It has been a little over a week in this journey from our beloved woods in North Carolina to a small town at the edge of a place we love – Yellowstone. It has been a very busy several days with us driving two vehicles across country in 4 days and a tractor trailer with all our possessions arriving the next day. The team from TROSA in Durham did a great job loading and unloading our belongings. After they finished, they moved their truck back to the hotel here in Gardiner and we took them on a 6-hour tour of the northern range of Yellowstone. And the park did not disappoint. The guys wanted to see wildlife, and that we did. We saw moose, wolves, grizzly and black bears, coyote, red fox, elk, bison, bighorn sheep, mountain goats, mule deer and more. Beginning the next day, we started the arduous task of unpacking and trying to arrange all the stuff in our new world. A few days later, Melissa’s sister, Stephanie, arrived and the two of the have been on a tear getting things set up and now the house looks like we have been here for months instead of just a few days. Yesterday morning, we wanted to share some sights of the park with Stephanie so we got up at 5 a.m. and headed into the park for our second time since arriving. Once again, the park delivered in spite of the cloudy skies and occasional brief bouts of rain and even some frozen precipitation. In between those two trips into the park, we have even managed to connect with the wildlife of the region from our living room. So, here is a quick summary of our first several days in wonderland.
We don’t need to go far to see wildlife…this cow elk has been spending time right outside one of our living room windows along with an occasional mule deer (click photos to enlarge)A scene from our main living room windows – a herd of elk keeping a wary eye on a grizzly family. We can scan the hillsides near the park entrance from our house and one morning last week I spotted a grizzly sow with two cubs from last year digging for food. At one point she nursed the cubs while lying on her back. This is a heavily cropped image taken from a distance of about a mile.We saw that trio three mornings in a row. One day Melissa spotted one of the cubs climbing a tree. It climbed way up into the tree and then the other cub started to climb but stopped a few feet off the ground (note the second grizzly cub clinging to the tree trunk). Eventually both cubs came down and the family sauntered off. Lesson here – grizzlies can climb, probably not as well or certainly not as often as black bears, but they can. (photo by Melissa Dowland)Our trip yesterday started with some bison and then this black wolf trotting briskly a hundred yards or so off the road.We stopped for some bison watching and then saw some cars lined up along the road in Lamar Valley. We soon spotted a group of 6 wolves of the Mollie’s pack. The Mollie’s are the only pack named for a person (most wolf packs are named for the areas where they establish territories). This pack was named in honor of the late Mollie Beattie, Director of the US Fish and Wildlife Service during the wolf reintroduction.
The Mollie’s typically spend their time in Pelican Valley, where they learned to hunt the primary prey available in the harsh winters there – bison. They have made occasional forays into Lamar Valley over the years, but locals think they now may have a den somewhere near Lamar Valley. They are noticeably large wolves and are known to be efficient hunters. We saw six of the Mollie’s walking on the far side of the river and suddenly start trotting towards a pair of bison. One wolf strayed from the group and five moved in and surrounded the behemoths.The bison responded with tails up and turned to face the wolves. The encounter lasted several minutes with most of the wolves soon realizing these two healthy bison would not be an easy target. The wolves finaly moved off and found their wandering pack mate who had discovered an apparently lifeless bison calf. The group quickly moved in and started feeding while we watched through a spotting scope.
The bison pair came back to investigate while the wolves fed, stopping only a few feet away before turning and walking off. Note the gathering of ravens waiting their turn at the carcass.
We headed off and saw a lot more wildlife including bears and mountain goats, but no moose (the one big critter Stephanie had not yet seen). Back at home we continued setting up the house by hanging artwork and making everything look just right. As we were finishing dinner, our neighbor, Bob, texted that a grizzly sow with two cubs was seen near the park entrance gate and it might be the ones we had seen last week from our house. Though we were pretty tired, we drove to the entrance station (less than 5 minutes form the house!) and spotted the bear which was barely visible through the sagebrush. She was apparently napping and all you could see was a thin line of dark brown indicating her back. After several minutes standing out in the cold we saw heads up…
The sow and one cub look up for their sage bed. They were only about 100 yards off the road but the fading light made it almost impossible to get a sharp photo.The sow starts to lay back to nurse the cubs. This is definitely the same trio of bears we saw last week from our living room but this time they were just a few hundred yards from the edge of town. Here’s hoping they stay healthy and wild.After nursing, one cub rolled around on its back, feet in the air.
I’m typing this in the early hours as I look out at the park with the moon peeking through the breaking clouds. My thoughts are drifting between wondering where those bears are this morning and what’s for breakfast for us. I must admit, that is a nice way to start a day.
Yesterday morning we took what may be our final stroll through our property. Our home is on a little over 14 acres of rolling landscape with big hardwoods, mostly white oak and tulip poplar with some northern red oak and various hickories making up the largest trees. As we walked, I noticed we were both stopping to admire and sometimes touch some of our favorites as a way of giving thanks to their presence.
Melissa admiring the huge white oak on our south slope (click photos to enlarge)
We visited each bench we have placed in the woods over the years and watched and listened for a few minutes before moving on. A variety of migrating songbirds have dropped in these past few days and we heard the songs of many species. Two days ago my list of songsters (aided by the Merlin app) included wood thrush, red-eyed vireo, scarlet tanager, summer tanager, ovenbird, eastern bluebird, black-throated blue warbler, great crested flycatcher, pileated woodpecker, red-bellied woodpecker, Carolina chickadee, black-and-white warbler, American crow, Carolina wren, blue-gray gnatcatcher, hooded warbler, American redstart, tufted titmouse, white-breasted nuthatch, and northern cardinal. Yesterday we heard many of the same species and added a veery and rose-breasted grosbeak. Spring in these woods is a magical time.
First of the year red-spotted purple butterfly
At one spot along the now dry creek, Melissa saw the bright blue flash of a red-spotted purple butterfly, the first one of the season for us. It was sitting in a sunny spot on the creek bottom slowly opening and closing its wings to soak up the warmth. You can’t help but smile when you see such a brilliant blue.
As we approached the back deer fence gate, Melissa touched my arm and showed me a pileated woodpecker that had just flown up off the ground about 50 feet away. We stood there watching this magnificent bird as it hopped from one tree trunk to another and then down onto the ground. Though the bird was largely hidden from view below the downward slope we could see the leaf litter and bark it was throwing up into the air as it searched for a meal.
