Minnesota Canoe Wilderness

Minnesota Canoe Wilderness

Pat Picking Wild Rice

September 20,1997

The strong westerly wind that blew whitecap waves on Moose Lake and swirled the colorful fall leaves of maple and yellow birch around our motorhome had died.  Habitually, I looked at the clock beside the bed - it was 3 a.m. and I was wide awake.  Then I heard what may have caused me to wake.  It was not the high-pitched “yip, yip, yip” and howl of our old friend coyote; it was the long, rich, mournful, howl that comes from the chest and throat of a much bigger animal.  First a single howl in a distance then joined by a chorus closer.  Pat rolled over and softly asked if I was awake.  “Wolves,” I guessed with some confidence.  Then we heard another much closer to our motorhome that we have recently christened with the name, “Serendipity.”  Pat bounced up out of bed, opened the sliding window, and peered out into the cool, still night to see if she would see a wolf.  But the light of stars was not bright enough - we could probably not have seen the wolf if it were crouched directly under our window.  Again the wolves began their chorus and were joined by another familiar sound.  Several common loons sang a tremulous, haunting, alto to accompany the baritone sounds of the wolves.  This was too much!  The first time we had ever heard wolves in the wild and they were accompanied by loons?  Even in our travels through Canada and Alaska, we had never heard a wolf.  Could not help but wonder if the sound of wolves had disturbed the loons.  Not too hard to imagine the instant fear engendered in a mother loon by the sound of a wolf in the night.

Wolf Sculptures

 

Is it pure coincidence that wolves are present here, when only 20 miles away, in Ely, is the home of the International Wolf Center?  When we were checked into the Canoe Country Campground,  one of the owners advised us about the wildlife that we could see in the area.  A moose sometimes wander through the campground similar to the Moose in Northern Exposure - one of my favorite TV shows.  But I digress.  The owner also mentioned that all the residents in the Ely area were not entirely convinced that having wolves in the area was a good idea.  He mentioned that one local turkey farmer lost more than 30 turkeys to wolves.  They (the wolves) also see dogs as competitors, so wolves kill dogs and coyotes whenever possible.  Interestingly, coyotes can be found in and around the cities and towns of Minnesota, but out in the wild forest, the wolf reigns supreme.

Sounds in the night are both a blessing and a curse when you live in a motorhome.  Near populated areas, the sounds of the highway and railway easily penetrate the walls of our RV.  But tonight there are no sounds of other humans.  No automobiles, airplanes, or even boat sounds break the silence of this night.  We have found the BWCAW or Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness of Northern Minnesota.  Signs along the highway instruct us to obtain an entry permit before entering.  The local visitor's guide features a photograph of Charles Karault’s smiling face.  His rounded body, creased dress pants, and polished dress shoes do not exactly fit my mental image of the rugged individual dressed for back-country comfort.  But there he sits in the photo with a paddle in hand as if ready to tackle the wilderness canoe trails.  This wilderness area around Ely, MN. was one of his favorite places as he traveled the USA in a motorhome.  We faintly remember his colorful descriptions of this area when he did his “On the Road” series and again on the “Sunday Morning” show.  His CBS show “On the Road” probably had a greater influence on our current lifestyle that I might care to admit.  Anyway, there are several RV parks in the Ely area, but we intentionally chose the most remote park that could still provide the creature comforts.   

 

I realize that old age is rapidly creeping up on us when it becomes clear that we prefer to enjoy nature comfortably.  We could easily visit a local outfitter, rent a canoe, tent, and other gear necessary for an extended canoe trip into the wilderness.  Entering Moose Lake, we could head north, cross Sucker Lake, portage across Prairie Portage and enter Canada through the Ely Port of Entry for aircraft, boats, and snowmobiles.  Then we could enter the vast canoe areas of Quetico Provincial Park in Canada, sleep on the ground, swat mosquitos, and watch other forms of wildlife.  Only a few years ago, the challenge of such an extended trip would have been difficult to pass.  But, now we seem satisfied to take day-hikes along the lakes, hills, and rivers or take day-canoe-rides.  So much for the joys of sleeping on the ground and inhaling smoke from a wet campfire.

