There was a poetry reading yesterday at the North Carolina Botanical Garden in Chapel Hill entitled Poetry with Wings. As part of the Garden’s Saving Our Birds programming initiative this Fall, five local poets were invited to read poems that touch on birds in some way It was a wonderful event with a wide range of poetry and presentation. Melissa was one of the poets and presented ten of her works. From time to time, I will share one of her poems, along with some accompanying photos. Here is one of my favorites from yesterday’s reading…
The View From My Porch
by Melissa Dowland
When did we forget how to be kind to other another?
When did we stop listening
to all but our own voices
and those shouting the same things?
When did we start judging others so closely
that we forgot that we all learn
by making mistakes?
When did we allow fear to become the driving force
behind our decisions
as individuals, and as a culture?
The male woodpecker
just fluffed his black-and-white feathers
and, head down,
drove the female
from her perch.
Then the blue jay swooped in,
loud and raucous
with his threatening hawk-mimic call
and drove even the bossy woodpecker
away.
The wood-pewee sits still on a branch,
watching and waiting.
Then dashes to a flower
and seizes a brilliant yellow
butterfly
that was, a moment ago,
floating on a slow current of air.
With a quick shake and gulp
the butterfly is gone.
Four hummingbirds zip about
in constant motion, wings an emerald blur.
With a clatter, two collide,
then zoom apart, unhurt.
They are so keen on protecting
their spot at the feeder
that none can stop to drink.
A box turtle slowly moves
through the strawberry patch,
her nails shuffling the soil,
the soft leather of her legs and neck
contracting with each movement
her head outstretched,
seemingly unafraid
though the cleft in her shell,
just above the neck,
should give her cause to behave otherwise.
I often write about my deep desire
to step away from my humanity
and connect with the natural rhythms,
to live in tune with the natural world.
But maybe, it is our humanity
that we truly need.
Maybe our humanity allows us
to experience the joy
of watching a box turtle
and see the harsh beauty
in the instinctual behavior of a bird.
Maybe our humanity is what allows us to be kind.
Each year insects heavily attack northern red oak acorns and destroy a large percentage of them, greatly reducing the number of acorns available to produce seedlings and feed wildlife.
~Lester P. Gibson
No, this isn’t what you think…it really is a post about acorns (I need a break from the other nuttiness). It is a quick follow-up to my recent post on acorn weevils. I became fascinated with the goings-on inside acorns after seeing the weevil larva pull itself out of the nut and wanted to learn more.
It is a very good year for acorns (click photos to enlarge)
I collected 100 acorns and did the float test I mentioned in that first post (I used only white oak acorns for this test although the photo above shows both white and northern red oak acorns). An astonishing 45 out of 100 acorns were floaters, indicating they were “unsound”, which means they possibly had acorn weevil larvae or some other insect inside. I separated those out and placed them in a plastic tub and have been collecting the larvae that emerge. In the last week, 13 insect larvae were found crawling around in the tub. Most were the large chubby weevil grubs I found before, but a few were different.
Acorn insect larvae
The photo above shows samples of the three types of larvae that have emerged…the large weevil grub on the right; a much smaller weevil grub in the middle; and a moth larva on the left.
Acorn weevil larvae – big and little
A few of the grubs were small versions of the chubby acorn weevil larvae. These may be from a different species of weevil rather than simply smaller versions of the dominant larvae I have seen. Online resources state there is another acorn weevil with a short (less than half its body length) rostrum that lays its eggs in acorns that are on the ground (the species I showed in the last post, with the long rostrum, lays eggs in developing acorns on the tree). And it appears there may be more than one species of weevil that lays eggs in developing acorns, so the small larva shown in the middle above could certainly be that of a different species.
Acorn moth larva (left) and acorn weevil larva (right)
There was also one caterpillar that crawled out of an acorn this week. From what I can decipher from scattered references, there may be a couple of species of small moths that lay eggs in acorns. The information I found suggests they lay eggs into existing cracks or openings in acorns (including the exit holes of acorn weevil larvae), although one reference also stated at least one species of moth caterpillar can chew through the shell of an acorn.
Acorn moth larva
The moth caterpillars are easily distinguished from the weevil larvae by their more elongate shape, and the presence of three pair of legs just behind the head capsule (the weevil larvae lack legs). I placed several of the insect larvae in small containers with potting soil and hope to rear them to see what emerges next spring (or whenever since some may take more than one year). The literature indicates a wide range in the percent of any years’ acorn crop that is infected with insect larvae, depending on location and oak species. The study cited in the opening quote found an average of 52% of the northern red oak acorns at a site in Ohio were damaged by insects of various sorts. My very limited “study” indicates 45% are unsound.
Hickory nuts with exit holes
And it’s not just in acorns. It is also a good year for the hickory nuts in our woods, and, much to my surprise, I am finding a small percentage that have very neat exit holes in them. These nuts have much harder and thicker shells than acorns, so it will be interesting to see what is making them (I am assuming a weevil larva of some sort). Seems like there are some pretty amazing things going on out there in the forest.