This female pileated woodpecker spent several minutes with us on our last walkShe takes off to another piece of wood on the ground to search for food
We watched her for at least 10 minutes as she kept hopping from log to tree trunk and finally landed on a series of tree cookies we had laid down years ago to aid in crossing a muddy spot on our trail. They have started to decay and the woodpecker seemed compelled to help that process along, tapping and probing each insect hole in the wood with her long barbed tongue.
Probing the wood for insects
As we watched, she kept coming closer and closer giving us a great view of her feeding behavior. She finally starting moving away from us and eventually flew off toward the creek bottom. Melissa said that, at first, the walk made her sad, sad to be leaving such a beautiful place that we know so well. But our time with the woodpecker had lifted her spirit and reminded us both of what it is we love to do – to be outside and observe nature, especially when that world goes about its business and allows us to feel we are part of it, that we belong. We both realize that our new home is sure to provide countless moments like this and we are excited for the new experiences we will share. And we are thankful for the many special memories our woods have given us over the years including these most recent gifts from a butterfly and a bird.
…I seek the darkest wood, the thickest and most impenetrable and to the citizen, most dismal, swamp. I enter a swamp as a sacred place…I seemed to have reached a new world, so wild a place…far away from human society.
~Henry David Thoreau
My last trips to the magical swamps of the Roanoke River happened these past few weeks. The title of this post is another excerpt from the writings of Thoreau about his fondness for swamps. No doubt, his swamp at Walden Pond was quite different from what we have been experiencing as he was walking and we are paddling for miles through flooded swamp tupelo and bald cypress trees. But the feelings these underappreciated environments evoke are the same – wildness, serenity, and a connection to nature. So, in spite of (or maybe because of) the looming deadline of our move across country, we have spent many recent days soaking in the solitude of this place. This post covers two more recent trips – one with just the swamp queen and myself on the Cashie River and the other with our good friend, Meghan, that went from Williamston to Jamesville.
On our first trip, we camped one night on the Lost Boat platform on the Cashie and explored some side creeks up the river. The wind seemed to be testing us on this trip as we paddled into its gusts much of the two days. But sunset saw a settling and that quiet beauty you can get in such a place.
Moon rise on the Cashie River near the Lost Boat platform (click photos to enlarge)
As usual, the barred owls gave us a nice symphony at our platform through the night. The next morning other birds took the stage with a great crested flycatcher being particularly loud over our tent.
Our first great crested flycatcher of the year
We headed upriver a few miles with an empty canoe to do some exploring (Melissa loves to explore side creeks). Ospreys were quite active and vocal, especially one pair when we paddled past their huge nest that has been there a number of years.
Huge osprey nest on the Cashie
As often happens, we soon spotted a bald eagle in hot pursuit of an osprey carrying a fish. The aerial display of speed and agility was amazing. It went on for quite awhile with the osprey trying every move in the book. The eagle would occasionally fall off a bit but would then kick it into overdrive and get right back on the ospreys tail.
Eagle in hot pursuit of an osprey and its catchThe eagle mirrored every twist and turn made by the osprey
They flew out over the treeline and through the branches we saw the osprey drop its catch with the eagle quickly diving and snagging it mid-air. That’s got to be frustrating for the ospreys!
Of course, there was lots of other bird action as we paddled including double-crested cormorants, a few anhinga, and the sights and sounds of the swamp warblers arriving for the spring breeding season.
The typical cross-like pattern of an anhinga in flightSeveral male prothonotary warblers added splashes of brilliant color to the swamp shorelines as we paddled
Our slow paddle pace allows us to take in the details of the swamp, to appreciate the greening up of this amazing habitat, and to pick out the textures and colors of this magical world.
The resurrection ferns were vibrant after recent rains and adorned so many of the swamp tree trunks and branchesCrossvine blooms were everywhere as we paddled making this the most abundant display of this species I have ever seen
The forecast called for heavy rains on that Friday so off we went for a one night respite at home before returning on Saturday, accompanied by our good friend, Meghan, a newbie to the wonders of the swamp.
The plan was to put in at Williamston and paddle with the current through Devil’s Gut, camping at two platforms before taking out at Jamesville on Monday. We drove two vehicles, and shuttled them so we had a car waiting at the NC Wildlife boat ramp in Jamesville. The current was very fast so our first few miles went quickly. We soon pulled into a side creek and beached ourselves on a floating mud mat against the shore to eat our lunch. We hadn’t been there long when a white-eyed vireo appeared and flitted into its nest under construction on a low limb at the tip of our boats! We watched it come and go adding all sorts of material to its nest. Their nests are typically placed low in a small tree or shrub and are suspended between a small fork in the branches. The nest is made up of fine bark, leaves, roots, paper, and is held together with spider silk and decorated on the outside with lichens, leaves, and moss.
White-eyed vireo with a beak full of nesting material on one of its many trips during our lunchtime stopPlacing the material in the nest with careAs we finished our lunch, the bird gave us the look telling us it was now time to leave.
We quietly paddled down Devil’s Gut observing the army of cypress knees along the edges and and listening to the many sounds of the swamp. There were critters too – a couple of wild turkeys took flight up a side channel, a startled beaver did a belly flop into the water as we came around a bend, and a muskrat didn’t see us until we were on it and then hurried into the water only to the swim right next to our canoe in its escape.
Meghan paddling by a huge bald cypress on one of our side channel explorations along Devil’s GutA muskrat making good its escape
We reached the creek entrance to our first platform in what seemed like record time in spite of our exploring. It had been a chilly day so not much to see in terms of reptiles…tomorrow would tell a different story.
I was the first one awake and was sitting out by the stove with coffee when Melissa walked out of the tent and exclaimed “there’s a raccoon in that tree”. I couldn’t see it from my seat but somehow I had missed it when I first got up (she always seems to spot things now that I miss:). Sure enough, nestled in between three trunks coming up off a tupelo gum stump that had probably been cut decades ago was a curled up ball of fur.
The sleeping raccoon about 40 feet off our camping platform.
We all took way too many photos of this cutie while we sat and ate breakfast and talked about our trip. Every now and then the raccoon would curl up a bit tighter, presumably trying to shut out the sounds from its noisy neighbors. Once in a while it lazily looked over and we all grabbed cameras to get a portrait.