However, the thought of staying in a remote cabin still has an appeal.  Tettegouche State Park, about 55 miles northeast of Duluth, offers such cabins for only about $60-$90 a day.  Some of the cabins remain from an early 1900's logging camp.  They provide modern beds, a kitchen stove, and plenty of wood for the fireplace, but the midnight-run to the outdoor toilet could be a challenge.  Sleeping bags, food, and other gear must be packed into this site that overlooks the Mic Mac Lake.   

 

On the hike to Baldy Mountain in Tettegouche Park, a panoramic view of the park is possible.  We could see the predominant peach-colored leaves of the red maple trees mixed with a few deep red ones.  Interspersed with the maples were stands of black oaks containing various shades of red leaves.  The yellow leaves of the aspens and birches mingled with the dark green colors of black and white spruces, red pine, and balsam fir.  In a distance, we could see columns of circling hawks on their southward migration against the background of Lake Superior.  While eating our picnic of peanut butter sandwiches and tart local apples, other sounds of the northern woods drifted to our ears.  “Listen,” I said,  “someone is starting a motor.”  The motor started slowly, roared to life, then died suddenly.  It sounded like a 2-cylinder engine that was running a little cold.  Later, we heard it start and die again.  But, it somehow sounded different - more like drumming than an internal combustion engine.  Then I remembered hearing the sound on some nature show on TV.  It was the sound of the ruffed grouse making its mating call by drumming the ground with its wings.  Later we saw some of these grouse so we could make a definitive identification based primarily on the crested head.

Raven

Earlier, while hiking up the side of Baldy Mountain, we heard the distinct call of the common raven.  A guttural “quark, quark, quark” distinguishes it from the “caw, caw, caw” of the crow.  On Moose Lake, I can hear them both for comparison.  Later, at the International Wolf Center in Ely, we got a first-hand observation of the close, commensal, relation between ravens and wolves.  In nature, ravens often follow wolves.  When wolves kill a deer or moose, there are usually plenty of scraps left for the Ravens.  At the Wolf Center, a pack of wolves can be called and lured out of the woods to a viewing area behind a large window.  Sure enough, a flock of ravens was also there.  The wolves were slow to emerge from the woods, but finally excited ravens announced the coming of wolves into a grassy viewing area.  Being a messmate with a wolf is not without its hazards.  Our guide explained that wolves have been observed to catch and kill careless ravens during the wolf demonstration.  We spent several hours learning about wolf biology and the demonizing of wolves throughout history.   

 

We left the center with the bottom-line message - wolves are predators that sometimes eat sheep and other barnyard animals but there is not a single documented case of a wolf killing and eating a human in the USA.  But to think that they have never eaten a human would be ideological folly.  They are not intrinsically good or evil.  If I were a turkey farmer in Ely, there might be ambivalent feelings about wolves.  But, they are not an animal to be greatly feared when walking the forest trails.  I am very happy that these very fascinating animals were not eradicated from the face of the earth - that a few will be preserved so that future generations can see and understand the roles of these complex critters in the natural world.

 

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Minnesota and Serendipity

Minnesota and Hawk Serendipity

Minnesota Colors

September 30, 1997

In our quest for fun and the excitement of new places, we continue to make fortunate discoveries by accident.  Such was the case when we arrived in Duluth, MN.  Checking into the Indian Point City Campground, the receptionist explained that we could have full hookups only for a single night — they were booked-up-solid for the weekend.  Wondering what attraction would fill an RV park in Duluth, I queried the receptionist.  She explained that it would be filled with birders.  They come from all over the world to watch migrating raptors on Hawk Ridge National Reserve.  This reserve overlooks downtown Duluth and provides a great, panoramic view of the coast and Lake Superior.  On cool, clear days when the wind is in the north, hawks migrating south out of Canada, approach the coast of Lake Superior and choose not to fly over the water.  Thus, they are funneled along the coast and are concentrated at Duluth.

