True grit: Some of state's smallest also its toughest

To see the rare Pikes Peak parsley, you have to climb Pikes Peak. That's the only place the endemic wildflower grows.

But to really see it, Beatrice Willard, the revered alpine botanist, once wrote, "It takes getting down on your hands and knees - or even your stomach - to examine a mini forest at your toes."

The parsley's showy yellow flowers are a small spark in an explosion of blossoms that engulf the slopes above tree line for the brief alpine summer. But like almost all alpine plants, its tiny leaves and flowers grow in a low, aerodynamic mound, hugging the ground like a mountaineering tent. You have to stick your nose in the dwarf garden to appreciate its minute wonders.

Now is the time, because the mountain blooms are at their peak; above tree line, summer ends before you can say August.

"This only lasts about two months, and changes constantly," said Doris Drisgill, an amateur botanist.

On a recent morning, she pulled up to a dirt parking lot on Elk Park Knoll at 11,800 feet on Pikes Peak's northern flank with her longtime friend Liz Klein. Both are members of the Colorado Native Plant Society, and both had come to search for the Pikes Peak parsley and other plants that grow no where else in the world.

Drisgill and Klein are plant hunters. They'll drive for hours and trudge along windy ridges to see a rare mustard or penstemon. They never dig up a plant. Alpine plants that can survive the harshest environments almost always die in a cozy city garden. Besides, seeing them in their native grandeur, so delicate and at the same time so tough, is the real payoff.

"I'm sort of a timberline addict," said Drisgill as she looked over the blooms at a serrated ridge of Pikes Peak. "There's something about just being here with the gorgeous blue skies and incredible views."

She stepped gingerly through the meadow, often waltzing on tiptoe from rock to rock to avoid stepping on the low carpet of alpine blossoms. Every inch of ground seemed covered in a rainbow of bluebells, buttercups, candy tuft and forget-me-nots.

She scanned the ground as she waltzed, bending down after every few steps to take a closer look at the tiny garden that just a month ago was covered in snow.

"This is how botanists walk," she said with a grin. "Very slowly."

It took a half-hour to cover a hundred yards.

At a distance, Pikes Peak doesn't look like much of a garden. From a distance, the brown summit resembles a moonscape. Even driving up the Pikes Peak Highway, the scenery on both sides is dominated by rough chunks of granite under an enormous sky.

But step away from the road and tiny flowers suddenly appear in every nook and lee.

"The alpine tundra is a land of contrast and incredible intensity where the sky is the size of forever and the flowers are the size of a millisecond," wrote Colorado Springs naturalist Ann Zwinger in her 1972 book, "Land Above the Trees." "There is no in-between in the alpine tundra. And for humans, who live in an in-between-sized world, comprehension takes time."

Alpine adaptation

The plants are so small because conditions are so brutal.

For soil, there is often only rock. Wind gusts can top 100 mph. Winter lasts more than half the year.

The alpine tundra has evolved to withstand severe wind and cold. Many plants growing above tree line in Colorado today are remnants of an ice age tundra that once dominated much of the continent.

When the glaciers started to retreat about 8,000 years ago, so did the tundra. The low, cold-weather plants were driven north and into the mountains by taller, warm-climate competitors until the tundra occupied only areas above the Arctic Circle and on the highest, harshest mountains.

The plant community above tree line has 67 species that also grow in the most northern parts of Alaska and Canada, according to the National Audubon Society. Many tundra plants rarely reproduce by seed.

They grow, instead, by sending out runners, so as the climate changed, they marched slowly, over centuries, to their new homes.

In the Rockies, the tundra has retreated to isolated islands in the sky. Imagine flooding the state with water until a shore lapped at 11,500 feet. The tops of the highest mountains would poke above the surface like a scattered archipelago. Pikes Peak would sit off by itself, 50 miles from the next large island.

In that isolation, the ancient, unified tundra has developed a number of unique plant species.

Pikes Peak has its parsley and a deep lavender alpine bluebell called Mertensia alpina.

They are specially adapted to not only weather the cold and wind of all alpine zones, but also the dry climate and gravel unique to Pikes Peak.

"They've developed to a point where they are a true separate species," said Klein, "A lot of times they look really similar to other alpine flowers, but they have evolved genetically to be different."

As she spoke, she spotted the tell-tale yellow flowers of the parsley. She knelt down gingerly and fingered the leaves, which looked just like parsley from the supermarket, but on a tiny scale, hugging the ground.

"Put your hand down there," Klein said, "And you'll feel it's several degrees warmer. Micro-climates make a huge difference here."

Many alpine plants grow in squat cushions and mats with their little leaves so tightly interwoven that they look like moss. This form makes the most of the harsh climate.

The tight weave protects from the wind. It can often be several degrees warmer in the cushion than it is just a few inches away. The cushions also catch blowing soil and trap their own dead leaves, creating crucial humus in the often-barren granite soil. Even so, growth is slow.

A cushion of moss campion, one of the most prolific flowers on Pikes Peak, may take 50 years to reach 10 inches across.

The plants may have Lilliputian tops, but they are giants underground. Thick taproots may reach down 6 feet. Vast networks of rhizomes store energy for the long winter. Most alpine plants hide 90 percent of their mass beneath the surface.

To thrive in the cold, alpine environment, where it can dip below freezing every day, some plants also come tufted with silver hairs that hold in warmth like a sweater and filter the harsh high-altitude sun.

To battle the cold wind, leaves above tree line are often colored red by a chemical called anthocyanin that absorbs heat.

It takes being up close - spending a few hours in the alpine zone - to realize how resilient these plants are.

As the morning wore on, dark clouds billowed over Pikes Peak. The botanists zipped their jackets against the wind, then decided, as the clouds grew closer to the color of cast iron, that it would be a good idea to retreat. The plants of course, stayed.

ON PIKES PEAK

The best flower stops on the Pikes Peak Highway:

Elk Park: 14 miles from the toll gate, take a terrifying left through a gate (it's not a scary as it looks). Park at the end of a short, dirt road. Look for blooms in the immediate area and along Elk Park Trail, which runs southeast.

Devil's Playground: 16 miles from the toll gate, a large parking lot on the right has a trail leaving from the southwest corner. Follow it along a windy ridge for breathtaking flower-scapes.

The summit: At the end of the road, walk a short distance down Barr Trail. The steep boulders along the trail hide many tiny gardens.

Tips: Go early to avoid thunderstorms. Avoid stepping on the vegetation.

ON HOOSIER PASS

This accessible alpine ridge south of Breckenridge has some stunning endemic flowers, including Ipomopsis globularis, a small, globe-shape cluster of white flowers with a strong, sweet fragrance.

To get there: Drive west on U.S. Highway 24 to Hartsel. Turn right on Colorado Highway 9. Turn right where it merges with U.S. 285. Turn left in less than a mile back onto Highway 9. Follow the road to the top of Hoosier Pass and park. The best flowers are on the ridge heading east from the top of the pass.