When will those guys be quiet, I’m trying to sleep here…Finally, after about an hour of us getting ready for our day, the raccoon slowly climbed down the trunk and swam off into the swamp to find a more peaceful bedroom.
Meghan said she thought she had heard something scurrying around during the night, but our hanging trash had not been disturbed and we have never had any issues with critters on the platforms in all our years of visiting. But when we got home and were unpacking, I noticed paw prints on our plastic tub that contained our camp kitchen supplies. That little rascal had definitely been on the platform and checked things out but had thankfully not gotten into anything.
Our last day was much sunnier and warmer and that changed the activity on the water…especially the birds, turtles, and snakes. We headed downstream to the Barred Owl platform and were greeted by a large number of the self-proclaimed guardians of logs and stumps, the brown watersnakes, Nerodia taxispilota.
A huge brown watersnake posing on a stumpBest Instagram pose of the day
It is mating season for these common snakes and we started seeing what we called “snake wads” on several logs. More correctly called mating aggregations, these were groups of snakes, often 7 or 8 together, intertwined in one spot. There was usually one large female with several small males in attendance. We started counting snakes along Lower Deadwater Creek and came up with 38 brown watersnakes in a little over a half mile of creek. Impressive!
A snake wad of brown water snakes
All day long we heard warblers and other birds calling from the trees and all day they managed to stay out of reach of my camera. Finally, as the sun was setting and the swamp was turning into its evening shades of grays and browns, a brilliant flash of yellow arrived next to the platform – a male prothonotary warbler. Turns out there were two vying for territory and this one guy chased and sang and then sat on a cypress knee for several minutes, affording me the opportunity to try to get an in focus shot in the dimming light.
Guarding his turf, he kept a sharp eye out for the other intruding maleWhen the other bird showed itself, our guy would fly after it flashing its tail to show his displeasure.
One other critter that was with us on both platforms was the forest tent caterpillar. This is an insect we have seen most springs on the Roanoke and one that can be incredibly abundant. It is a close relative of the Eastern tent caterpillars we see elsewhere in the state in early spring that build the silken webbings in the forks of trees such as wild cherry. This swamp species does not build the tents but is a free-roamer and tends to occur in large clusters, especially on the swamp tupelo trees. Everywhere we went we saw them climbing any vertical surface (including all the corner posts on the platforms) and dropping down from the treetops on silken strands onto everything. I saw hundreds of them just on and around the platform on our last morning. I can’t imagine how many are just in this section of Devi’s Gut but it has to be hundreds of thousands and they can and do defoliate entire sections of the swamp. We wonder what long-term effects this may have on the trees, but I’m sure the caterpillar buffet provides a bounty of food for fish, birds, and other swamp wildlife.
A brown watersnake with a forest tent caterpillar on its nose (photo by Melissa Dowland)
On our last section of Devil’s Gut before hitting the river proper, we were trying to find a barred owl nest cavity that was spotted a few years ago. We stopped and looked for cavity trees in several locations and Melissa finally saw an owl staring down into the shallow waters off a side channel. The bird dropped down and then flew up to a branch and started eating. We weren’t sure what it caught until we looked at blown up images on our cameras – it was a large crayfish.
Barred owl crunching a crayfish
It then flew off. We sat for a few seconds and Meghan saw the bird fly back and appear to disappear. We paddled back in and eventually saw feathers in a hole in a tree. It was tough to tell what was going on but it seems as though the owl was sitting on a nest inside that hollow but had very little room to maneuver. On her next trip with friends a few days later, Melissa confirmed the owl was still there and had two chicks.
Barred owl sitting on nest inside hollow tree with just her wing showing
From there, it was a short paddle out into the Roanoke and down to the boat ramp. We loaded up after doing the return shuttle of vehicles and headed home. Meghan had spotted an owl perched in a roadside swamp during the shuttle so we stopped and took a few pics as we passed by…a fitting end to our trip.
Barred owl sitting low in some young cypress along the boat ramp road
It was both a wonderful and a sad trip for me as it would be my last. We had plans to go with friends one last time but I had pulled a muscle in my back so I opted out and stayed at home. Melissa went back a few days later and I’m glad she did..she is the swamp queen after all:) It is hard to put into words what the swamps along the Roanoke River mean to us. The platforms afford you a unique opportunity to experience the beauty and wildlife of a place that few of us have access to otherwise. Paddling provides the perfect pace to take in the scenery and the feel of the swamp and makes it much easier to hear the sounds and catch glimpses of the many animals that call this place home. I am so glad that years ago I decided to start doing educator workshops with the museum to this incredible part of our state. It has become a beloved part of our many years in North Carolina. We are pleased that it looks to be in good hands with the Roanoke River Partners and the many volunteers that help keep up the platforms as well as the many conservation agencies that are preserving large tracts along these waterways. It has become our favorite camping adventure and we will sorely miss our time in this majestic temple of the swamp.
The beauty of the swamp will stay with us forever (and just may call us back from time to time)
The temple of truth has never suffered so much from woodpeckers on the outside as from termites within.
~Vance Havner
Melissa spotted a pair of pileated woodpeckers out front the other day and we grabbed the scope to take a closer look. They were both pounding on a couple of hickory stumps that we had used several years ago as legs for our campfire ring benches. When they started to decay, I rolled most of them out the side gate where they have served as home for countless critters and as a food source for the woodpeckers. I rolled two into the patch of trees out a front window so we could hopefully see woodpeckers doing just what we watched this week – hammering away looking for bugs. Melissa is much better at hand-holding a phone up to a scope for video so she recorded a few segments of the woodpeckers searching for food.
I slowed the next clip down so you can see the bird’s tongue flicking in and out as it chipped wood away. As we watched, we occasionally saw termites crawl out of the holes made by the woodpecker so we assume that was the main food it was gathering from this effort.
Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.
~Winnie the Pooh
Well, if you didn’t know it before, you will know it now…swamps are Melissa’s (and my) favorite places to camp in North Carolina. And one swamp in particular, the “Amazon of North Carolina”, the massive swamps along the Roanoke River. So, a few days after paddling in Lassiter Swamp at Merchants Millpond State Park, we were off again to paddle a new stretch (to us) of the Roanoke swamplands – the Middle River. Our route over three days would take us down the Cashie River from the iconic Sans Souci ferry to Bear Run, a platform we had never camped on. Then downriver and up Conaby Creek to the Royal Fern platform. We had camped there before and loved it, but had a few concerns because the platform was obviously frequented by some bears which seem to like the taste of treated wood. All of the platforms have been recently renovated so we were anxious to check it out.
