Communing with Coyotes

Late Sunday afternoon (after a beautiful mild day), Toby and I went for our end-of-the-day walk down to the Hudson River pump house (the water source for our end of town). It was an uneventful walk, until we reached the dead end. That's when we heard it: the unmistakeable bark of a lone coyote.

Usually we are aware of our local coyotes when they take up voice en masse, yipping and howling in a woodland choral performance. It's a distictive sound, and one sure to either delight or disturb the listener. But every so often the coyotes (and foxes, actually) will vocalize by barking. Like their howls, their barks are easily identified, once you know what they are.

I placed this animal in the wetland just a stone's throw from the pavement where the road deadended by the pump house...a little too close for my comfort. Toby, who normally ignores the howls, was suddenly on alert, and decided that the call of the wild must be answered, so he barked back. What followed was quite the exchange. The coyote would "bark bark bark" and Toby would "bark bark bark." Then the coyote would answer, followed by another response from Toby. This back-and-forth barking went on for some time. I wonder what they were saying to each other.

But, I also have a very active imagination, and while I know that the odds of a wild animal coming out of the woods and pursuing us are slim to none, that part of me that still can freak out in my parents' basement was taking no chances. We commenced our return trip back up the road towards home...rapidly.

After about a quarter mile, as we passed a house along the woods, Toby suddenly stopped and went on alert, facing the woods. Had the coyote followed us, taking a shortcut through the woods? By now the two of them were silent, so I had no way of knowing what had grabbed Toby's attention.

We got home without further incident.

BUT!

The next morning, as we were wrapping up our morning walk, we had another encounter...sort of. We were headed up the street (just past the church parking lot) and I was waving at a local girl who was just driving off to school, when she suddenly pointed behind me. I turned to see a lovely coyote dash across the road and into the woods, right were Toby and I had passed not 30 seconds before!

My boss, who lives just up the road, says she's seen a pair of coyotes multiple times crossing the street there between the parking lot and the woods. And there have been tracks and scats around the neighborhood. HM...could it be that the sudden increase in feral cats has brought the coyotes in for easy hunting?

When you live smack in the middle of the woods, with wilderness areas all around, you just never know what wildlife might cross your path. I've seen most of the mammals species that call the Adirondacks home (foxes, coyotes, bobcats, fishers, martes, otters, minks, bears, long-tailed weasels, porcupines, beavers, squirrels (red, grey, flying, chipmunk), snowshoe hares, deer, mice, voles, muskrat, lemming). The only one that still alludes me is, you guessed it, the moose.

Some day.

An Interesting Take on Invasives

I may have posted this once before, but it resurfaced the other day while I was tidying up my desk, and I just had to share it.

The Grimbles and the Gnad

by CJ Dennis

It was told me by a bushman, bald and bent, and very old,

Upon the road to Poolyerleg; and here’s the tale he told.

‘Twould seem absurd to doubt his word, so honest he appeared.

And, as he spoke, the sou’-west wind toyed gently with his beard.

First it was the Grimble Grubs,

Which they et his taters;

An’ all we buried in the end

Was Martin’s boots and gaiters.

With this cryptic observation he began his anecdote;

And, when I sought particulars, he smiled and cleared his throat;

Then sat him down, and with his brown, rough hands about his knees

He told it all. And, as he spoke, his beard waved in the breeze.

First it was the Grimble Grubs

As I sez at startin’

Which they et his tater crops

Which it troubled Martin.

Now, this Martin was a farmer with a scientific mind –

(It was thus the bushman started, as his beard blew out behind)

He farmed the land and, understand, his luck was all tip-top,

Till them there little Grimble Grubs got in his tater crop.

P’raps you have heard of the Grimble Grubs; more likely p’raps you’ve not;

When once they taste your taters you can look to lose the lot.

An’ poor Martin, he was worried till he met a feller who

Had read a book about the Swook, the which lives in Peru.

Now the Swook it is a beetle that inhabits Wuzzle Shrubs,

an’ it makes a steady diet of the little Grimble Grubs;

So Martin he imported some, at very great expense,

An’ turned ‘em loose to play the dooce and teach the Grimbles sense.

Then he swore by Wuzzle Swooks

Friends of cultivators

Which they et the Grimble Grubs

Which they et his taters.

But when the Wuzzle Swooks had et the Grimble Grubs right up,

Then they had to change their habits for to find a bit an’ sup;

So they started on his turnips, which was summat to their taste,

Till Mister Martin’s turnip patch became a howlin’ waste.