I am looking for acorns these days, to sow on the Walden lot, but can find very few sound ones…I found by trial that the last or apparently sound acorns would always sink in water, while the rotten ones would float, and I have accordingly offered five cents a quart for such as will sink.
~Henry David Thoreau, 1859
In spite of this fact being around for over one hundred years (at least), I found out about it only after I started working at the museum 20+ years ago. But, first, let me explain my introduction to the creature that is often the cause of this phenomenon of the floating acorn. I was preparing a lesson for a class years ago and decided to do something on acorns (it was a very good mast year that year). I collected a batch of acorns from a couple of different oak species and was going to have students observe and sketch them. I placed the nuts in a pan and after a couple of days, I noticed some movement in my acorn stash…small, chubby little grubs. There were a lot of them…what the heck were these things?
Beetle grub from an acorn (click photos to enlarge)
I quickly learned they were the larvae of the acorn weevil, Curculiosp.
Acorn weevil adult
Weevils are one of the largest families of insects, with over 2500 species thought to inhabit North America (that’s over three times as many weevils as there are species of birds that breed on North America).
I photographed this adult, the only one I have ever found, in late August a few years ago
True weevils are generally small beetles (less than 1/4 inch) with a long snout (rostrum) that remind some of the trunk of an elephant. Their antennae are bent in the middle (geniculate) and are located about half-way down the rostrum. The basal portion fits into a groove in their snout when they are feeding. Their mouth parts are located at the tip of that long snout and are used to chew holes in plant material and, in the case of acorn weevils, through the shell of developing acorns. Females do this in summer and create chambers in the nut meat and then lays eggs into them. Eggs hatch in a few days and the larvae begin feeding on the acorn meat. From what I could decipher in various reports, it looks like larvae feed for a couple of weeks before emerging. I have found as many as three of the larvae in one acorn, although studies suggest those sharing an acorn may develop more slowly. The grubs usually emerge within a few days after the acorn drops to the ground.
Acorn weevil larva emerging from a nut
While on our recent camping trip at Grayson Highlands, we were lucky enough to witness one emerging. Melissa looked down and noticed something white on the side of an acorn. When we realized what it was, I ran and grabbed my camera.
Almost out
Luckily, it is not an easy process, so I was able to get back in time to grab a few images as it struggled out. The larva chews a small hole that looks just large enough for its head capsule. It then must squeeze its chubby little body through this tiny hole by means of a series of gyrations and contractions.
Amazing that this grub can fit through so small a hole
The grub finally pulled free and dropped to the ground. It immediately started crawling about, probing into the soil.
Acorn weevil larva digging into soil
I lingered and watched, hoping to see it disappear into the soil. But, it just couldn’t seem to make up its little grub mind as it would crawl, dig, crawl, and dig some more. I finally gave up and left it to its decision-making. I have since watched one dig rapidly into loose soil in a container I placed it in, so this burrowing behavior is likely influenced by soil characteristics. Online resources differ somewhat as to what happens next in the weevil’s life cycle. This may be because there are several species of weevil that lay eggs in the acorns of several different oak species, and they all may have somewhat different life cycle details. The grubs dig down into the ground and create an earthen chamber around them. They overwinter like this, pupate, and emerge the following summer, or, according to some sources, up to three years later. However long it may take this little guy to transform, we feel lucky to have witnessed this brief portion of an amazing creature’s life.
Floaters and sinkers
Now, back to Thoreau’s observations…gather some acorns and drop them in water, and you will find there are, indeed, floaters and sinkers. Turns out there are several things that can cause an acorn to float – a cracked shell, fungi that has spread through the meat of the nut, or one or more species of insects that feed on acorn meat. All probably introduce air pockets into the nut and make it less dense. This also leads to another, albeit not quite as clear, indicator of soundness in acorns. Good ones (the sinkers) bounce when dropped on a hard surface like a floor; those with weevils or other “impurities” (floaters) drop with a thud and hardly bounce at all.
A “good” acorn
“Sound” acorns contain dense white meat when opened.
Open up a floater and you may see thisLarvae usually make a quick get-away when exposed
The “unsound” acorns usually contain some dark areas in their meat (or may be totally dark). The two above show weevil larvae and their feeding tunnels, along with frass and some debris from feeding activity.
In researching for this post, I came across a recent blog on acorn weevils by Charley Eiseman, one of the authors of the excellent reference, Tracks and Signs of Insects and Other Invertebrates. This guy does some great work and he includes a wonderful video clip of a larva chewing its way out of an acorn…guess there is still more acorn watching in my future (and, I hope, in yours).
There was no variation in his manner of proceeding all the time I observed him. He was alert, cautious, and exceedingly methodical.
~John Burroughs, on observing a chipmunk, 1894
On our recent mountain trip, we camped at Hickory Ridge Campground at Grayson Highlands State Park. In addition to several maple, birch and (appropriately) hickory trees, there were a lot of northern red oaks.