The excitement of raptor aficionados is contagious.  These seasoned veterans of such well-known hawk-watching locations as Hawk Mountain Pennsylvania become excited whenever they see something unusual.  On this Friday in mid-September, unusual events seemed to occur fairly frequently.  The chief naturalist on this Audubon property, exclaimed “I just counted more than 900 ‘sharpies’ and ‘broad wings’ in that one ‘kettle’ and now they are beginning to ‘river.’  He was speaking a foreign language that was unintelligible to us until a few terms were defined.  Sharp-shinned (sharpies or shins) and broad-winged hawks are the two most abundant hawks counted on the ridge.  A “kettle” is a group of circling hawks that are gaining altitudes on uprising thermal air currents.  When they reach the top of the thermal, they stop circling and sail downwind in a single direction forming a “river” heading south.  There were about 900 hawks in one group, all heading south after they formed a “river.”  When we left the ridge about 6 P.M., the count of broad-winged hawks alone was about 20,000 for the day.  The record for a single day is more than 100,000.  Obtaining records is very important to these hawk watchers.

The challenge was to try to figure out how these experts can identify a hawk that is little more than a mere dot in the sky when viewed through 7X binoculars.  Broad-wing hawks have a fairly distinctive shape.  Their wings and tail are broad.   Sharp-shinned hawks can easily be confused with other accipiters (bird hawks) such as goshawks and Cooper's hawks.  But, the subtle differences are enough for the experts.  After looking at several thousand, we can begin to see the difference, but not with great confidence.  The profile of each species is slightly different.  Viewed from the front or rear, a northern harrier often holds its wings in a V-shape.  A broad-winged hawk holds its wings flat.  Viewed from below, the osprey forms an M-shape.  The other 11 species commonly observed on Hawk Ridge can be identified by various modifications of these characteristics.

Hawk Experts

Recognizing that we were rank amateurs at identifying migrating hawks, our first challenge is to overcome the timidity factor of being surrounded by experts.  When we first arrived on the ridge, it was Thursday evening and only two hawk-watchers were present.  Few hawks were flying so I felt free to pester them with my questions.  The first question was “What is the best raptor reference for the identification of hawks?”  They looked at each other and grinned.  The heavy, bearded one named Frank responded by reaching into the front seat of his pickup truck and handing me a copy of the “Peterson Field Guide - Hawks” by W. S. Clark and B. K. Wheeler.  “You can have it,” he said.  I protested and dug out the listed price from my wallet and handed it to him.  He took the money but then changed his mind and insisted that I take it back.  Then he introduced us to his colleague Brian Wheeler, the illustrator and author of the book.  We were in heady company.  He autographed our new but slightly worn copy.  We will treasure it forever — at least until we accidentally leave it on a stump after trying to identify some difficult hawk.  Hopefully, identifying hawks will be slightly less intimidating in the future.

 

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Minnesota and Voyageurs National Park

Minnesota and Voyageurs National Park

 

September 28, 1997

After several sunny and warm days, the last 3 days have been stormy with lots of rain and strong winds.  We had planned to travel to Voyageurs National Park three days ago, so have been watching the Weather Channel closely for a break in the weather.  A large low weather system moved out of the area last night and the forecast today was for warm, sunny weather.  But, as we prepared to leave, Pat heard the first light drops of rain on the roof.  The weather channel map shows that due to unstable conditions, a small batch of showers developed in one small area of Minnesota - directly on top of us.  Guess we should prepare for another day of catching up on the mail and reading indoors.  But, hopefully, the rain will stop and we can leave.  We had planned to be here in Ely, MN for about three days, but due to the rain, we have been here six.  There is a slight chance that we may see some snow flurries sometime this week.  The first three days here we experienced pleasant outdoor weather so that a canoe ride on Moose Lake was very enjoyable.  Not lots of wildlife, but saw several common loons, a family of otters, and a couple of immature bald eagles.  With the experience we obtained on Hawk Ridge with raptor experts, it is a little easier to detect the differences between turkey vultures and bald eagles from a distance. Saw lots of wild rice plants growing in the lake shallows.  The grain had already been harvested by some energetic local.  We have developed a gastronomic fondness for the nutty-flavored stuff.

Chatting with the owner of this RV park, I found that he was not as impressed with the wildlife here as I am.  At least he sees wildlife from a different perspective.  For example, he had two close calls with black bears this year.  A neighbor was feeding the bears, so they became too tame and started chasing folks around.  The owner was forced to kill 2 large bears when they became aggressive toward him.  One customer came to the office one day, explaining that he thought an earthquake had struck the area.  But looking out the window, he saw that it was only a large black bear that was standing up with its paws on the side of the motorhome and rocking it from side to side.  He hauled one of the dead bears across the lake and within two days it was totally consumed by the abundant wolves, ravens, and vultures in the area.  I had been admiring the ravens in the area, but he complained about how noisy they are in the spring.