Melissa readying the canoe at our launch at the San Souci Ferry (click photos to enlarge)
After getting a shuttle for our truck from our local friend, Heber Coltrain, (he has helped us, mainly Melissa, with workshops over the years), we headed out on a windy afternoon on the Cashie. We tend to paddle slowly and without much conversation as we look for wildlife and soak in the surroundings…a beaver lodge here and there, the greening of the trees along river, and many birds.
A large beaver lodge on the river bankOpening leaf bud of a Water Tupelo Immature Bald Eagle cruising over the river
After passing through the so-called Thoroughfare, we eventually entered the Roanoke River, crossed it and docked at the Bear Run platform for the night.
Bear Run camping platform
The river is wide here and we sat out on the dock watching fish jump, turtle heads appearing seemingly everywhere, and the occasional bird flying downriver for their evening roost.
Sunset from Bear Run
The next morning we were up early and in the canoe as we had a long day ahead with a paddle distance of about 13 miles. We were just upriver from the Plymouth Mill, a major paper mill that has been a huge employer in the region since it began in 1937. It is now operated by the Domtar Paper Company and employs about 350 people. It seems as though the plant runs 24 hours per day based on the sounds we heard through the night. It produces softwood fluff used to manufacture diapers and absorbent hygienic products sold around the world.
Plymouth Paper Mill
We soon turned into the Middle River which has been on Melissa’s bucket list for some time. It is wider than many of the creeks we have paddled in the past and some sections looked like they may have been clear-cut in the not-to-distant past. One thing stood out among the trees – great quantities of Mistletoe. This semi-parasitic plant garners water and nutrients from its host tree by sending root-like structures into the tree’s vascular system. It can also photosynthesize some of its own nutrients.
Clumps of Mistletoe on many of the trees along the riverA wide view of a large clump of Mistletoe (though not as large as it appears in this pic)
Melissa loves to explore side channels on any of our paddles so off we went on one along the Middle River. She suddenly exclaimed “Oh my God, look at that snake!”
The huge snake lounging on a small swamp island
We paddled closer and we couldn’t believe the size of this Cottonmouth. Definitely the largest one both in girth and length either of us had seen – we estimate it was about 4 1/2 inches thick and a little over 4 feet long.
Side view of the thick CottonmouthClose-up of the snake’s keeled scalesThe head of a large Cottonmouth – check out that pupil
We spent a few minutes photographing and admiring this behemoth…what a beauty. As we departed, Melissa spotted another snake (btw, this is a skill she usually does not have, but she really owned it on this trip). A rat snake was clinging to the side of a tree trunk above the water. As we drifted by, it slowly worked its way very carefully to a knot hole and disappeared.
A rat snake we saw crawling on a trunk along the riverThe rat snake’s tail as it glides into the hole
Moving along Conaby Creek, we pulled into a small opening in the forest’s edge (Melissa calls these places “swamp rooms”). She spotted a Green Treefrog clinging to a stem. They have such a great pose.
Green Treefrog covered in swamp debris
While sitting out on the dock at Royal Fern, we saw a Barred Owl fly to a large tree branch and pick at something. It was tough to see in the fading light but we could tell it was something a few inches long and hung from the owl’s beak in a curved fashion. The owl flew to another tree and picked at the object. It kept flying around, carrying it, picking at it, and looking at us. We guessed everything from scat to crayfish claw to an amphiuma, but never really could tell.
A heavily cropped image of the owl and its snack
We were hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the beavers that had constructed the dams above and below our platform, so we sat out on the dock for a long time waiting. A nice Painted Turtle crawled up on the one closest to us and posed for a few seconds before one of us moved and it quickly slid back into the water.
Painted Turtle
Melissa finally spotted something in the water down beyond the beaver dam we had crossed. She whispered “mammal” to me, and we could then tell it was an otter cruising our way.
A River Otter starts to cross a floating log and then sees us and our bright blue canoe in its pathThe otter gave a few snorts, looked around, and then decided to avoid us swamp intruders and turned back. Look at the size of that front paw!
The next morning, we headed up Conaby Creek into a brisk wind. And it does seem that no matter what direction you go, you will always have to paddle into the wind. The sun broke free of the clouds and we enjoyed some great birds along the way. The Osprey were putting on quite a show with their sharp piercing calls and some great maneuvers as they either chased each other, avoided the harassment of Bald Eagles, or were hoping to catch a fish. We had one fly by us very quickly (the wind at its back) carrying a fish.
Osprey toting a fish meal
One osprey kept circling above us, so we stopped and drifted, hoping it had spied a fish and we might get to see its dive up close.
Osprey banking as it looks for fish below
They often hesitate or hover before starting their dive and as we watched, this one kept turning back to the same general area. Suddenly, it folded its wings and dropped. It isn’t easy to follow a rapidly diving bird while drifting in a canoe, but I managed to fire a burst of images and got one nice one as the Osprey was plummeting toward the water. My next couple of shots showed a calm water surface but no bird. Melissa saw it pull up just above the surface and veer off…the fish lives another day.
Osprey diving toward the water
One of the things we loved the most about the paddle along Conaby Creek was the abundance of large Bald Cypress trees.There were stretches with many big old trees along the shoreline including some that had unusual growth forms.
Bald Cypress with unusual branching patternLarge trees growing out of an old bent over cypress trunk
Conaby Creek gradually narrows and becomes a typical winding blackwater creek. We passed a few houses along the creek and knew we were getting close to our take-out spot – a recently opened canoe/kayak launch in Plymouth called Bear Track Landing. It had been an adventure with lots of wildlife, some windy paddling conditions, a few cases of human-derived noises penetrating our environment, but mostly just the sounds of a relaxing paddle in one of our favorite North Carolina habitats — a swamp.
If prisons, freight trains, swamps, and gators don’t get ya to write songs, y’ain’t got no business writin’ songs.