The forest provided a good mast year and plenty of places to feed and hide (click photos to enlarge)
Like back home, it appears to be a good mast (the nuts of forest trees) year at the park. And that means lots of activity by the forest dwellers to gather, eat, and store these nuts. We saw several gray squirrels working in the trees and underneath, but, the dominant forest floor activity, by far, was the busy to-and-fro movements of Eastern chipmunks, Tamias striatus. Both mornings in camp, while sipping our morning coffee and tea, we enjoyed watching them going about their busy lives. They had definite paths from one tree trunk to another, often ending atop a boulder where they were feeding. But, the second morning, I saw one do something you don’t think of a ground squirrel doing…
This chipmunk was a real tree climber
…climb a tree. I remember the first time I saw that years ago was when one of my dogs startled a chipmunk out in the yard. The little chippie ran straight up a tree trunk to a height of about 20 feet, then turned and scolded us both. Turns out, many Eastern chipmunks are regular tree climbers, either to escape danger or to collect nuts like acorns and hickory nuts.
Eastern chipmunk eating something on its shelf fungus perch
This particular chipmunk had a routine that took it from foraging on the ground under some scattered trees, up the back side of a black locust tree near our campsite, and then out to a shelf fungus projecting off the tree just beneath a fork in the trunk. The first time I saw it, the fungus was in the shade, and the chippie dropped down onto the ground right as the rising sun was about to illuminate its perch. But, being creatures of habit, it soon returned and proceeded to feed on some small morsel it had scavenged on the ground.
This chippie had two trees it liked to climb
On its next trip to the ground, it scurried through the leaf litter about 75 feet and climbed a different tree and soon perched in a prominent spot atop a broken limb.
Always on the alert for danger
This tree had a large cavity in deep shade near this broken limb, and the chipmunk visited that area a couple of times as if storing some food from its cheek pouches. But it would always pause on the broken limb and look around for potential danger (and to see where that guy with the camera had moved to).
Chipmunk with acorn
Chowing down on an acorn
After one foraging foray, the chipmunk returned to its perch with an acorn. Naturalists have observed that Eastern chipmunks are capable of carrying as many as 6 acorns at once in their cheek pouches and mouth, but this little guy seemed content with just one at at time. After chewing on it for a minute or so, the acorn fell to the ground. I’m not sure whether the drop was by choice or by accident, but the chipmunk didn’t run off to retrieve it. Instead, it began what some say is its second favorite activity…
When not foraging or on alert, chipmunks are often grooming
…a bout of grooming. This chipmunk did a lot of grooming on both of its tree perches, but the motion is so fast that my image was usually blurred in the low morning light. After taking way too many photos of our cute little friend, I finally had to put away the camera and finish packing up the gear. All the while, the little striped ground squirrel kept up its busy pace of feeding, grooming, and looking for danger. Indeed, as Thoreau observed one autumn (in 1858) at Walden Pond, What a busy and important season to the striped squirrel! [He] is already laying up his winter store.
Post script – Ironically, as I finished writing this, I heard both a gray squirrel and a chipmunk giving alarm notes out back. I went outside expecting to see either a hawk, snake, or cat, but found no sign of a predator still around. The low-pitched clucking note of chipmunks is a woodland sound that fooled me years ago when I first heard it, thinking it was some sort of bird. Listen here for the various chipmunk alarm calls. The note I just heard occurs after the high-pitched chipping alarm on this audio file. Research shows a tendency for the high-pitched notes to be given when a terrestrial predator is spotted, and the low-pitched notes when an aerial predator is nearby.
Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity.
~John Muir
I think thousands of people must have read this quote last Sunday and headed to my favorite Virginia state park, Grayson Highlands.
Our campsite at Grayson Highlands State Park (click photos to enlarge)
The parking lots were all packed on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, so we just set up camp and hiked out the short trail to Big and Little Pinnacles, hoping the crowds would die down for our longer hike on Monday.
View from Big Pinnacle
View from Little Pinnacle
The trail to the Twin Pinnacles is a short 1.6 mile loop that starts behind the Visitor Center at the end of the park road. On the way out to the pinnacles, you walk though a forest with scattered spruce, rhododendron, and abundant yellow birch…
including one of my all-time favorite trees – a birch that embraces a boulder just down the trail off the Little Pinnacle.
Though known for its expansive views, the park also offers beauty when viewed up close
After a blustery night in the campground, we headed up to a now almost deserted parking lot at Massie Gap on Monday morning. I have been going up to this area for as long as I can remember, visiting my grandparents and my Aunt Ruth every summer when I was a kid. I fondly remember climbing over the boulders and picking (and eating) the sweet huckleberries that are so abundant in late summer. I have been back many times since, but usually for short visits or just a night of camping. Melissa and her sister backpacked the area two weeks ago and proclaimed it the best hiking in the region (the area was named one of the top ten hiking areas in America in a Backpacker Magazine article in 2011), so we decided to go back and take in some of the many miles of trails that crisscross this mountain paradise. Our route would take us roughly along the trails that Melissa had walked two weeks ago, but, since we were doing it in a single day instead of two, we took a few shortcuts, making our total hike about 10 miles.
