquitoes love my son a lot (and perhaps they also like lager?). They were showing him no mercy so this was a huge disruption to anyone trying to fall asleep. By midnight my son had abandoned the car. Bundled in his rain gear, his thinking fogged with beer, he curled up in the fetal position stating he was going to sleep right there on the beach near the back wheel of the car!

Now alone in the car I thought his was not a wise choice, but he is an adult and it was his decision. I pleaded with him to stay or I suggested he put up the tent because there were no bugs in there and he refused either of those options. So I tried to fall asleep, but now with my juicy son gone, the darn mosquitoes realized that they would have to snack on me! There was no ignoring them, so I put on my rain clothes, strapped on my headlamp and went outside to erect the small tent.

The tent went up quickly and I covered it in a tarp for extra wetness protection. I moved all of the sleeping pads and bags to the tent and invited my son inside, but he refused to join me… At least he refused for a short time. Speaking to him through the tent I testified that it was warm and cozy with not a mosquito in sight. Recognizing the wisdom of sleeping inside the tent, versus outside on the wet beach, in about half a hour he decided get inside. With this drama over, we both quickly fell asleep.

I only woke up once before daylight and I didn’t try to check the time. I just enjoyed listening to the rolling sand that made the sound of an extremely large. and very full rattle, as each powerful wave that rolled inward, tossed the surface of the beach around. Although I knew that the high-tide line was 20 or more meters away, it sounded like it was right outside the tent. Having spent most of my life living by the ocean, I trusted the tide and just let the rhythmic sound of the ocean lull me to sleep.

Overnight, our tent had held up fairly well. One pole had come out of its pouch, probably due to its hasty assembly, but we were both warm and dry and surprisingly well rested. I got out first, set up the camp stove and started the coffee. My son was out soon after, eager for bacon and eggs.

With breakfast done, I started packing up our simple camp. It didn’t take long, and we were both in good spirits. Earlier I had walked to the edge of the ocean, which was at a lower tide and I could see indications of a small rock shelter about 500 m down the shore. I pointed it out to my son and we decided to take a walk in that direction to check it out.

The beach was beautiful in the fresh, wet morning. In places, the bedrock seemed to be limestone, which the ocean had shaped into ridges. At this end of the beach fine sand took the place of the gravel substrate that covered the area closer to where we had camped. To my eyes, it appeared to be paradise.

We took a few more pictures and then decided that it was time to move on. My sweet all-wheel drive SUV had no issues driving off the beach, and back up to the old logging road. As is often the case, the drive out seemed shorter. Once we traversed the couple of washed out areas and hit the active mainline roads, we relaxed with the knowledge that the pavement of Port Alice was just a couple of hours away.

Where did we go next, you might ask? Well, we went to the Mt. Cain Alpine Park, a stark change of ecosystems which made it seem like a whole other adventure and it was…