~Ronnie Van Zant
As part of our “farewell tour”, we drove up to Merchants Millpond State Park last weekend. When I was working with state parks, I fell in love with that place and its amazing wildlife and magical tree-scape of old-growth Bald Cypress and Tupelo Gum. Our friends, Floyd and Signa, retired park rangers, had invited us to an oyster roast which was much enjoyed and appreciated. Ironically, of the 20 or so folks there, two are bringing families to Yellowstone later this spring…indeed, all roads do lead to Yellowstone, especially for people that love public lands and wildlife. We camped Saturday night at the family campground and on Sunday launched our canoe into the still waters of the millpond.
We joined a friend from Vermont that visits the park every year from his home in Vermont and paddled slowly up the millpond toward my favorite destination, Lassiter Swamp. Northern Parula and Yellow-throated Warblers provided the soundscape as we paddled with occasional sightings of other birds like an Anhinga, Bald Eagle, Canada Goose, and Great Blue Heron. When we entered Lassiter Swamp, we were alone, just our canoe and the sights and sounds of this otherworldly place.
Melissa paddling as we enter Lassiter Swamp (click photos to enlarge)
Lassiter Swamp is at the upper end of the millpond. A little over halfway up the millpond, the trees become less abundant and you can see a channel of deeper water meandering toward the swamp. As you get closer, you need to choose your way more carefully as some channels lead to dead ends into thickly vegetated areas that can make paddling difficult. But once you enter, you feel you are in a different world. Bald Cypress and weirdly contorted Tupelo Gum surround you, the gum trees having been deformed by the growths of semi-parasitic Mistletoe. It can be a ghostly landscape and, if you have that sort of imagination, there are monsters watching you from the trees. But to us, it is a magical place of unique beauty.
Swollen tree trunkSculpted tree basesThe haunting beauty of Lassiter Swamp
A short way into the swamp, I saw an American Bittern fly up off a large mat of aquatic vegetation. In rapid succession, three more bitterns flushed from that area. In all my years of paddling the millpond, I could not remember seeing a single American Bittern at the park, let alone four! One of the well-camouflaged birds landed after a short flight and was hidden behind some trees. We continued paddling and saw it catch something – a large crayfish!
American Bittern tossing its crayfish snack
We slowly drifted while watching it trying to swallow its meal. It appeared to want to dine alone and flew a short distance to a group of trees trunks.
Bittern going through the fly-through at the crayfish fast food joint
It landed after a short flight, giving us a great view of this beautiful bird and ts hapless prey.
American Bittern right before gulping down its swamp crayfish salad
We continued silently paddling upstream, absorbing the scene before us and listening to the quiet song of the swamp. Beaver sign was everywhere along the route and we occasionally had to paddle in high gear to cross over a shallow gap in a beaver dam.
Beaver chew marks adorned many of the gum trees in the swamp
It’s always advisable to look closely before crossing any dam, especially if it requires a brief disembark to pull the canoe across. You might find yourself in the company of another camouflaged swamp dweller, a Cottonmouth.
One of three small-ish Cottonmouths we encountered
We saw three of these snakes within about 15 feet of one another, all eyeing us without moving as we paddled by. Though venomous, they tend to not be aggressive, and, if you pay attention, you can enjoy their presence without any problems. We also saw a water snake doing its best imitation of a Cottonmouth a little farther up the swamp. I believe it was a Brown Water Snake though Northern Water Snakes tend to be more common here.
A non-venomous water snake basking on a log in the swamp. Note the differences in the eye (round pupil when you zoom in here) and head compared to the venomous Cottonmouth.
The occasional Wood Duck with its “oo-week, oo-week” call flushed out ahead as we paddled and the taps of woodpeckers echoing through the trees provided the percussion background notes. We soon spied some tiny ripples in the still water to the side and saw a dragonfly struggling on its back on the water surface, its wings adhering to the surface tension of the dark water. I lowered my paddle underneath and lifted it up and over to the canoe. I put a finger down and the insect grabbed on and turned itself upright. I placed it in the canoe to dry off. A few minutes later, I saw it vibrating its drying wings and when I put my finger close, it grabbed on, continuing to vibrate, and then took off. A swamp connection was now complete.
The rescued dragonfly
We finally reached a beaver dam that might require a portage and, looking at the time, we reluctantly turned back and started drifting along with the slow current taking it all in, perhaps for the last time. I glanced downstream and saw a River Otter poised on a bright green mossy log, staring at us. By the time I got the camera up, it had slid into the water and was swimming at us in typical otter fashion, head low, its face reflected perfectly in the black waters of the swamp.
A River Otter provided a lasting memory for us
And then, again in typical otter behavior, it bounced up and down in the water stretching its neck up and snorting at us before disappearing beneath the water with a plop.
The otter getting a better look at us swamp intruders before disappearing
It is amazing how far and how quickly they can swim underwater. The otter seemed to have tired of us slow swamp swimmers, and simply vanished, leaving us once again in our solitude. As we paddled back, so many memories of this special place flooded back into my head. They reminded me of how grateful I am this place is now protected as a state park. I was also thankful that people like Floyd and Signa and all the park staff I have known have been the caretakers of such magical places that continue to sing to all that take the time to listen.
I’m glad the Covid-19 shutdown began in March. April is the best month to be home. Twenty-five years of gardening – not the traditional type of gardening; Mike’s gardening is more like an attempt to create a mountain cove forest in the side yard – has led to a beautiful array of native wildflowers. April is the best because, living in the woods, spring ephemerals, those small-but-showy wildflowers that bloom before the trees leaf out, do much better than more traditional garden plants.
So when the world stopped and we all hunkered down at home, I found myself sitting on one of the larger rocks in the attempt-at-a-dry-streambed along the south side of our house observing wild columbine, Aquilegia canadensis.
The drooping red flowers of our southeastern columbine almost seem to float above the ground, hanging from thin stems. They start as a nodding pale green bud, a bit smaller than your pinky nail. As they age, they expand and redden, and yellow pistils emerge from the tip of the flower, even before it is fully open. Bulbous, spurred petals extend upward as sepals open and stamens uncurl to release pollen. Spent flowers shed their sepals and petals, and the five ovaries, each tipped with a remnant style, rotate upright to eventually ripen into brown cups filled with poppy-like seeds.