Our 10-mile day hike
Our route took us from Massie Gap (just off bottom center of map) up to the Appalachian Trail (AT, purple line). We hiked northeast to the Wise shelter; then took the Scales Trail (dark red dashed line) to Scales; the Crest Trail northwest to its juncture with the Pine Mountain Trail (black dashed line); Pine Mountain Trail southwest to Rhododendron Gap; then the Wilburn Ridge Trail south and back to Massie Gap.
The first ridge above Massie Gap offers spectacular views
The weather was perfect as we started our hike up from the popular starting point at Massie Gap, although the wind was pretty strong, with gusts approaching 20+mph on occasion. The views in this area are spectacular and the terrain reminds me of being out West, with big Montana-like skies, and a mix of conifers, open meadows and huge rock outcrops.
Witch hazel flower and open seed capsule
Witch hazel blooms stand out against a blue sky
All along the lower pars of the trail, we saw the odd-looking late blooms of witch hazel, Hamamelis virginiana. The flowers are much more noticeable on trees that already had lost their leaves. This widespread shrub/small tree blooms later than almost all other plants in the region and, surprisingly, relies on whatever insects may still be active for pollination. The genus name, Hamamelis, means “together with fruit”, since this year’s flowers occur simultaneously with the ripening fruit from last year. Fruit capsule splits explosively with an audible pop, ejecting the seeds up to several feet.
Down off the ridges, the forest is beautiful
We appreciated the times the trail traversed through the trees, sharing the beauty of the forest, and giving us a break from the winds.
Wise shelter on the AT
I was impressed by the Wise shelter on the AT – a nice structure in a beautiful setting next to a creek.
Seed heads of cotton grass indicate a boggy habitat
Near the Wise shelter and all along the Scales Trail, we saw seed heads of cotton grass, Eriophorum virginicum. This is one of several species found in the scattered mountain bogs in the area. I definitely want to come back in the spring and see what interesting wildflowers may occur in them.
Virgin’s bower seed heads
From a distance, the seed puffs of virgin’s bower, Clematis virginiana, look a little like the round seed heads of cotton grass. But, close-up, they are a light, feathery head of white “hairs” that occur in groupings along a twisting vine. This is a native Clematis with male and female flowers on separate plants.
Sunny days make for interesting shadows and highlights along the trail
The combination of wind and sun made for an interesting hike in terms of temperatures – cold in the wind, warm when protected from it. We saw several species of butterflies out and about including buckeyes, commas, and American coppers. Bird life included crows, ravens, a red-tailed hawk, and lots of robins and juncos. We hiked a few miles with only distant glimpses of probably the most famous inhabitants of these mountains, the wild ponies, but that would soon change.
We encountered our first ponies along the Crest Trail
Various online sources state the ponies were released into these highlands by the U.S. Forest Service around 1975. The purpose was to control the growth of shrubs in the balds of the high country. The balds formed in the late 1800’s after extensive logging and fires. Cattle grazing kept the areas open until the creation of the park in the mid-1960’s. The pony herd has grown to over a hundred animals and is now maintained by periodic round-ups and auctions of excess colts.
Wild ponies on Pine Mountain Trail
We came across more of the herd grazing in a meadow along the Pine Mountain Trail. Park regulations prohibit feeding or petting of the ponies, but don’t mention what to do when they start following you, as a couple of them did to us as we passed along the trail.
Sometimes the ponies can be very curious
They seem friendly enough (although park signs warn that they may to bite and kick) and certainly are beautiful, but I have read a few accounts online about some being pests at backpacker campsites. But these just seemed curious about us (probably hoping for a handout) and we soon left them to their grazing.
The aptly named Rhododendron Gap
Several trails converge at Rhododendron Gap, a saddle in the mountain ridge that is covered in its namesake flowering shrub. Looks like a place we certainly want to visit in June when the display is at its peak.
Wilburn Ridge
The trail up Wilburn Ridge is a bit of a rocky scramble, but the views are amazing once you break out into the open. The ridge is named for Wilburn Waters, a famous hunter and trapper that called these highlands home in the mid-1800’s. Rumors have it some relatives said my Dad, in his youth, was like Wilburn, for his tendency to be out roaming these mountains in pursuit of fish and game. Who knows, maybe that’s one more reason I find these rocky balds so appealing. The highest peak in Virginia, Mount Rogers, rises nearby and, on a clear day, you can see far into North Carolina with views of iconic peaks like Roan Mountain and Grandfather Mountain on the horizon.
The amazing campsite Melissa had on her last trip
After climbing off the highest rock outcrop (where the wind was blowing a steady 15+ mph), Melissa took me to the campsite she and her sister shard on their recent backpacking trip. What a view it must be of both sunrise and sunset, with rolling ridges of blue as far as the eye can see. We will be back on another trip I am sure, most likely backpacking next time, and, hopefully, when the winds are not as gusty.
A lone snag stands guard on Wilburn Ridge
The elevation on Wilburn Ridge is somewhere around 5500 feet, but the rock outcrops and balds make it seem much higher.