He also complains about the winter activities of some of the local lodges.  When Moose Lake freezes, they take paying customers on dog-sledding trips into the Canoe Wilderness Areas.  It is expensive, but apparently in demand by reasonably wealthy and adventurous customers.  They carry camping gear on a sled and live out in the cold for several days.  The problem is that dog fecal matter does not decompose during the winter - it freezes.  During the spring thaw, the lake is covered with smelly, decomposing, dog poop.  Interestingly, in the summer pets are not allowed to defecate within 150 feet of the shoreline, but somehow exceptions are made in winter.

    

Yesterday we took a relaxing hike on a canoe portage trail to Ennis Lake where the local rock climbers go to get “high” on adrenalin.  We rested while watching a young couple prepare their ropes, drop over the edge, and dangle over the intimidating rocks far below.  A tiny chipmunk searched for food through their backpacks which lay on the edge of the cliff.  A grey squirrel ran back and forth, carrying pine cones to its winter cache.  (By midwinter, this area may have waist-deep snow and minus 30-degree temperatures).  Both animals were so busy that they largely ignored the humans.  

The small, deep lakes that we visited had interesting names such as “Secret,” “Blackstone,” and “Flash,” and serve to remind us of the power of the mile-deep glaciers that dug the trenches now holding the lakes.  The rock hilltops convey the impression that some giant with sandpaper had smoothed them.  When the molten lava that formed these hills was extruded, it first came into contact with water on the floor of the sea during the early Precambrian, 3.5 to 2.7 billion years ago - the earliest period that we know of.  It cooled so quickly that the lava formed an igneous greenstone which characterizes this area of the Canadian Shield bedrock.  The Huronian Iron Formations of Minnesota were laid down in the Animikean seas during the middle Precambrian about 2.6 to 1.6 billion years ago.  One-third of the world’s iron ore came from the Mesabi range that was first mined in 1890.  Interesting stuff - to me anyway.  The Sierra Club Naturalist’s Guide to the North Woods keeps us informed about all this stuff.

 

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Minnesota and Romancing the Loon

Minnesota and Romancing the Loon

October 6, 1997

The mournful vocalization of the common loon is the stuff of romance novels.  When its call echos over the still waters of a small lake, it often evokes an emotional response in humans.  But why does it make such a mournful sound?  The experts such as Paul Ehrlich, claim that their yodel call signals territorial ownership.  But, could it also signal concern that it may never become airborne again?  That when the cold winter winds come and the lake begins to freeze over, the poor loon will be frozen in ice?   Landing on a small lake is easy, but taking off is something else for a common loon.  Becoming airborne requires a major investment in loon energy.  Depending partly on how much food it has consumed and is currently digesting, a loon takes off by running upright across the water while flapping its wings as hard as it can.  According to the Itasca State Park Wilderness Guide, this “take off” may require from 75 to 1000 feet, depending on the wind.  For a loon that has landed in a small lake, leaving the lake can present a formidable obstacle.  If 1000 feet are needed, but the lake is only 900 feet wide, what is a self-respecting loon to do?  If it tries to take off, only to crash into the alder bushes at the far side of the lake, it will the laughing stock of the wildlife community.  The crow flock cavorting in the tops of a stand of white spruce on the edge of the lake will be unable to contain their glee.  They will flap and hop and laugh at the poor loon with their raucous cawing sounds.  This is serious stuff for the sophisticated loon.  Once it becomes an adult, it wears the loon equivalent of a black and white tuxedo all day, every day.  But, its self-respect is not the only problem.  Stranded on land, a loon - about the same size as a Canada goose - would make an excellent meal for a hungry wolf, coyote, or fox.     