Columbine is the reason we moved back to the house that Mike and his ex-wife built. That mist of red flowers, hovering above dots of blue phlox and spears of foamflower, the scent of pinxter azalea in the air, and the wheat-tee-oh call of a hooded warbler echoing up from the ravine – I just couldn’t bear that this was something Mike had had to give up.
It’s one thing to leave a house, even one you’ve designed to fit your style and wishes perfectly. It’s another to leave the living, breathing thing that is a garden. Especially when it’s filled with plants like trout lily and bloodroot that may take seven or more years to flower, and that now have spread with profusion through the yard, putting on a show to rival the wild places that it was meant to mimic. So when he had to leave, it broke my heart for him. And when the opportunity came to move back I didn’t hesitate, even though I knew it would never feel as much ours as his.
In March 2020, Mike and I had planned a long-anticipated trip to Nebraska. This may seem as unlikely destination at that time of year, but as naturalists and wildlife enthusiasts, it was a perfect spot for us. Each year, hundreds of thousands of sandhill cranes linger along the Platte River on their northward migration from wintering grounds in the southwest to breeding areas in the north. The shallow, braided river bordered by wet meadows and cornfields provides the respite they require on the long trip: a safe place to roost at night and plenty of insects to refuel.
For a period of three or four weeks, the evening skies are filled with the silhouettes of family groups of cranes, and the sound of their rattling calls echoes across the landscape. As they drop towards the river, they set their wings and kick their gangling legs beneath their body, resembling witches patrolling the skies on Halloween. Where one lands gently on the mud others follow suit until before long the river is teeming with birds calling to one another, jumping, and dancing. At times, they even seem to flow like the river as they seek a more favorable spot. They call through the night, settling a bit at times but never quieting, until at dawn, as the light of the rising sun highlights the red patch on their heads, they burst off the river with a crescendo of wingbeats and calls.
Of course, Mike and I put off our Nebraska trip when the pandemic hit and things around the world closed down, even the isolated two-person riverside blinds we had planned to spend the night in to view the cranes. It took four years to find the time to reschedule that trip, but we finally made it in late March 2024.
When we returned to North Carolina in the first week of April, we discovered that a tree limb had fallen on the deer fence that protects about an acre of our yard, the area that Mike had painstakingly planted and tended for so many years. It looked like someone had taken a weed-whacker to the garden. Almost every single columbine stem, emerging from winter dormancy and just beginning to bloom, had been eaten. We were sick at heart. One flower remained, floating on an elegant stem, hovering above the ruins of the garden. As the weeks of April went by, the columbine made an admirable effort, each plant putting on a few small blossoms. But the prolific display I had come to expect and love was not to be.
Mike and I are together because of Yellowstone National Park. Years spent crafting and leading trips for educators together deepened a love for that place and for each other. On our very first trip together, we sat into the late hours of the night at a picnic table in front of the Roosevelt General Store talking about everything from our views on abortion to office politics to our hopes and dreams of one day living in a place as wild as Yellowstone.
I’ve never quite been able to put my finger on what it is about Yellowstone, but it put its hooks into both of us. I think it’s something to do with the fact that we are just one small piece of the huge puzzle that is the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem and, in fact, we are only visitors there. Yellowstone belongs to the wildlife; it belongs to itself.
There’s nothing quite like sitting silently in the sagebrush, its pungent aroma permeating the senses, watching a cow bison lick clean its newborn orange calf, umbilical cord still hanging beneath its belly. Or, weeks later, watching an abandoned calf struggle for days in an open meadow until one morning, ravens and magpies marked the area where the calf had been. We hiked out to the site and found the remains of a cow. Nearby lay the baby’s carcass, its legs ending in tiny hooves. It’s not an easy place, Yellowstone; but its wildness pulls us.
And so, as we make plans pursue our longtime dream and move to Yellowstone, to see the subtle ways it shifts through the seasons with a depth our previous visits have not allowed, we will stay in North Carolina for one more columbine season. One more chance to see the clouds of red blossoms above divided leaves. One more hummingbird threading its long bill into the flower’s spurs, seeking the nectar reward deep within. One more chance to see the petals fall as the seeds ripen, then disperse.
Another nice snowfall (it has been many years since I could utter that phrase around these parts). We probably got about 3 inches here and it was a nice fluffy snow (prepping us for our upcoming move to Montana no doubt).
Our yard birds were quite active before and during the storm and I had filed the feeders in anticipation. The hot pepper suet was particularly popular and attracted the greatest variety of avian visitors. The only species that did not visit the suet that I saw at the other feeders (or elsewhere in the yard) were the Purple Finches and a Northern Cardinal. The Red-shouldered Hawk also stayed on its usual perch in the front yard and didn’t come back to see what all the fuss was about.
Here’s a gallery of some of our wild neighbors during the snow. Birds on the cedar stick were photographed while I was standing next to our slightly open bedroom door. I could only stand there for short periods of time as I had to keep a fire in the living room fireplace to offset the heat I was losing:)
Suet party – there has been almost constant action at the suet hanging on a post on the deck. I attached a cedar branch as a perch for the birds wanting to grab a bite so you will see mostly pics of the classic “bird on a stick”. Most birds will fly to the stick first and then hop over to the suet cage. Some, like the warblers, do it so fast they don’t give me much of a chance to press the shutter. (click photos to enlarge)American Goldfinch showing hints of its color change in preparation for spring (goldfinches stayed at the sunflower feeders and never came over to the suet)Dark-eyed Juncos have been the most abundant yard bird during the cold weather with somewhere around 40 seen at any one time feeding mostly on the ground. But the snow caused some to crowd onto the suet feeder whenever possible, though they seemed to defer to most other species and waited their turn.A few Yellow-rumped Warblers have been at the suet.The male Pine Warblers were pretty aggressive and usually pushed their way in even when other (often larger) birds were feedingAll the other birds scattered when this Red-bellied Woodpecker came in. But he was quite timid and would fly off if I moved the tiniest bitWe had 4 Eastern Bluebirds at times at the suet, but it was usually just a pair, with this female being the most tolerant of my presence.Unlike his larger cousin, this male Downy Woodpecker didn’t seem to scare off other birds when it landed. In fact, it could be a bit timid to approach if other birds were already feeding.A pair of Carolina Wrens came and went throughout the storm. I always love seeing these guys as I consider them the most neighborly of our yard birds.A less frequent visitor was this Hermit Thrush. They are here every winter and often visit the suet feeders in extremely cold weather.The Tufted Titmice tended to stay at the seed feeders (as did their constant companions, the Carolina Chickadees). They will visit suet but seem content to feed on sunflower seeds when there is a crowd at the suet.I never got a great shot of the White-breasted Nuthatch, but I wanted to include this pic so you can see the elongated toe and claw gripping the branch. That is a great adaptation for their trunk-climbing habit, offering a useful grasping tool, especially when going down a tree trunk as they often do.Our Red-shouldered Hawk has been a regular visitor. especially on a branch overlooking one of our wildlife pools. This pic was taken the day before the snow, but the hawk was back on the branch as I was writing this blog after the snow stopped.