Iconic fall scene in the highlands – mountain ash berries and boulders
Mountain ash berries offer a splash of color all over these balds
The fall colors were past peak on our hike, but the palette was still beautiful with shades of brown, the grays of boulders, the dark greens of spruce and fir, and the bright red berries of mountain ash against a brilliant blue sky. American mountain ash, Sorbus americana, is not related to ash trees, but is a member of the rose family, containing trees such as apples and cherries. The berry-like pomes can remain on the trees much of the winter and are a favorite food of birds such as robins and cedar waxwings.
Cluster of American mountain ash fruit on moss
Whether lying along the trail or swaying in the winds at the tips of branches, the bright red-orange fruit of the mountain ash are emblematic of the high country and brisk mountain air this time of year.
Muir was right…the mountains are calling…
We wrapped up our hike about 6 pm and headed back to our campsite. The wind was starting to die down a little, the temperatures were dropping, and our bodies felt that good sort of tiredness that comes from spending a day hiking these hills. It was a great reminder that you don’t have to travel to the far corners of the globe to experience natural wonders and fantastic vistas. They can be found in the memories of childhood not far from home.
To climb a tree is for a child to discover a new world.
~Friedrich Frobel, 1826
It has been a very busy couple of weeks so you may have noticed my posts have been a bit slow in coming. Last weekend we finished celebrating our birthdays with a different sort of birthday surprise…a private tree climb with Patrick of Piedmont Tree Climbing.
Our tree, Willie, at Blackwood Farm Park in Orange County (click photos to enlarge)
I had wanted to do this a few months ago at a public tree climbing he hosted at the NC Botanical Garden, but it quickly filled up before I could get us registered, so I have had it in the back of my mind as a different type of gift ever since. Melissa loves tree houses and other things “tree”, so I thought this would be fun. The day was beautiful and we headed over to Blackwood Farm Park to climb a huge willow oak known as Willie. According to Patrick’s web site, Willie is estimated to be over 100 years old with a height of 85 feet and a crown spread of about 82 feet. The trunk is massive with a circumference of a little over 11 feet. Willie’s huge branches reach out across a clearing near an old homestead surrounded by forests and fields.
Getting ready
Patrick is an easy-going instructor and quickly helped us get geared up and ready to climb.
Melissa zooming up into the canopy
Moving up the tree is relatively easy thanks to some “magic” knots, a somewhat comfortable harness, and your own leg power. There are several ropes to climb that take you into different parts of the tree and provide some different challenges. I admit to it taking me a few times before I figured out how to best grasp the rope to avoid knocking my knuckles every time on the knots, but it really is pretty straightforward.
Part of the fun for Melissa was walking in Willie’s “arms”
You can go at your own pace, rest, hang out or walk out on a limb, or head over to one of two resting spots…
The air chair (upper left) and hammock (lower right)
After climbing the rope to the highest part of the tree, I came down and went over to the rope to the hammock and chilled for a bit. The views are beautiful, and it certainly is a different perspective on the outdoor world.
View from the canopy
While up there I took some time looking at lichens, leaves, and some of the numerous ants crawling on the branches more than 60 feet up in the air. It really makes me want to know more about the life in the treetops, especially in the huge woods back home.
As we wrapped up the session, I asked Patrick about the next group I saw gathering, a children’s birthday party. He said children are great climbers, are fearless, and they have so much less wight to have to pull up…I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by that. No matter, I look forward to another outing in the trees and can definitely recommend it as a way to gain some new appreciation for the sentinels of our forests.
There is magic in the feel of a paddle and the movement of a canoe, a magic compounded of distance, adventure, solitude, and peace. The way of a canoe is the way of the wilderness and of a freedom almost forgotten. It is an antidote to insecurity, the open door to waterways of ages past and a way of life with profound and abiding satisfactions. When a man is part of his canoe, he is part of all that canoes have ever known.
~Sigurd F. Olson
It has become a tradition of ours to go out into the wilds on our birthdays, and this year was one of the best. Several friends had talked about their trips to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA) of Minnesota and whetted our appetite for such an adventure. We contacted Ely Outfitting Company and discussed options (I would recommend them). After a lot of planning and packing (thank you, Melissa, for all that hard work) the morning of my birthday found us eating breakfast at a wonderful little restaurant in downtown Ely, anxious to hit the water.
Our route in the BWCA Wilderness (click photos to enlarge)
We chose the Moose River North to Mudro Lake route based on conversations with the outfitters and research online. It was deemed a bit more difficult, but is purportedly one the guide’s favorite routes due to the remoteness and diversity of habitats traversed. We would end up paddling about 40 miles and portaging 20 times for a distance of over 4 miles, with one portage being a little over a mile in length (something to look forward to…not). The outfitters provide a shuttle service so we left a car at the take-out and rode to the put-in with the shuttle driver. I admit to being surprised at the number of vehicles in both parking lots on a Thursday morning, but the BWCA is a very big place (over a million acres of designated wilderness) with over 1200 miles of canoe routes. We started with a half-mile portage from the road before we could drop the canoe in the water.