Little known to the crows and wolves, the poor loon cannot help his condition.  He was born with dense bones - a condition bordering on an affliction when it comes to flight.  But when diving and swimming after fish, the loon could compete for an Olympic medal of the animal world.  It must be able to outmaneuver and swim faster than the small fish and crayfish if it expects to catch them.  Its heavy, dense bones allow it stay submerged in water.  The bones of most birds are honeycombed with air cells which makes them very light.  Thus, they are adapted for flying.  But, when migrating south in the fall, if these light-boned birds become lost over water, they are in serious trouble.  A loon is at home in water.  Leaving the water constitutes the dilemma.  Sometimes on a small lake, it is not too difficult to imagine that a loon must go on a crash diet to lose the few ounces needed to become airborne.  An obese loon under such conditions would be even heavier.  Because of its heavy bones and heavy body, how does it gain altitude quickly enough to fly over the cattails rather than into them?  Then if it gains sufficient altitude to clear the cattails, it must still clear the alder bushes, and finally the spruce and tamarack trees surrounding the lake.  A young loon might find this problem perplexing, but a savvy, adult loon knows to make a sharp turn once it is airborne, and keep circling around the lake while gaining altitude.  It spirals up and up until it is finally free of water, the wild rice, the cattails, and the trees - free to land on the next small lake where it can start the process all over again.

Why are loons not common in Texas?  Maybe it has something to do with the distance between lakes.  They have earned the title of “Minnesota’s state bird,” and an estimated 12,000 birds make their home on the more than 10,000 lakes.  It is claimed that they are one of the earth’s oldest living bird species - having inhabited this earth about 60 million years.  While boating on Lake Rainy on the Canadian border, we witnessed the unusual (for us) flock of 15 loons swimming together.  Usually, we see only single individuals out in the middle of the lake.  Their low profile in the water, heavy, pointed beak and white front distinguish them from double-crested cormorants and other swimming birds.  But they do not overwinter in Minnesota.  Like the human “snow-birds” from this state, loons overwinter in more temperate climes such as Florida.  Having never seen a loon on land, I do not know if their movements would be clumsy.  But, I expect that a loon on foot in the Texas mesquite brush would certainly startle the most experienced birder.   

John Ludwig, one of the Itasca Park managers, has been kind enough to allow me to use the park phone for a few minutes to send and receive email.  I better make a quick visit with him before he forgets.

 

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Labor-saving RV Strategies

Labor-saving RV Strategoes

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dim flash of light in the west.  A few minutes later, a second, brighter, flash - it was lightning.  Then, over the sound of the diesel engine - thunder.  A few specks of rain appeared on the windshield.  What to do?  We had planned to reach the shelter of a RV park in Hinckley, MN. before the arrival of the squall line.  We had seen it sweeping east across Minnesota on the weather channel earlier in the morning.  The local TV weatherman reported that we could expect shirt-sleeve weather in the morning, but advised an umbrella for the afternoon.  “Be prepared for possible severe weather, including hail.”  Hinckley was only about 2½ hours north of Minneapolis and it was about 9 a.m. when we left.  There would be sufficient time to complete the trip before the storm struck about noon.  Guess weather forecasting is not one of my major strengths.   

So what is the problem?  Storms on the highway are a frequent occurrence while traveling - why not accept it gracefully?  Having just washed and polished the motorhome in Minneapolis, I wished to avoid the onerous task of washing road grime from the shiny sides of our RV and car.  By traveling only on rain-free days, the motorhome requires washing only once a month or so.  As you probably understand by now, washing motorhomes is not one of my favorite occupations.  Thus, avoiding motorhome-dirtying weather conditions becomes an obsession bordering on a phobia.   

But, luck was on our side.  A sign appeared on the side of I-35 - “rest area ahead one mile.”  The squall line on the TV weather map had been fairly narrow; it was moving at 40 mph, so the storm would pass quickly and we could resume our travels.  Hinckley was only 30 minutes north and we had all day to reach that destination.  We had no reservations or deadlines, so there was time to spare.  We could wait out the storm and resume our travels after the storm had passed and the road dried.

