No- That's Mistletoe!

Virtually anyone who works in the timber industry has been trained to see any abnormality in trees as pathology.

I've talked to foresters and loggers about brooms (could you imagine a better profession to be in, as a plant hunter?  You'd probably see more mutated branches and whole trees than anyone else.)  Their universal response is to tell me that brooms are caused by dwarf mistletoe- a smaller relative of the familiar yuletide ornament.

There are a handful of species of dwarf mistletoe Arceuthobium sp- native to the Northwest- each specific to a host species.  True firs and spruce are not affected by them, but they have their own sets of diseases...

Dwarf mistletoe does, in fact, cause brooms- millions of them.  When I first began hunting for brooms, I wondered how you could ever tell the difference.  After a while, however, it became abundantly obvious.  Brooms caused by dwarf mistletoe are sloppy, disorganized, and rarely isolated.  The seeds of the mistletoe spread all over the neighboring trees (as well as around the original host tree), so you don't usually see a mistletoe broom in isolation.  Their general form doesn't look like something you'd want growing in your garden, either.

One time, at a local nursery, I noticed some  Arceuthobium growing in a wild-collected Pinus contorta var murrayana.  It had caused a bit of a broom- which is how I noticed it.  I could actually see twigs of the Arceuthobium sticking out of the trunk.  I told the cranky person at the information desk and he shrugged it off.  It apparently doesn't bother them to sell diseased plants.

Anyhow, I occasionally run across brooms that are clearly pathological in nature, but are in trees that are not susceptible to Arceuthobium infections. I'm guessing that they are caused by fungi like rusts, or perhaps by viruses.  Ultimately, it doesn't matter- I'm not going to waste my time with propagating them.  If you try grafting a broom caused by a disease, the scion will not survive very long.

Below are examples of such brooms in a spruce, a subalpine fir, and a grand fir.

Sometimes, though, you can't quite tell if the broom is healthy or not.  It may not be big enough yet for you to see its habit clearly- or part of it may have died from being shaded out.  I do propagate these brooms.  Below is a picture of such a broom in a Pinus contorta var latifolia tree.  One of these winters I need to climb it to get scions.

So, the next time you are out in the woods, be sure to look up.  If you find a broom that looks like a neat and tidy little dwarf tree, chances are you have a keeper.  If it looks like an ugly mess, you probably don't.

I think of these brooms as fool's gold on my treasure hunts.  I get excited when I see them- but only until I get a closer look.  Although it can be frustrating, I think that it makes the whole process that much more interesting and exciting.



For information on the Arceuthobium species, I referred to the US Forest Service's Silvics Manual

Take Three

Last summer, I went back over the pass to have a look at the broom again.  The damage from the 16 gauge from two years prior was apparent.  I was a amazed that it took that much damage and didn't drop many twigs.  I was once again struck by the unique form of this broom- I had to propagate it!

This past winter, I had planned to go up with Galen in late December.  Much to my frustration, those plans fell through.  The snow mobile had been sitting in the shop since March, but the mechanic still hadn't done the work on it.  We rescheduled for January 19th- during the long weekend of Martin Luther King Jr. Day.

Since my job had been destroyed this year, I had a much more flexible schedule.  I was working as a substitute and a tutor, so I was much more able to take off an extra day.  Of course, I had a much more restricted budget because of this...

My uncle, figuring that the mechanic might not get the sled finished in time, asked a friend of a friend to go up in there with me.  It turns out that the friend of a friend was a photographer who is always looking for new winter scenery to shoot.  His name is Don Sewell- you should totally check out his web page.

Don took the picture above- it helps to have a photographer along who knows what he's doing :)

The weekend finally arrived.  Galen had to cancel, but he let me use his snow mobile.  We met the Don and his brother in law out on the highway, and headed up to the pass.  I was a bit nervous about heading into the frozen, drug-trafficker-killing wilderness with two people that I didn't know.  It turned out that they were friendly and easy to talk to, so I needn't have worried.

At several points along the road up, Don stopped to take shots of the creek, snow-covered fir saplings, and odd snow formations.  Eventually, we rounded the mountain and came out on the south-facing slope.  The sun was shining, sparkling through the millions of ice crystals that had grown on the top of the snow.  The whole scene was both blinding and breath-taking.

On the way up, I missed the broom- it is easier to see when you are coming down.  We reached the top of the little pass, which was covered by a small avalanche.  The snowmobile track went right across it, so we kept going to get to a better place to turn around.  As I rode over the avalanche chute, I thought about the dead drug runner again.  It gave me the creeps.

We turned around, and I was able to find the broom easily.  I pulled my sled over to the side of the road, and began to psych myself up for the ugly climb ahead of me.  It took me perhaps a half hour to climb the bank.  I had to use a fallen tree as a handrail of sorts.  When I finally got up to the top of the bank, Don threw me the gun.  He and his brother-in-law left to explore for a bit as I made my way up to the tree.