After leading my last group over a week ago, we decided to make one more trip to Pungo last Friday (it appears letting go truly is hard to do!). Our friend, Meghan, was with us and we decided to do a day trip for one last sunset show. And we are so glad we did. It was as if the birds were gathering to say goodbye. We got there about noon and it was a crazy warm day for being early February with temperatures soaring into the 70’s by mid-afternoon. Turtles were out basking in along every canal bank and Southern Leopard Frogs were calling in the wet meadows. Some swans were feeding in the fields out front but it was a swirling black cloud of birds further down the road that caught our eyes – Red-winged Blackbirds! February is the time the blackbirds form the largest flocks, perhaps in preparation for their migration to breeding grounds up north (some do stay in our area to breed but many move north).
Large flock of Red-winged Blackbirds at Pungo (click photos to enlarge)A closer look shows the flock of mainly male Red-winged Blackbirds (black with red epaulets). But you can also see some females (streaky and brown), Brown-headed Cowbirds (shiny black with brown heads are males). There were also some Common Grackles in other photos of the flock. It s common for several species of blackbirds to be in these large flocks.
We spent several minutes mesmerized by the swooshing and back and forth movements of the flock, at times startled into the air by a passing Northern Harrier. The sights and sounds of these birds is one of Melissa’s favorite things about Pungo in winter.
Our friend, Meghan, wanted to see a river otter, so we started working on that goal after leaving the blackbirds. River Otters are fairly common here and frequent the roadside canals throughout much of the refuge. But they can be difficult to find on any given day. We parked and waked along a section of road closed to vehicles but passable on foot, hoping to see either a resident screech owl or an otter. No luck on the owl, so I offered to walk back to the car and drive around to the other end of that road and pick them up while they completed the walk. I got almost to the car and looked back and saw them squatting down by the canal far away. I watched and they didn’t move so I figured they had found an otter.
When I got around to the pick up spot, they had not turned the corner, so I started walking to meet them and maybe get to see an otter myself. Sure enough, as I approached, an otter snorted at me and kerplunked as it dove. Melissa signaled there were four otters. They were between us and obviously wanted to go past me. I walked toward Melissa and that caused the one visible otter to go back in her direction and eventually gather with the others up under a large wax myrtle overhanging the canal bank.
One of the River Otters checking me out and using this stump as cover as I walk past along the roadTwo of the otters hanging out on the shore of the canal under the branches of an overhanging wax myrtle
The otters eventually came out, swam down the canal in their original direction and crossed under the road through the culvert.
Three otters looking to see if we were still thereThey can’t help but play even when the those pesky humans are nearby
As we walked back to the car, one otter stayed ahead of us in the canal for a time, occasionally poking its head up and giving us a snort.
An otter trying to be inconspicuous under the aquatic vegetation
Check otters off the list of tasks for the day. Now on to the front fields in hopes of seeing the real show of the day, the Snow Geese coming into the fields to feed. When we got there, there were a couple of hundred Tundra Swans feeding and a small flock of Snow Geese already there. It wasn’t long until a group of a couple of thousand Snow Geese came in and started circling and landing. We positioned our vehicle close to where the swans and Snow Geese were landing, but the clear skies made lighting less than ideal for photos of the birds. I kept wondering, “Where is the rest of the flock?”. In another 15 minutes, I had my answer as I called out, “Here they come!”.
Part of a massive flock of Snow Geese on the horizon, headed our way
Birds filled the sky for the next 10 minutes, swirling in layers, crisscrossing the air space above the fields. Gradually, they began to settle in a flurry of wings and nasal squawks that were almost deafening. Folks nearby registered the noise level on an app on their phone and it was in the high 80’s. That is very loud and is comparable to traffic on a busy city street or a hair dryer. But, a much more pleasing sound and sight as thousands of birds swarmed above our heads and landed on the ground in front of us.
Snow Geese flying in front of the moon as they approach the front fields Part of the incoming flock as it banked over our heads looking for a place to land
Soon, it became thousands of dark specks in the air circling above thousands of white birds on the ground. The specks were flying in all directions, some in a huge swath of birds on the horizon, some in small patches of birds, landing gear down, searching for an open spot.
Birds by the thousands filled the air and ground in front of us
The sunset created an orange hue across the horizon, highlighting the birds close to the source with tints of gold while darkening those further away into magical sky-dancing silhouettes.
Snow Geese landing in the glow of the sunsetAs the sun sank further behind the trees, the dark shapes created an airborne eddy of black wingbeats
At times, the birds were all around us, a churning sky full of wings and sound.
The enormity of the flock was hard to grasp as time and again they would take off and fly in waves, this way and that, against the orange sky. Near the end, the closest line of birds on the ground was probably only 30 feet from us, voraciously gobbling the corn. You could hear a deep mechanical-sounding background noise reminiscent of a machine like a huge combine as the flock made its way though the corn stubble.
At last light, the giant flock began to lift off and circle the field in preparation for returning to the safety of the lake for the night
At the end, we were all overwhelmed by what we had just witnessed. An amazing finish to a special day and to decades of learning to love a place. I’ve been going to the Pungo Unit for over 40 years (back when it was called Pungo National Wildlife Refuge). I’ve had the privilege of sharing days in the field here with thousands of others. We have walked quietly in the woods along “Bear Road” (back when that was allowed), watching swans fly in overhead while a trio of Black Bears strolled across a field flushing hundreds of Snow Geese as they went. We have helped biologists band swans for research with a once in a lifetime opportunity to hold one of these magnificent creatures in your arms until the biologists gathered the data and gave it back to you to release at the water’s edge. We have walked with the bears, watching them go about their activities and feeling the connection with animals that resemble us in so many ways. People have been amazed by the beauty and vastness of the sunrises and sunsets in this land of huge skies. And I have spent time alone (and with just Melissa) taking it all in. So many memorable highlights…The thrill of catching glimpses of the endangered Red Wolves that call this landscape home. Seeing the occasional ghost of the woods, the Bobcat, as they move in perfect harmony with the land. We watched otters play and catch fish, raptors search for and catch their prey, and a rattlesnake that surprisingly was active in January for a few years at the base of the same hollow cypress tree. And so much more, so many species, such beauty, such quiet. In my mind, there is nowhere in the East like it, so much so, that I once dubbed this place the Yellowstone of the East after my other favorite haven for wildlife.