Carrying the canoe was the best job on any portage
Our canoe was a Wenonah 18-footer made of Kevlar and weighing in at about 46 pounds (probably half the weight of my old 16-ft canoe at home). We packed our gear in two dry bag packs (each probably weighing 40+ pounds at our start), plus two smaller dry bags with essential items that we might need access to while paddling – rain gear, gloves, maps, binoculars, camera, snacks, water bottle, etc. After our first portage where we carried it all in one trip, we decided to use a shuttle system when portaging – one person takes the canoe, the other carries half the remaining gear about half-way and drops it. That person then returns to the start for the remainder of the gear. The canoe person drops the canoe at the other end and then comes back for the first load of gear that has been dropped halfway. That minimizes the amount of walking that we both had to do on each portage. Luckily, many portages are relatively short, but many are either rocky, steep, muddy, or some combination. But, once you do it a few times, it just becomes routine and is a chance to stretch your legs. Plus, it seemed each portage took us into a totally different habitat.
Our first day had gray skies, calm winds, and hints of fall color
The outfitter had recommended campsites along the route but we were free to choose our own (you cannot reserve campsites, even though a permit system exists for entry into BWCA to limit the number of people in any one area). Each lake we traversed had one, or often, many more campsites, each with a US Forest Service installed fire grate and portable toilet.
We had incredible views at our campsites
Campsite amenities varied but this stone table was the highlight
Our twice daily ritual of filtering water (usually 4 water bottles each time)
The woodland throne, a room with a view
We hung a bear/mouse bag each night and stored all our food in bear canisters
A surprise camp visitor on our first morning at Lake Agnes
Our main camp critter turned out to be a species of woodland mouse at almost every campsite (7:30 p.m. was reliably “mouse thirty” as they all seemed to come out about then each evening). We ended up hanging all of our gear in a bear bag each night to prevent any mischievous rodent chewing. Once you have a mouse or two run across the top of your tent at night, you become keenly aware of their potential. On our first morning we had a surprise visitor, a handsome black bear. I was digging in my bag for something when I heard Melissa say, “Oh my God, there is a bear”. Looking up, indeed, there was a healthy adult bear ambling into camp, nose in the air. The photo above was one of two I took with my iPhone before we yelled at the bear to move on, which it obligingly did. Other than that, camp life was very quiet. We soon got into our 8-day routine of paddling, portaging, setting up camp, eating some very good meals, and enjoying the incredible night sky.
Steep granite cliffs provided the canvas for early Native artisans
One of our destinations was to some rock cliffs just across the border in Canada on Lac La Croix. This is one of many places in this wilderness adorned with rock paintings. These pictographs are believed to be several hundred years old, created by local native tribes paddling these waters in birch bark canoes.
Hand prints
Faint bull moose silhouette
Another moose outline
Most of the paintings are reddish in color and lie beneath cliff overhangs, affording them some protection from the elements. Seeing these helped us realize the importance of these waters as a hunting, fishing, and trading route for many peoples over the past centuries, and made us even more appreciative to paddle in their long-gone wakes.
Another perfect view from a campsite rock
Our weather was extraordinary for this time of year with temperatures ranging from the 60’s each day to the 40’s at night (a bit colder the last two days with a strong wind). We had only one evening and morning with rain, so consider ourselves lucky. We saw at least one canoe every day but one, and had a lake to ourselves for two of the camps. Most campsites are incredibly beautiful with direct views onto the water and usually a large rock outcrop access for easy swimming (short, chilly swims this time of year). There is plenty of downed wood for small fires each night (and birch bark from downed trees is one of the best fire-starters imaginable). Plus, if you are so inclined, many of the lakes offer excellent fishing for walleye and pike. This really is a paddlers’ paradise.
Loons were a common sight along the route
The thing that really struck me was the quiet and feeling of solitude of the Northwoods. Of course we did hear the melancholy calls of loons on several lakes, but that is a soft, singular sound that seems to drift across the lake like an early morning fog. It is as much a part of this wilderness as are the clear cold waters or the pointed tops of the conifers. Once the call passes, the world seems to fall silent again. At each landing, we usually heard what must be considered the signature chatter of the Northwoods, the chirping of a red squirrel. They quickly moved on to gathering cones and mushrooms and the forest became quiet again. There was also the occasional call of a pileated woodpecker, the croak of a raven, or the tweet of some small song bird, but not the usual background noise of birds and insects I am accustomed to back home. Perhaps that is what makes the call of the loon all the more significant. And after dark, if the wind was not rustling (or blowing the last two nights) through the trees, there was virtually no sound (except for the one night a beaver decided to slap its tail in protest of our campfire on its shoreline).
I imagined that there must have been writers and naturalists inspired by this silence in such a vast expanse of wildness. Once I returned, I found the works of Sigurd F. Olson, an author, environmentalist, and long-time advocate for the protection of wilderness. He was a guide in what would become the BWCA and was instrumental in drafting the Wilderness Act of 1964. I found one of his quotes that spoke to the solitude and quiet of this magical place…
At times on quiet waters one does not speak aloud but only in whispers, for then all noise is sacrilege.
I leave you with a few other images from the trip. Because of portaging, I left most of my camera gear at home, so these are all taken with either an iPhone or an Olympus Tough point-and-shoot.