The snow was very dry and powdery.  In most places, I sank right through it- up to my chest.  Progress was agonizingly slow.  I had to fight the urge to give up, oddly enough.  I had traveled several hundred miles, coordinated elaborate plans with several people to get access to the machine and some people to go up there with me...  but I had forgotten how utterly impossible it was to just get to the bottom of the tree.  It was beyond my abilities.  Too many years working at a desk, and too many evenings of eating pizza instead of going to the gym had taken their toll.  That, and the fact that I wasn't 25 anymore...

I remember thinking at that point that my own sense of defeat was my own worst enemy.  I stopped, rested for a bit, and then pushed onward.  It might take me all day, but I could get to the tree.

Eventually I did.  I shot the broom with a slug from the 12 gauge.  One of the little tops of the broom fell out.  I heard Don shout from below- he said that he should have taken an action shot of it.  The sizable piece of the broom had hung up in the branches of a neighboring white pine- the dead tree that you see to the left of the broom in the picture.  Only the top is dead- the bottom of the tree is very much alive with dense foliage.

I slowly worked my way around the base of the tree, trying to find a way to either shoot out another piece or free up the one I'd already blasted off.  I shot into the broom with buck shot, but it refused to let go of any twigs.  A fine spray of ice crystals erupted out of it with every shot.  I tried my remaining few slugs, but was unsuccessful.

I had Don throw me some more shot gun shells.  I had to work my way back down to the top of the bank, which was not so fun.

I had started to accept defeat when I reached the tree again.  It was just too impossible to get scions from this son of a bitch.  I positioned myself  where I could clearly see the piece that I had shot out earlier.  I proceeded to unload a couple of boxes of shells in a circular pattern around the branch, blasting away all of the branches the held it.  Finally, it came free.

When I got back to the sled, I was utterly spent.  We made our way back to the trucks below.  I was completely soaked with sweat and melting snow.  It was a good thing I was wearing wool.

We reached the trucks and parted ways.

When I got home, I grafted up pieces of the broom. I had planned in advance for this, and I had 30 rootstocks ready to go.  10 were grand fir and 20 of them were subalpine fir.

Now, six months later, only two of them have survived.  Both are on subalpine fir rootstocks.  Neither has started to grow yet- but I think that I can see the buds changing in color.  I hope that means that they are going to break soon.


As I was standing chest-deep in snow on that mountain, it became very clear to me that our limits may not be what we think they are.  Given sufficient motivation- be it plant lust or simple survival in a financial or physical sense- I think that we can go much further than we think we can.  In the snow up there, my greatest obstacle was my own sense of defeat.  Once I overcame the urge to give up (or, more accurately, just decided to tolerate the urge and push forward), I was able to complete a  physical task that seemed impossible.

The last year has been difficult for me in terms of my career.  I was forced out of a job that gave me a sense of purpose and meaning.  The resulting fallout was demoralizing, to put it mildly.  Saddled with a mortgage, I had to struggle to keep myself afloat with my income drastically reduced.

It sounds cheesy, but since that day in January, I've been able to think back on my experience with that tree in the mountains.  Propagating it has proved a formidable task.  Even now, my limited success isn't guaranteed.  Both of those grafts could still die, and I'd be back to square one.

I think that difficult times in life are very much like this quest.  Ridiculous obstacles can stand in your way, and you can feel like calling it quits.  I feel like my job situation has felt much like standing chest-deep in snow.  It isn't fair, it is hard, and I've had repeated setbacks.  But with determination and help from friends and Dad, I have been pushing forward.

My persistence will pay off.  My limits are not what they appear to be.

Freezing to Death

The following winter- actually, it was during spring break- a neighbor named Galen offered to help me get to the broom.  It was late march, but the snow was still deep in northern Washington.  Early on a Saturday morning, we headed up to the pass.  After unloading two snow mobiles, the neighbor and I started off on the road.

About a mile in, we found a car that had been abandoned in the middle of the road, buried in a couple of feet of snow.  It was a bit of a mystery.  We surmised that it had been there since the fall, since there was no way that you could get a car in there when there was snow on the ground.

At two miles in, Galen's machine broke down.  We fiddled with it for a few minutes, and then determined that it wouldn't be starting again.  Perhaps unwisely, I went on alone.

I don't have a lot of snow mobile experience.  The snow was melting and very soft (I later learned that no one goes up there that late in the year).  Things went well for the first several miles, though I had a growing sense of unease.  I was miles away from any other humans, and I would have trouble getting back out if there was trouble.  I did have snow shoes, but with every mile, I knew that getting out would be a marathon effort.

I have found that a trek like that is more emotionally taxing than it is physically.  We have fear of these situations for good reason.  A lone human in the wilderness is so vulnerable- to the elements, predators, and perhaps his own fears themselves.  