Then he natural grew peevish, till one afternoon he heard,

From a Feller in the poultry line, about the Guffer Bird

Which is a native of Mauritius and the woods of Tennessee,

An’ preys upon the Wuzzle Swooks for breakfast, lunch and tea.

So he got some Guffer Birds

Over from Maruitius,

Which the same by nature are

Greedy an’ malicious,

Which they et the Wuzzle Swooks –

Plague of cultivators –

Which they et the Grimble Grubs,

Which they et the taters.

Then Martin swore by Guffer Birds, until one day he found

They’d et up all the Wuzzle Swooks for miles an’ miles around,

an', havin’ still some appetite, an’ bein’ mighty mean,

They perched upon his apple trees and stripped his orchard clean.

Here’s where Martin got excited; he was in an awful funk,

Until one day he read about the little Warty Swunk,

Which has his home in Mexico, an’ lives on Guffer Birds;

An’ Martin, bein’ desperate, imported him in herds.

Then he praised the Warty Swunks,

Beady-eyed and vicious,

Which they et the Guffer Birds,

Native of Mauritius,

Which they et the Wuzzle Swooks –

Plague of cultivators –

Which they et the Grimble Grubs,

Which they et the taters.

Now them Swunks were simply wonders, an’ old Martin stopped his growls,

Till they et up all the Guffer Birds, an’ started on his fowls.

An’ the riots in his hen-house that occurred near every night

They robbed him of his beauty sleep an’ turned his whiskers white.

He was wearin’ to a shadder, till by accident he seen

a picture of the Boggle Dog in some old magazine.

And the same he was notorious for huntin’ Swunks an’ such,

And for livin’ on their livers which he fancied very much.

Now the Boggle Dog of Boffin’s Land is most extremely rare,

But Martin mortgaged house an’ home just to import a pair.

They was most ferocious animals; but Martin he was mad;

An’ he sooled ‘em on the Warty Swunks with all the breath he had.

Oh, he loved the Boggle Dogs,

Called ‘em “Dear” an’ “Darlin” –

Fierce, ferocious Boggle Dogs,

With their savage snarlin’;

Which they et the Warty Swunks,

Beady-eyed and vicious,

Which they et the Guffer Birds,

Native of Mauritius,

Which they et the Wuzzle Swooks –

Plague of cultivators –

Which they et the Grimble Grubs,

Which they et the taters.

Then Martin he picked up a bit, an’ got his proper sleep,

Until he found the Boggle Dogs had taken to his sheep;

For Warty Swunks is hard to catch, and nimble on their feet,

An’ livers of merino lambs is just as nice to eat.

Now, I’m thinkin’ here that Marin must have gone a trifle mad,

Else he’d never have imported such as creature as the Gnad;

For the Gnad, though few folks know it, roams about the Boffin bogs

An’ he has a passin’ fancy for the flesh of Boggle Dogs.

But Martin he imported one with his last bit of cash,

An’ loosed him on the Boggle Dogs –an action worse than rash;

But the Boggles stayed in hidin’, for the Boggles were discreet,

And the Gnad he cast his eye around for something he could eat.

“Sool ‘em, Towser!” shouted Martin dancin’ ‘mid his ravaged crops

But the Gnad regarded Martin as he slowly licked his chops.

An’ the last we seen of Martin, far as I can call to mind,

He was tearin’ round his paddock with the Gnad just close behind.

First it was the Grimble Grubs,

Which they et his taters,

They it was the Wuzzle Swooks

Plague of cultivators

Then it was the Guffer Birds,

Native of Mauritius,

Then it was the Warty Swunks,

Beady-eyed an’ vicious,

Then it was the Boggle Dogs,

With their snarls and snortin’,

Till the bad voracious Gnad

Finished his importin’.

An’ all because the Grimble Grubs

They got into his taters.

We never found a stitch of him

But blucher boots and gaiters.

Thus the bushman closed his story with a sympathetic sigh;

Then wrong my hand most heartily, and sadly said “Good-bye.”

And, as he went, ‘twas evident that he was ill at east:

He bowed his head, and, as I’ve said, his beard waved in the breeze.

Woolly Alder Aphid Colonies

If you find yourself walking by a wetland in November, and that wetland happens to have alders (like speckled alder, Alnus rugosa), you are bound to find some that look as though someone has wrapped long-fibered cotton around parts of the stem. I've seen some where these fluffy bands of white were four to six inches long. Very odd.