Our two days on the largest lakes were mercifully, and magically, as calm as any I have ever seen on the water
The northern version of “the wall” – international boundary marker in BWCA (I thought the first one I saw was some sort of can left behind by someone)
One of our more magical campsites, complete with large rock outcrops and a sandy beach
The quaking bog areas were among my favorite locations – if you venture out of your canoe, you literally can walk on trembling earth
The bogs were adorned with pitcher plants and sundews
Curtain Falls, one of the areas requiring a portage. We heard this falls from about a mile away on a calm day on the water.
Another beautiful campsite
Our view for over 4 miles of the journey
Reflections on a calm day
Colors and patterns of water shield and lily pads
Clouds and reflections on a perfectly calm day
Autumn meadowhawk dragonfly
Purple sunset one evening
We enjoyed the peak of fall colors during our final days on the water
Blue skies all but two days
Every sunset was spectacular
Our final landing at Mudro Lake
Life is good to those who know how to live. I do not ever hope to accumulate great funds of worldly wealth, but I shall accumulate something far more valuable, a store of wonderful memories. When I reach the twilight of life I shall look back and say I’m glad I lived as I did, life has been good to me.
~Sigurd F. Olson
Species seen or heard on trip:
Birds – Bald eagle (they welcomed us at every campsite); Red-tailed hawk, American kestrel, Merlin, Common Raven, American crow, Gray jay, Black-backed woodpecker (a new species for me); Northern flicker, Pileated woodpecker; Red-breasted nuthatch; Ruby-crowned kinglet; Black-capped chickadee; White-throated sparrow; Yellow-rumped warbler; Tennessee warbler; Belted kingfisher; Pied-billed grebe; Horned grebe; Common loon; Wood duck; Lesser scaup; Red-breasted merganser; Hooded merganser; Trumpeter swan; Canada goose; Ruffed grouse; American Golden Plover (a new species for us)
Mammals – River otter; Beaver; Black bear; Red squirrel; Chipmunk; Mouse (Deer or white-footed); Muskrat; Moose tracks
Reptiles and amphibians – Painted turtle; American toad; Bullfrog; Spring peeper; Garter snake
I cannot persuade myself that a beneficent and omnipotent God would have designedly created the Ichneumonidae with the express intention of their feeding within the living bodies of caterpillars…
~Charles Darwin, 1860
So strange are the habits of certain groups of wasps that they have caused many a person to look upon them in disbelief (and perhaps a little sense of dread or disgust). But, we owe them a great deal in terms of their ability to provide some biological control on many species of insects, including some that can damage our garden plants. Here are a couple of examples from recent weeks.
Stink bug eggs at the NC Botanical Garden (click photos to enlarge)
While walking around the NC Botanical Garden one day last week, I spotted this egg mass on a leaf. The general shape (like small barrels) and arrangement made me think some sort of true bug (Order Hemiptera), most likely a stink bug of some sort.
Parasitoid wasps emerging from eggs
When I got in close with my macro, something seemed odd. I can usually tell when these eggs hatch because the top of the “barrel” pops open like a lid. But these eggs had irregular holes with something coming out. As I zoomed in on my image, the creature emerging from the egg did not look much like a stink bug to me. At home, I referred to one of my go-to references, Tracks and Signs of Insects and Other Invertebrates, by Charley Eiseman & Noah Charney. Sure enough, I found this quote…”An irregular hole chewed in the top indicates the emergence of a chalcid or platygastrid wasp parasitoid”. In looking at more images online, it looks similar to some of the species in the genus Trissolcus, but I would need to collect some of them and send them off to an expert to be sure.
Pawpaw sphinx on deciduous holly
The reason I saw the stink bug eggs was that I saw a pawpaw sphinx on a nearby branch and stopped to photograph it. I had permission to collect a few caterpillars, share them with Garden staff for their programs, use them at BugFest, and then return them.
Parasitoid wasp on pawpaw sphinx larva
It wasn’t until I got home and looked at my image that I saw the caterpillar had company – a parasitic wasp was on its side, most likely laying eggs.The following tidbits are from a great article on one type of parasitoid wasp that attacks sphinx moth larvae. Female wasps are believed to locate their hosts via chemical cues released by the plant when its leaves are being chewed by the caterpillars. When she lays her eggs inside the caterpillar, the wasp also injects a venom and a symbiotic virus. The virus prevents the caterpillar’s immune system from attacking and killing the wasp eggs. Special hormones are released that also inhibit the development of the larval host.
Wasp larvae emerging from doomed caterpillar
I was surprised to see wasp larvae emerging only two days after I took the photo above as I had always assumed the larvae fed inside the caterpillar for many days before exiting their host. Indeed, the article mentioned above stated that the usual time from egg-laying to emergence from the host cuticle is 12-16 days. I suppose the wasp in the photo is laying additional eggs…I doubt her offspring will have much to feed on when the time comes.
Watching wasp larvae spin cocoons
Looking at the emerging wasp larvae, I could see them already beginning to spin their silken cocoons. I, unfortunately, had to be get back out in the field, so missed an opportunity to sit and watch (and perhaps video) this amazing, albeit somewhat gruesome, process.
