Triangle Lake Bog and its pitcher-plants

Photo taken with the iPhone 5S (the rest were shot with the Canon 5D Mark III and Canon 100 mm L-series macro lens)

Triangle Lake Bog State Nature Preserve on a rainy day. I traveled to northeast Ohio last Sunday for a gig, and left bright and early to visit one of the coolest preserves in Ohio before heading over to Cleveland. While kettle lake bogs would have been commonplace in parts of Ohio for thousands of years following the last glaciation (10-12 thousand years ago), most have long since succumbed to the processes of natural plant succession. Of the relatively few that remain here, in my opinion Triangle Lake, which is just outside of Ravenna, is the nicest example. It should be a must-see for any Ohioan interested in natural history. To find such bogs now, at least commonly, one must venture several hundred miles to the north.

As the massive wall of ice that was the Wisconsin Glacier receded, large blocks of ice would regularly calve from its face. These enormous ice cubes would crash to the soft, newly exposed mire left in the wake of the glacier, and form kettle lakes. At first, the divots would be nothing but cold pools of clear water, but plants quickly invaded their margins. Over time, a highly specialized flora evolved and a bog was born. Eventually, plant life would expand to the point that the kettle lake would be completely covered by a bog mat. Now, most of Ohio's bogs have advanced to a state of swamp forest, their bog past scarcely discernible.

Triangle Lake, however, still possesses all of the primary attributes of a kettle lake bog. There is deep open water in the center, which is ringed by a floating bog mat. Beyond that is a dense shrub zone, which grades into swamp forest. Pictured above is a branch of a tamarack, Larix laricina, a classic conifer of bogs. There are plenty at Triangle Lake, but overall this is quite a rare plant in Ohio.

Last Sunday was a very wet day, and I only had a total of about 1/2 hour in which the rain abated to the point that camera equipment could be taken out on the boardwalk. Nonetheless, I was able to click off some images between downpours, and plants usually photograph quite nicely when beaded with water.

The rain kept most of the animals under cover, but this golden-backed snipe fly, Chrysopilus thoracicus, and several of its brethren did emerge.

A relatively short and quite well built boardwalk allows visitors into the innards of the bog. Without it, a person would have a bear of a time gaining access. Thick shrub zones form a nearly impenetrable tangle around the outside rim of the bog. One of the dominant shrubs is highbush blueberry, Vaccinium corymbosum.Its blueberries are quite tasty, and the plant is commonly cultivated for the fruit. As can be seen from the photo, it will not be long until the berries are ripe for the plucking. But note, visitors, that this is a state nature preserve and people should not sample the plant life.

What I had really come to see and photograph was the bog's supply of pitcher-plants, Sarracenia purpurea.The timing was good for this one, as most of the mature plants were in full flower.

In this shot, a vigorous clump of pitcher-plants shoots from a carpet of large cranberry, Vaccinium macrocarpon. The latter plant, like the aforementioned blueberry, is commonly cultivated and provides us with commercial cranberries. Cranberry grows on thick tussocks of Sphagnum moss, which is the dominant substrate on open bog mats.

Pitcher-plant is officially listed as threatened in Ohio, and this rare plant is found in only a handful of sites, nearly all of which are bogs. There are one or two populations in fens, too.

Close in on the strange flower of a pitcher-plant. The whole assemblage droops over so the flower faces the ground when fully developed. The dangling scarlet things that look like colorful basset hound ears are the petals. The purple protuberances at the top of the flower are the sepals. Visiting pollinating insects are drawn to the bright petals, and clamber up them to be forced into the flower's innards through gaps between the sepals. This forced entry route pushes the insect into contact with stamens and their attendant pollen. The stigma is like an upside down umbrella and forms the floor upon which the pollinator walks when it enters the flower. Insects bringing pollen from other pitcher-plants deposit it on the sticky floor of the stigma as they bumble about inside the flower, thus cross-pollinating the plant.

The leaves of the pitcher-plant are modified into tubular water-filled death traps that capture insects. Thus, the plant is one of our few truly carnivorous plants. I wrote in some detail about the killing apparatus of pitcher-plants HERE.

I highly recommend a visit to Triangle Lake Bog. If you can get there within the next few weeks, the pitcher-plant flowers should still be looking good. But anytime of the year is interesting. A visit to this bog is like stepping foot into Canada. For details about the preserve, CLICK HERE.

Bug-eating Plants Twist Normal Order of Life

Pitcher-plant, Sarracenia purpurea

The Columbus Dispatch
July 7, 2013

NATURE
Jim McCormac

Animals are supposed to eat plants, not the other way around. Carnivorous plants turn conventional plant-animal relationships upside down. The world of meat-eating botany is strange indeed, and a few of its practitioners can be found in Ohio.

About 630 species of plants worldwide are carnivores: They attract prey, capture and kill victims, and metabolize their remains. Such a bizarre twist on the usual order of things has long captured people’s imagination. Charles Darwin published a famed treatise on carnivorous plants in 1875: “Insectivorous Plants.” Much later and far more fictitiously, the movie The Little Shop of Horrors (1960) featured Audrey the man-eating plant.

Homicidal vegetable matter might seem the stuff of science fiction, but such plants are alive and well. Perhaps the best-known is the Venus’ flytrap, which is commonly sold. Many an owner has marveled at the deadly efficiency of these active “snap-traps.” Venus’ flytraps aren’t native to Ohio, but nine other carnivorous plant species are. Most of our botanical carnivores are rare — inhabitants of imperiled habitats. Three are listed as endangered; three others, threatened.

Carnivorous plants have evolved to cope with life in hostile substrates. Most species grow in soils or water deficient in nutrients, and the plants cope by assimilating nitrogen and proteins from their victims.

The pitcher plant Sarracenia purpurea is confined to a few bogs, including Buckeye Lake’s famous Cranberry Island State Nature Preserve. Pitcher plants are “passive traps.” Their highly modified leaves form tubes that fill with rainwater. Colorful purple stripes at the leaf’s summit lure flying insects; a sweetly scented flange of tissue entices ground dwellers to scale the leaf. Once atop the deadly plant, hungry insects enter the leaf’s gaping maw. Even if the bug wises up, escape might be futile. Stiff downward-pointing hairs encourage easy entrance but deter exit. Eventually, the hairs give way to glassy-smooth interior walls, and the insect slips into the drink.

Pitcher plant “juice” is water with fatal additives. The plant secretes an anti-buoyancy enzyme that reduces the odds of victims escaping. Other chemicals accelerate decomposition and aid in assimilation of the insects’ soft parts. The leaf of a well-fed pitcher plant is full of bug sludge — the residue of scores of six-legged prey large and small.

Two species of sundews occur in Ohio, and the most frequent is the round-leaved sundew (Drosera rotundifolia), which grows on sphagnum moss in peatlands. It is a “flypaper trap.” The tiny leaves are beset with hairs that seem tipped with delicious dewdrops. Thirsty insects, duped by the plant’s tasty appearance, alight only to learn that the sundew sports the botanical equivalent of Elmer’s glue. They are stuck fast, and the leaf slowly enfolds them in a death grip, sucking the life from them.

Finally, we have six species of bladderworts, plants that feature “active traps.” Some bladderworts float in water; others grow in wet soil. All have roots that are dotted with tiny sacs. If an animal jostles a trap, guard hairs are triggered and the door pops open with lightning speed. The hapless victim is instantly sucked inside, and the door slams shut. Digestive enzymes work their magic, the animal is liquefied, and the bladder is open for business again in short order.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first and third Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at www.jimmccormac.blogspot.com

Round-leaved Sundew, Drosera rotundifolia