Well, you aren't actually looking at cotton, nor is it some sort of fungus or exudate from the tree. What you have stumbled upon is a colony of Woolly Alder Aphids, Paraprociphilus tesselatus.

Here's a close-up of one of the darlings:

In this very personal shot, the critter definitely looks aphid-like, what with its creepy-looking head and accordion-like body. Bhhhh (shudder) - the stuff of nightmares - it's a good thing they are so small.

The white fluffy stuff is actually a waxy substance that the insect exudes from its abdomen, and it is a defense mechanism. Let's say a ladybug or lacewing comes flying along, thinking it's going to have a nice meal of plump, juicy aphids. A quick grab and the predator is bound to end up with nothing more than a mouthful of waxy fibers. Ick. That's enough to snuff any aphid-craving.

I first encountered WAAs around my second or third fall in the Adirondacks. At that point, all I was seeing was tiny bluish-white fuzzballs drifting about the air. They were easy to intercept with a well-placed hand, and up close they were kind of attractive, in a wispy, pale blue and white sort of way (obviously, up-close in the hand is not the same as up-close and zoomed in with a macro lens). It took another two or three years to get an identification nailed down, and now it seems information about them is everywhere on the internet. I didn't see my first colony until about a year ago, and now I see them with fair regularity.

Like other aphids, WAAs have their ant shepherds, and they (the aphids) suck sap from their host plants. But, from what I've been able to gather, they are not particularly damaging, at least not on a landscape scale. So, if you have some on your alders, I'd say just appreciate them - afterall, if you don't look too closely they are really rather attractive, in a wispy, pale blue and white sort of way.

Following the Path of the Beaver

Yesterday I decided to get on record the current status of our "new" beaver pond. With camera and lenses in tow, I schlepped down the Sucker Brook Trail and out around to the "Beaver Bridge."

Activity at the bridge proper didn't seem to be much different than it was a month or two ago, although the low dam on the side did seem just a wee bit more substantial than it was. The biggest change was how much water was now flowing into the woods below this low dam.

I walked up the spur trail to the pond. The beavers have done quite a lot of work, not only repairing the old dam, but also expanding its reach.

This is where I photographed frogs way back in June and July. The marshy pond edge with its assorted vegetation is now part of the dam project. All vegetation is submerged. I wonder how the frogs feel about the change to their neighborhood.

On the far side of the reconstituted pond, I could see what appeared to be the outer portions of a lodge built into the shoreline.

I was determined to get closer, so I began my trek around the pond. Beaver activity was prevelant everywhere I looked, from gnawed-off stumps,

to well-used trails.

Beavers build ponds for a couple reasons. One is to make the water deep enough to allow access to food supplies stashed under the ice in winter. If the water is too shallow, it freezes solid from top to bottom, sealing the rodents in their lodges and effectively cutting off all access to the larder. The other reason is to reach food that has yet to be harvested. Beavers can make quick work of edible trees in an area, and once the immediate food sources have been harvested, they must forage further afield. A beaver on land can be an awkward animal, and its ability to escape danger is severely limited. So, in order to improve its odds against any would-be enemies, the beaver wants to stay near water, where its aquatic agility quickly turns the tables in its favor. With this in mind, the beaver digs channels leading to the next available food sources. These channels fill with water, making escape and transport much easier. Of course, one can only dig channels just so far...after a while it becomes more efficient to simply move on to new feeding grounds and start a whole new construction project: dam the stream, build a pond, put in housing, and harvest the timber.

Our industrious beavers have been very busy. First, they built the lower dam next to the bridge. Then they moved upstream and repaired the old dam, reflooding the pond. Now they have also built a low dam where the Little Sucker Brook enters the "new" pond. And I found one more small dam further up the stream.

The pond turned out to be a lot more extensive than I had originally thought. Here we are standing up near the inlet, looking back across the new upper dam, with the bridge and Sucker Brook Trail juuust visible among the trees in the distance. I'd estimate the pond is between one and two acres in size. It's hard to believe that only a few short months ago Edna and I were standing on dry ground here, looking at black fly larvae in the Little Sucker Brook as it ran through the former pond. You can see the stream's course here, but it is now much deeper and wider than it was this summer.

I was impressed, and amused, to see that some time in the past a beaver felled this tree neatly across the stream/brook, creating a nice little bridge. The beavers obviously use this bridge to cross the stream without getting wet (the bark is all worn away by their clawed feet), but as you can see by the eroded trough on the far shore, they also drag stuff down the bank and into the water.