As I climbed onto the south-facing mountain slopes, the quality of the snow began to change significantly.  In the open spaces, the sun had melted much of the snow from the road- particularly next to the bank on the uphill side.  The snow was mounded in the center and sloped off to each side, creating a precarious and narrow level space for me to ride on.  If I'd been a more experienced and confident rider, I would have been able to power through the soft spots and keep going.  As it was, I slowed down and stayed on the inside edge of the crown of the road.  This caused me to slide down into the ditch on the inside edge of the road, burying the sled and getting it stuck.  

When you are alone, getting a sled unstuck is not an easy task.  I managed to get the sled unstuck and moving again three or four times.  Finally, I put on the snow shoes, determined to walk the last mile to the tree. 

After a few yards, my growing unease at the situation rose to an uncomfortable level.  If I manged to get to the tree, I'd still have to climb that brutal bank and wade through the snow to the tree.  It seemed unlikely to me that I'd be able to do the climb after I'd been yanking the snow mobile around by myself- not to mention a mile trek on snow shoes.  

Reluctantly, I turned back.  I hurt my back while turning the sled around.  I was disappointed, but I knew that I'd made the right choice.  If I got fatigued enough out there, I might not have the strength to get back to the sled quickly.  Despite my warm clothes, I was worried about hypothermia.  It would be too easy to die out there.

I rode back down to Galen, and we  towed his machine back to the trucks with a piece of rope.  

The border patrol was there in the parking lot.  Dad, who had been waiting there, said that the border patrol guy asked him who we all were and where we lived.  Apparently, there is an overland drug-smuggling route up there- and there are cameras and sensors up the road to monitor activity.  When they noticed us going up there at a weird time of year, they came out to check it out.  I learned that the car that we saw was from a drug-run gone bad.  Two men had gone in on a drug run and got stuck.  One walked out, while the other attempted to walk across the border.  The one who tried to make it across froze to death.

Knowing that someone had frozen to death in that area made me even more glad that I had the sense to come down when I did.

Oh, it isn't over yet... tune in next week to hear about yet another attempted to reach this god damned broom!

My Holy Grail

Of course, I might find a holier grail in the future...  but so far, this has been the best broom that I've found.  It is found a few miles south of Canada, in Northern Washington in a Subalpine Fir- Abies lasciocarpa.

A few years ago, my dad graciously agreed to drive while I sat in the back of the pickup, watching for brooms.  It was a narrow dirt road that wound through a mountain pass.  We had passed through forests of Douglas fir, Western White Pine, and Western Larch.  We started to get high enough that a few Subalpine Fir  were mixed in with the other species.    As we turned a corner, I just barely caught sight of a green mass off to my right.  We had passed it before I could really get a look at it.  I thumped on the rear window- the signal for Dad to stop.  As we backed up, the scene in the picture above came into view.

The broom looked like a cluster of miniature trees- a diminutive forest.  I scrambled up the bank to get a look at what I'd be facing when I came back to collect scions.  The bank was brutally steep- I could barely make it up.  Of course, it would be covered in several feet of snow when I returned.  Would that make it easier or more difficult to get up to the base of the tree?

I marked the location on my GPS, and we continued the drive over the pass.  One the way home, Dad and I discussed possibilities for retrieving scions.  At 5300 feet in elevation, the road would be snowed-in fairly early in the year.  It might be possible to drive up there at Thanksgiving in an unusually warm year- but most likely I'd be looking at renting a snowmobile.

When December rolled around, I called a company in Spokane that rented snow machines by the day.  I rented an ATV with tracks- a monster of a machine.  We picked it up in Spokane before hauling it up to the north country.

My nephew and I set out at about 10 in the morning.  It was an overcast day, and there were a few inches of fresh snow on the trees.  The tree was about 10 miles in from the plowed road, so it took us an hour or so to get in there.  That's when the real fun began.

I had thought that the bank was too steep when there was no snow.  That was nothing, compared to what it was like with several feet of snow on the ground.  At first, I tried to use snowshoes to climb, but it was far to steep for them to be useful.  I then resorted to wading in the snow- sinking in to my waist.

I wasn't really sure I could do it.  It was brutally difficult to get up to the top of the bank.  Then I had to make my way up the hill above that, which was almost as steep.  I had my nephew throw me the gun when I reached a stable spot.

After another half-hour of struggling, I was finally under the tree.  I lifted the 16 gauge to my shoulder and proceeded to empty a box of 20 shells into the broom.  Despite the fact that they were magnum loads, there was just not enough power to break off more than a couple of tiny twigs.  I was out of ammo and only had three or four pieces that I didn't think were useable.

Disappointed, we headed back down the pass.

When I got home, I grafted the tiny twigs onto some grand fir rootstocks.  They all died a few months later.

I was frustrated, but I became even more determined to propagate this tree.  It was just too cool-looking, and I had already put in too much effort to give up.  Next year, I'd take a bigger gun.