It was a shock to hear a few weeks ago that Dr Eugene Kozloff died. He’d had a good long life, having been born in 1920, but even so, he was one of those larger-than-life figures you can’t imagine not still out there sloshing around in mudflats, crawling through a thicket to find favorite wildflowers like Farewell-to-Spring, explaining the difference between a bog and a fen — all with enormous enthusiasm and delight in our local natural ecosystems. He was a teacher extraordinaire, meaning intensely curious, finding connections, and excited to share what he knew in ways that kept us at attention.
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Kozloff was born in Iran to Russian parents. After the Russian Revolution his family was unable to return to their homeland, and moved instead to California. Kozloff’s love of nature and wildlife there led him to study biology, and he earned his doctorate at UC Berkeley. (www.legacy.com/...)
Over the years he taught classes and performed research at Lewis & Clark University in Portland, OR and then from 1966 at University of Washington’s labs in Friday Harbor.
I don’t know precisely what organisms he studied over the years for his academic research, but based on the kinds of organisms named after him I gather he studied ciliates (microscopic creatures like the tintinnid above) and various marine invertebrates. Wiki’s list of eponymous species includes Collastoma kozloffi , a flatworm living in the intestine of a peanut worm and Gymnodinioides kozloffi , a ciliate that feeds on the fluid produced by a molted shrimp.
I knew he had a lab in the facility just outside the town of Friday Harbor on San Juan Island. But Kozloff was far more visible to us islanders in his role as an educator and author.
I first came to know of him from his books describing the natural history of the Northwest. These guides were my go-to sources for many years, because he described not only the whole range of plants and animals I might come across in my local wanderings, but even more usefully, he explained the relationships between them and their environment. This ecosystem approach to natural history was typical of naturalists throughout history, even before the term “ecosystem” was articulated. There are plenty of books listing species and categorizing by anatomy, and these are great tools, but for a nature enthusiast poking around in tide pools, those aren’t very useful. Ed Ricketts, the expert in marine biology of the California coast, who wrote Between Pacific Tides in 1939, was Kozloff’s precursor. Both had a deep understanding of the whole of an ecosystem, and were able to describe it clearly to lay readers. Kozloff’s book Plants and Animals of the Pacific Northwest includes chapters for example on coniferous forests, oak woodlands, wet places, and roadsides. His Seashore Life chapters include “Floating Docks”, “Rocky Shores”, and “Quiet Bays”, with a broad range of creatures and seaweeds one might encounter.
In the 1990s, Kozloff was asked by a local nature organization to teach some ecology field classes in the San Juan Islands. When I saw a couple offered in the early 2000s on days I could attend, I signed up! The first class I joined was on another island, requiring a ferry ride to and fro. It was in June and I figured it would be warm. We gathered and carpooled to a quiet bay that is almost dry at low tide:
Kozloff was about 80 by then but you wouldn’t have known it. He strode out onto the mudflat with us trailing behind trying to keep up. He was excited to find bubble snails crawling over the surface, a peculiar translucent gastropod.
He pointed out holes in the mud where a whole range different creatures live hidden from predators, but with strategies to collect food. Most intriguing was the Fat Innkeeper Worm who lives in a U-shaped burrow. The worm’s burrow is home to several other creatures who do it no harm, like a crab, a fish, a scaleworm who feed off the Innkeeper Worm’s leavings — an example of a community within a community. We dug a few holes to expose Ghost shrimp and clams, and then it began to rain. I hadn’t brought a jacket, so I stood out in the middle of a mud flat, getting cold, wondering when we'd be heading off to the next site. But watching Kozloff, who kept talking a mile a minute, poking in the mud, wet, still genuinely thrilled to be finding these cool creatures, I felt a bit chagrined at what a lightweight I was. Eventually the tide began to wash in and we sloshed our ways back to the cars. I rode with Koz, and I asked him if he’d being doing a class on a rocky shoreline. He opined that his age and infirmity might preclude that. It was hard for me to believe anything could slow him down.
We visited some other sites that day, but the muddy bay stuck with me. I took my own students out onto muddy bays in turn. It’s more fun than you might think!
Kozloff is usually described as a marine biologist but he was as knowledgable about terrestrial ecosystems as the sea...a genuine naturalist. I was able to take another class with him on Orcas Island that year, ostensibly to learn about the botany, but in fact also about the birds, mammals, amphibians and invertebrates living in the communities we visited as well. At one stop, while we were milling around before trekking off, someone asked him what a certain plant was. I watched Koz stop and access the enormous database in his mind — I could almost see the wheels turning til the fact he sought arose — and he answered, describing why it was suited to this soil and angle of sunlight.
I remember his description of the differences between willows: the Pacific willow that you’ll find in very wet spots, as compared to the Scouler’s willow which can survive in much rockier dry slopes. Because our rainshadow climate is much drier than the rest of western Washington, we have a preponderance of Scouler’s. The shape and softness of their leaves tell the story of their habitat.
We spent hours hiking through conifer and willow woodlands, open meadows and other ecosystems, but the one I remember most vividly is the bog. In a lake near the highest point on the island, there’s a corner that is covered with a raft of living vegetation.
He invited us to step out onto the raft. Cautiously, so’s not to crush the vegetation, we did. It was like nothing I’ve ever felt. It jiggled and waved up and down, even though it felt solid underfoot. I knew there was water underneath but the raft was so thick there was no risk of falling through.
A bog is dominated by sphagnum moss, which has long intertwined strands that can soak up vast quantities of water. Bogs are filled with rainwater rather than runoff or groundwater, and are nutrient-poor. The moss makes the environment quite acidic which limits other plants from surviving there. Most bog plants have specialized adaptations. We saw sundew plants that catch insects for nutrients. Other remarkable bog plants living in the bog were wild cranberry, bog laurel and cotton grass — so strangely different from inhabitants I see in my usual wandering. It was as close to an aquatic experience as you can get on dry land.
Kozloff knew every plant, and its place in the bog ecosystem, along with the birds and newts we encountered. He joked about newt toxins.
He mentioned he was writing a plant guide at the time, and I asked him what he was working on just then. Grasses. We talked about native and exotic grasses of the islands. I knew his descriptions would be valuable so I asked him if he had any preliminary material he could pass along, and gave him my address. A few weeks later, a big envelope arrived with a draft copy of his grass chapter. I was impressed that he’d take the time to help out an acquaintance. But that was Koz — he had a mix of encyclopedic knowledge and humility, along with a contagious delight in the natural world.
When his book came out I bought a copy. It’s been another useful resource for me.
One of Kozloff’s favorite flowers was Clarkia amoena, Farewell-to-Spring, a lovely pinkish purple native wildflower that prefers dry slopes with poor soil. He was a bit creaky crouching down in the meadow to look for them that day on Orcas, but his excitement in finding them was a joy to us all.
Farewell, Koz. You were an inspiration to me, and I’m glad I had a chance to spend a little bit of time on our wonderful seashores and hillsides learning from you in person...science and also deep appreciation for the complex beauty of nature. Your books are close at hand in my natural history bookshelf. Like you, I’ll continue to splash in tide pools and roam meadows for as long as I am able.
Have you been inspired by someone larger-than-life in your wanderings through the natural world? I’d be interested to hear any names and stories.
And as always, it’s time for you to share what you’re seeing in your natural neighborhood . . .
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