Moving far enough upstream I found a log I could cross to get to the other side; I wasn't really looking forward to bushwacking my way back to the trail through all the witchhobble I'd already come through - the stuff is well-named.

Near the bank lodge was what I suspect is the beavers' larder. A snarl of beech sticks was bunched around the base of a flooded tree. Presumably the pile extends well below the water line, otherwise the beavers will likely be unable to access this food stash once ice and snow fill the pond.

The day seemed fairly mild to me (turns out we had a high of 35*F yesterday), and most of the balls of ice crystals that were scattered on leaves and patches of shady ground earlier in the morning had melted. But here around the pond I not only found unmelted ice pellets, but also graceful ice feathers and fans on a part of the pond the sun hadn't yet reached. These forms always bring to mind the skating frost faeries in Disney's first Fantasia movie.

Things That Make You Say "Hm"

Last night while the pooch and I were taking a quick turn "around the block," I was struck by the seasonally appropriate look of the full moon shining through the dark branches of a broken old tree. I had to leave for a meeting in less than half an hour, but it was just too good an opportunity to pass up photographically. So, we rushed home, I unleashed the hound, grabbed my tripod, camera and remote shutter release, hopped in the car and headed out.



People must've wondered what in the world I was doing, for the car was parked on one side of the road with the four-way flashers on, and I was standing on the other side of the road. Another dog walker gave me a very wide berth.



Anyway, I got set up, and hoping that traffic wouldn't be heavy (it wasn't), I took a few shots. The first one came out the best.



But then as I was going through the photos this morning, I noticed something:


That green ball wasn't there in the first photo.


And it seemed to move around the subsequent ones.

Could it be just a Newton's Ring, or is it "something else?"

(Correction: Could it be just lens flare, or is it "something else?" See comment section for explanation.)

Toeing the Towpath

Monday I met with my friend Jackie for a beautiful day in the country. It was a gorgeous day, a true Indian Summer day, and we headed for the Saratoga Apple Orchard over near Schuylerville, in the foothills of the Adirondacks.

I wanted to stop here for apples because I knew they had Northern Spies, they don't spray any more than they must, and they even grow a few apples organically. Well, I loaded up a bag with Spies, then another with Ida Reds. A few Crispins and Honeycrisps filled out my purchase, as did some local tomatoes (Mmm). Jackie treated us to an apple cider donut and a cup of cider each. I am not a huge cider fan, but this was THE BEST cider I have ever had!!! I wonder if that's because they don't use fallen and damaged apples when they make it? Whatever the reason, it was very very yummy. And the donut was crisp on the outside, fluffy on the inside, and not greasy at all! Gastronomically, I'd say this was the best cider and donut I've had in my life.

After we supped (dodging hungry yellowjackets the entire time), we drove to the canal down in Schuylerville to walk along the towpath.

This canal, built around 1905, runs right along the Hudson River. We wondered why they put a canal here when there was a perfectly good river right next to it. We encountered plenty of interpretive signs, but none answered this question. There must've been some characteristic of the river that made a slow-moving, mule-powered canal a better option for moving boats, but they weren't tellin' us.

The temps soared into the 60s, the trees were near peak in color. Cedar waxwings flitted through the tree branches, and we peered at plants and insects along the way.

Pokeweed (Phytolaca americana) was a surprise for me. I've always considered it a Southern plant, as in Virginia and Georgia. But here it was just south of the (Adirondack) border. The berries are simply one of the richest colors in the plant world palette.

And who knew that asparagus (Asparagus officinalis) grew berries when it goes to seed? My folks grew asparagus, and often it grew tall, leggy and ferny, but I never never never saw any berries on it. You learn something new every day.

One family living along the canal built this nice little bridge over it so they could cross easily to the towpath and the river. Another family had a little raft to ferry across by pulling the raft along a rope strung from one side to the other.

We came out at the lock, I think it was/is Lock #5, on our right. This was odd because the canal we were following was on our left.

We scrambled up the bank and crossed the road. A footbridge crosses the top of the lock (when the doors are closed). I was a little nervous crossing it - being able to see the water down below through the treads was a bit disconcerting. We didn't get to see any boats go through, but one had used the lock about fifteen minutes before we got there.

An official NYS boat was docked at the lock (locked at the dock?). It might be the lock-keeper's boat. It looks like something from many decades ago, doesn't it? There was also a small paddlewheel boat docked just upstream from the lock. Apparently they use it for canal tours.