But, in winter, it has always been the birds that brought me back. The magnificent spectacle and abundance of feathered beings. The elegance of the swans, graceful with their soothing calls and seemingly calm manner (of course, watching them you soon realize they can squabble with the best of them). And the gregarious Snow Geese that come and go wth such energy and sound, dominating the sky and claiming it as their own. The combination is spell-binding and gives all who witness it a better understanding of the true meaning of the word awe. This will be my memory of this place, a place of awe and wonder and birds and bears. Thank you, Pungo, for feeding my soul for so many years.
On many trips I’ve led, especially ones where we see large groups of wildlife, someone asks about the collective noun for whatever species we’re observing. Whether it’s a romp of otters or a symphony of swans, it’s always fun to look that up and/or make it up (because “symphony” is not the legit collective noun for swans, but I think it should be… it’s way better than flock or bevy or lamentation).
Apparently one of the options for a group of butterflies is a kaleidoscope. That word is quite fitting for the spectacle we witnessed on our visit to El Rosario Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary, our second and final spot to see the overwintering monarchs on our Mexico’s Magical Migrations Institute. El Rosario is the best known and most visited of the butterfly sanctuaries, and for the past few years at least, it has hosted the largest proportion of the monarch population overwintering in Mexico.
My amazing co-leaders at the entry to the Reserve: Martha Fisk (Museum, left) and Jessie Birckhead (EcoQuest, right).
As we approached the parking area for the reserve, the sky was blue and cloudless, a good sign for more flying monarchs than we’d seen the day before at Sierra Chincua. We quickly moved past the numerous stalls selling all sorts of butterfly-themed souvenirs, climbed a short set of steps, and hopped onto the horses that would take up closer to the roosting area. The trail was steep, and a few of the horses had quite a bounce in their step. This wasn’t to the liking of all the riders in our group, but I loved the ride and enjoyed checking out more wildflowers that reminded me of home on the trailsides. Again, the final climb was on foot and at high elevation. As we approached the roosting area, we started seeing monarchs flying here and there under the blue sky, some hanging on flowers to nectar, a few landing at the edge of a small stream to drink and gather minerals.
A male monarch perched on vegetation. You can tell it’s a male by the two dots on the hind swings (scent poucnes).
When we arrived at the area where the butterflies had clustered the previous night, the numbers flying over and around us crescendoed. In looking through my pictures and videos, though I took hundreds, so few of them really do justice to the spectacle we witnessed. Like at Chincua, there were branches of the oyamel fir trees just dripping with butterflies. And everywhere you looked there were butterflies in flight, some taking off from clusters, some returning. As the day continued to warm, there were more and more — low, high, among the branches, or landing on people and flowers and shrubs and the ground.
There were many more people visiting El Rosario than Cihincua. I assume this was in part due to the popularity of this reserve, but also because it was a Saturday and more locals were able to visit. But, if you turn the audio on in any of these videos, you will hear very little human-created sound. That’s because, once again, there was a huge level of respect for the spactacle we were witnessing, and people were nearly silent as we stood in awe with our heads tilted to the sky, trying to take in as much as we could.
My friend and co-leader, Martha, watching the monarchs.
There were ropes around the area where most of the monarchs were, keeping people from getting to close to the main roost sites. A number of locals were working, keeping an eye on visitors and adjusting the location of the ropes as the butterflies formed new clumps. I spent much of my time as close as I could get to the roped off end of the trail, watching the butteflies come and go from the main roost trees. Eventually, it was time to head back down the mountain. Only then did I realize that there was so much more to see and experience behind me! As the butterflies had been taking off from their roosts, huge numbers of them had been seeking out sunny areas to rest and nectar just downslope.
Even more more monarchs were flying in the sunny areas between trees.
Perhaps best of all, at the small stream where we had seen two or three monarchs drinking and gathering minerals on our way up, hundreds had gathered!
The gathering of butterflies in the muddy area along the stream.The number of butterflies nearly on top of one another, and so close to where we could observe them, was magical.The colors and patterns in their wings were mesmerizing.
Of course, we all had to take selfies with the monarchs by the stream. This one is particularly special to me. I’m with Doug Clark, an elementary school teacher from Lincolnton. Just two and a half years into my career at the Museum, I had the opportunity to move into a role doing teacher education full-time (prior to that, I worked in the Naturalist Center and only helped with teacher workshops occassionally). Doug’s school was one of the first I ever visited in my new role as Teacher Education Specialist. I watched and learned alongside Doug as Mike taught the group of teachers about native plants and birds and monarch butterfiles, among other things. As part of the program, we helped establish a butterfly garden at the school. Doug has kept that garden up through the years (with some additional Museum help and new plants when it got herbicided at one point), and has tagged hundreds of monarchs with students and his own children over the years. As Mike likes to say, Doug is “doing it.” He’s doing the hard work, year after year. And he’s stuck with it, which is not easy to do with all the challenges facing teachers these days. Doug has been on a few local workshops with us over the years, but this was the first time he had applied to be part of one of our bigger Institutes. And what a perfect one to share with him. Thanks, Doug, for all you do for your students. You are inspiring the next generation to love the natural world, and that is one of the most important things anyone can do!
As my last weeks as a full-time Museum employee are upon me, I’m spending a lot of time reflecting on my 20 years there. As with everything, there’s good and bad, challenges and joys. It’s been a kaleidoscope of experiences, people, and places. But at the heart of it all is what this moment with Doug exemplifies: it has been a true privilege to share the natural world with educators who are making a difference in the lives of others.
Just one more picture of monarchs, because I can’t help it. They’re amazing!
Roads End Naturalist 