Early instar of Nason’s slug caterpillar with braconid wasp cocoons
On the day of BugFest, we had another caterpillar with dorsal decorations. This species is so small that it can carry only a few parasitoid larvae. I include this image just to show what the completed cocoons look like. When the wasps emerge from the cocoons, usually in 3 to 8 days, it looks as though a lid has popped open at the end of the cocoon. It is, obviously, tough being a caterpillar (or a stink bug egg) when there are so many tiny wasps lurking out there, waiting to provide you with an alien surprise. And yet, they carry on, adapted to survive this and the many other hazards they encounter in their short, amazing lives.
Their twittering notes and whizzing wings create a musical, but wild, continued roar. The twittering, whizzing roar continues to increase; the revolving circle fast assumes a funnel shape, moving downward until the point reaches the hollow in the stub, pouring its living mass therein until the last bird dropped out of sight.
~Chief Pokagon, of Potawatomi tribe, 1897
People have long been fascinated by the gatherings of migrating chimney swifts, Chaetura pelagica. Each autumn, they gather in large flocks and seek out large chimneys in which to roost for the night. Of course, as my friend and chimney swift advocate, John Connors, says, they probably would have gone by another name a few hundred years ago, before chimneys became such a common sight on the landscape. Perhaps hollow tree swift? I personally like a phrase many people use to describe the way they look…flying cigars.
Chimney swifts starting to gather near sunset in Chapel Hill (click photo to enlarge)
The NC Botanical Garden recently had a lecture and a field program on chimney swifts, led by John, as part of their Saving Our Birds initiative. To prepare for the field portion, Melissa and I helped out by looking for a suitable roost site in Chapel Hill. Local birders suggested the chimney at the downtown post office had been used in the past, but when we arrived, it looked to be capped, preventing the birds from using it. We scanned the sky at sunset, looking for the tell-tale rapid wing beats of swifts. They tend to arrive as the sun is setting, a few at first, flying in wide circles high in the sky. Over the next half hour or so, the flock adds members and they tend to fly a bit lower. The birds were flying near us, but we could see several chimneys that might be suitable so we split up, looking for the swirl of birds that signifies the roost location. Finally, we both spotted the swifts beginning to circle in a location across Franklin Street from where we were. We rushed over and found them swirling around a small chimney on the back side of a row of businesses along the busy main drag of Chapel Hill. They started dropping in as darkness neared, even though this particular chimney provided some challenges to an easy entry. It had an arch over the opening and was topped by a large antenna. What amazed me was how few people in the crowds on the street seemed to notice this twittering tornado of a few hundred birds just above their heads.
We gather to learn from John as the swifts begin to gather
On the night of the program, a group of 40 or so birding enthusiasts gathered on a plaza with a good view of the sky and listened as John explained some of the marvels of these masters of flight. Here are just a few of the fascinating facts he shared about these winged wonders:
Among the most aerial of birds, chimney swifts fly almost constantly, except when roosting for the night or nesting. They feed, bathe, and may even nap on the wing.
Instead of perching on branches like most birds, they use their long claws (and brace their bodies with their stiff tail feathers) to cling to vertical surfaces like the walls of chimneys or the insides of hollow trees.
They use a glue-like saliva to cement their twig nest to the chimney wall.
We hurried across the street as storm clouds gathered and were rewarded with the sights and sounds of a few hundred swifts doing what others of their kind were doing all over our state at that same moment – making a living swirl of feathered creatures seemingly being sucked into a chimney for the night. I went back a few nights later to record a few moments of this phenomenon…
As the sky darkened, they started to maneuver into the narrow opening by dipping and dodging downward into their roost for the night.
John told our group that this species, one that has adapted so well to the presence of humans, is now facing threats. Nesting chimneys are rapidly disappearing as construction techniques have changed and people tend to cap their chimneys. Plus, the phenomenon of roost chimneys is also in rapid decline as more and more of the large old chimneys are torn down or capped. This is such a shame, as it is one of the few spectacles of nature that is often readily available to urban dwellers. John wrote a recent op-ed piece on this dilemma in Raleigh’s News and Observer that provides a great overview of the issues surrounding this species.
Awareness and concern about the plight of this species helped it become NC Audubon’s 2016 Bird of the Year. Check out that link to learn more about what we all can do to help this amazing bird.
And, you may want to check out this chimney swift live cam from a large roost in an old industrial smokestack in Detroit. Look in the evening over the next couple of weeks. I watched it last night and saw the first swift enter about 7:40 p.m. By about 8 p.m. they were all in for the night. Be sure to check them out in the morning as well as it takes some of them awhile to leave. Soon, the large flocks will move on toward their South American winter home. Before they return next spring and begin to search for suitable nest sites (only one pair nests per chimney), find out how you can help these remarkable flying cigars maintain their centuries old relationship with our species.
The View From My Porch 
The male woodpecker
Then the blue jay swooped in,
The wood-pewee sits still on a branch,
Four hummingbirds zip about
A box turtle slowly moves
Roads End Naturalist 