The original channel of the canal that we'd been following (on our left) suddenly ended here. Literally. A dead end. It was very puzzling. The canal where the boats were docked ran next to this bit (to our right). What happened to cause the schism?

I liked these old (and crumbling) stairs that were next to the end of the canal. I wonder when they were built. Certainly not in the 17- or 1800s, but they had an ancient sort of look about them.

Because the towpath was gone here, we now followed a road that led from the lock towards the river, coming out along the way at a lovely little park.

An arbor of willows leads you to a good-sized stone labyrinth, which is flanked by the bow of a boat,

a hobbit hole (?),

a path with some lovely tiled stepping stones, and some interesting architecture.

This park was recently reclaimed from what apparently had been a dumping grounds for local people. Those who made the park have done a lovely job with it and should be commended in their efforts.

Our goal was this bridge, which crosses the Hudson River.


Plenty of Canada geese were taking their rest on the river upstream.

And there, maybe a quarter mile further upstream, was the possible reason for the canal: rapids.

It was now after 3:00 and I needed to be headed back north. We followed a footpath back towards the lock, passing some lovely virgin's bower (Clematis virginiana) along the way. This is one of my all-time favorite plants. It was the first plant I learned as a naturalist intern right out of college, although at that time I was taught it was called Old Man's Beard.

All in all, it was a perfect day. Thank you, Jackie, for another great tour around your neck of the woods!

Spooktacular

Every year near Hallowe'en, we (the Visitor Interpretive Center here in Newcomb) do a Hallowe'en program for the two local schools (Newcomb and Long Lake). Students in grades K through 4 are invited to learn about three animals that are associated with Hallowe'en. Our staff of three (boss, seasonal, and me) each get a topic and a station. The kids are divided into three groups and rotate through each station, spending about a half hour at each one. Afterwards, we all feast on seasonally appropriate snacks. It's a good time.

The program runs on a five-year cycle, so that the kids in Kindergarten have a new program every year through fourth grade. Year 1: Bats, Owls and Skeletons. Year 2: Spiders, Cats, Ravens & Crows. Year 3: Snakes, Coyotes, Frogs & Toads. Year 4: Rats, Vultures, Newts. Year 5: Weasels, Raccoons and Skunks. Our goal is to teach kids the truth about animals who have bad reputations or who have been portrayed poorly due to the Hallowe'en season.

So, this year (Year 7), we were on Year 2 of Cycle 2: Spiders, Cats, Ravens & Crows. I, of course, was Spider Woman! I really do like spiders, and the more I learn about them, the more fascinating they become. For instance, did you know...

* ...spiders have light blue blood?

* ...spiders have special oils on the hairs on their feet so they won't stick to the sticky parts of their webs?

* ...not all spiders build webs, and most spider webs are not the large spokes & spiral contraptions that most of us envision when we think of spider webs?

* ...spiders do not have ears; they "listen" by feeling vibrations with the hairs on their legs?

* ...some spiders spend their entire lives under water?

* ...spider web is antibacterial and excellent to use as a bandage over bleeding wounds?

* ...some spiders are chameleon-like and can change their color to blend into their background?

I could go on and on (and some day I might).

Unfortunately, the only photo I have of the day is this one:

Fresh Graves, one of the snacks we made for the event. These are very tasty (with or without the tombstone), and relatively easy to make.

Dump a box of Devil's Food Cake mix into a bowl.

Add one cup sour cream.

Add one egg.

Mix until it looks like chocolate mousse.

Now comes the hard part. Scoop up some batter in your hand (I recommend using three fingers, like poi), and "shape" into a rectangle about 1"x 4" (good luck). Place on a greased cookie sheet. Make another one. These will really puff up when you cook them, so leave plenty of space between them.

Pre-heat oven 350 and pop these babies in for about 15 minutes. They are done when they spring back to your touch.

Cool.

Meanwhile, make the headstones. I used Milano cookies, broken in half. The recipe said to pull apart the two cookies and scrape out the frosting, but Pepperidge Farm must've changed their recipe because the cookies are extremely brittle now and they do not pull apart, which is why I just broke them in half. Using black frosting, write your message on the headstone.

When the cake part is cool, cut a slit in the top. Dab a bit of chocolate frosting on the bottom of the cookie and shove it into the slit - the frosting will hold it there like glue. Voila! You are done.

You get 12-16 graves from a box of mix, depending on how big you make them.