Thursday and Friday begin with a ride up to Rich Mountain - after turning onto a gravel, unnamed, old forest service road, we go up until it turns to brush, blocking our advance upwards. Then, the hike begins. As I walk up the trail, I feel the warmth of the morning sun shine down and taste the wild raspberry berries picked from the brush. I hear the faint chirping of birds, and the thudding of our feet on the rocks, and feel the branches on either side scrape against me. The bright orange of our work vests flare in contrast to the background of green. The day’s work has begun, starting with the hike up to and along the ridge on the overgrown old logging paths, from where we will descend to our destination: the bog. Brandishing kines to slash away at the thorn-laden brambles and briars that act as guards to the forest, we continue upwards.
Once on the ridge, the trail fades into the forest and a sea of white snakeroot. We cut through the trees, following our flagging to guide us downwards. These red ribbons are the only evident traces of human presence. Historically this area was logged for timbre, resulting in bare mountains, void of wildlife and biodiversity. Now, this woodland is in the Nantahala National Forest, protected from the direct impacts of human actions. Over time, plants recolonised these peaks, bringing with them birds, bears, and other beasts. The road that once traversed this ridge is blocked and overgrown with wildflowers, shrubs, and saplings. I hear no cars, cannot smell exhaust or smoke, and see no human-constructed landmarks, or any cleared forest. Off in the distance, all you can see are the rolling, green, arboraceous mountains. There is no trail to follow once we near the basin, only uninterrupted green above, around, and below our feet.
However, upon closer inspection, you begin to see the impacts of humans are ubiquitous. The young trees on the mountain stand close together, with skinny trunks and thin canopies. No large trees tower above - a result of deforestation. The young trees burst forth from the dense, interwinding underbrush of rhododendron and mountain laurel. Historic logging paths scar the mountain. There are no Fraser Firs to be seen - wiped out from the non-native, invasive woolly adelgid, brought here from overseas. There are skeletons of once magnificent American Chestnuts, similarly wiped out by human-introduced invasives. More recently, the rubbish from an abandoned campsite litters the forest floor - a blanket lays torn and strewn across the ground, rusty cans are scattered, and a plastic sheet dams the creek. Within the heart of the forest, cradled in its topographic basin embraced by granite, far from any road or town, the effects of humanity looms still.
It is this complex relationship between human action and nature, that brought us to this basin. Our mission is to study the forest and learn about the health of this rare stand of Red Spruce trees in the wake of a changing climate. This unseen impact, threatens these trees and their ecosystems. These trees first made a home in the southern Appalachians during the last ice age, when these mountains were blanketed in snow. As the ice retreated 10,000 years ago, the Red Spruce remained in refuge in the cooler mountain basins. Through temperature inversion, the basins hold cooler air, creating cooler microclimates akin to areas of higher latitude. However, as air temperatures rise, we fear the spruces may retreat northwards, leaving their bog basins behind.
Our impetus is to evaluate the health and conditions of these spruce trees, which act as indicators for environmental change. From this, further studies can expand upon our findings to determine the cause for their continued resilience or decline. These conclusions can inform future conservation efforts to protect the Red Spruce and its unique bog basin. So, here we are - meticulously measuring 5, 10 metre (m) wide transects across the basin spanning up to 160m in length. This is done by sloshing through the bog, crawling through "laurel hell" - dense, near impassable walls of underbrush - and running into more spiderwebs than can be quantified (in addition to contracting lyme disease). We identify every adult trees, and gauge their trunk diameters. We record the health of spruces, and quantify the number of spruce seedlings and saplings to evaluate their recruitment status.
We estimate the underbrush, herbaceous, and moss cover. We do all this to save the spruce from the same fate of the American Chestnuts and Fraser Firs - the fate of becoming history at the hands of humans.
- Caroline Tintinger