The full force of the storm struck soon after we stopped.  The wind blew and rain fell in torrents.  Later we observed that Minneapolis received more than 1.9 inches of rain from the same storm.  But, we were warm, snug, and cozy in our motorhome.  It was a good opportunity to catch up on some reading.  After reading “MotorHome” magazine, it was still raining hard.  I cranked up the generator, warmed a frozen bagel, and started reading the Good Sam Club “Highways” magazine.  Then I read “Family Motor Coaching” magazine and we had our standard quick lunch of burritos.  Took a nap, then read “Winnebago-Itasca Travelers Club News,” “AARP Bulletin,” and “Escapees” magazines.  It was still raining!  We had stopped at the rest area about 10:30 a.m. and it was now about 4:00 p.m..  Raising the satellite dish, we again watched the weather channel.  The narrow squall band had grown.  It was much wider than before, but the wind had died and a light fog was developing.  Then the rain stopped, but the road was still wet.  Trucks on I-35 were still kicking up road grime spray.  It appeared that it would be several hours before the cold front arrived and there would be light showers and mist until it passed.  Hoping that the heavy rain had washed much of the grime from the road surface, we decided not to spend the night in the rest area.  We unhooked the Honda “toad” and drove it separately so that it would not become dirty from any residual grime kicked up by the motorhome.  

“Trailer Life Campground/RV Park Directory” gave the Hinckley RV Resort very high ratings.  It was like a mirage in a desert.  We could hardly believe we were being welcomed onto an Indian reservation.  To help attract customers to their new casino, the Mille Lac Indian Reservation built one of the best RV parks in Minnesota.  Wide, level, paved sites welcomed us as we entered.  For an overnight fee of only $11.47 we were rewarded with 50 amp electrical hookups, water, sewage, and cable TV.  The receptionist expressed regret that we would not register for more than one night and explained that they remain open all year, even winter.  Some sites have sub-pavement heating to thaw the snow, and water faucets are heated to prevent freezing.  A bus passes within a few feet of each RV site every few minutes throughout the day and night to take you wherever you wish to go - as long as it is the casino.  

Evidently we made the correct decision to come to Hinckley even though the highway was still wet.  It continued to mist and rain for a few more hours, then after dark it cleared and a full moon greeted us as it rose over the gaudy casino lights.  After dropping my 75-cent gambling allowance in a 25-cent slot machine and checking out the meals and prices at various restaurants, we caught the bus back to our motorhome.  Having chastised myself for my extravagance at the slot machines, I was rewarded with Boca (vegetable) hamburgers - no eating out tonight.

Inspecting the sides of the motorhome and finding only minimal grime, I decided not to wash my motorhome tomorrow.  

Thus, continue the trials and tribulations of gypsy Texicans.

 

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Michigan Mecca

Michigan Mecca

 

 

Kirkland's Warbler

July 16, 1999

At a campground along the banks of the Manistique River in Germfask, MI, we approached a lady looking through her binoculars into a white cedar tree.  “I’ll bet you know all about the birds of Michigan,” I said loudly so she would hear.  

She turned around, saw the binoculars around our necks and said, “Nope, but I enjoy watching them anyway.”  We chatted briefly about where we come from and what we did before retirement.  Then she said, “Oh, are you planning to go see the Kirtland’s Warblers?”  I had read that this warbler was one of the rarest birds in the world and could be found breeding only the upper portion of the Lower Peninsula of Michigan in Jack Pine forests. 

“Maybe we will, since it is sorta on the way to where we are going anyway,” I replied.  We were debating whether to go to Mackinac Island to see all the old mansions and other attractions or to see if we could find one of the rare warblers.  Didn’t feel that we had enough time to do both since we were in a bit of a hurry to arrive in Virginia before the birth of our third grandchild.  But the decision was really fairly easy; Mackinac Island never really had a chance.  On the other hand, finding one of these rare birds might require weeks.

The next morning we drove along the scenic north shore of Lake Michigan, through towns with names such as Naubinway, Epoufette and St. Ignace, across the five-mile-long Mackinaw Bridge, down south along I-75, then east to the small town of Mio, MI.  When we arrived, the temperature was about 80F; it was 3 PM and windy – not good conditions for finding rare warblers – so we visited the DNR (Michigan Dept. of Natural Resources) to obtain advice on the best birding spots.  We were handed several brochures and met Don Soults, a technician with the DNR.  I pumped Don with lots of questions including where to find the warblers.  He proved to be one of the most informative and helpful folks we have met during our travels.  He produced a map of the area and proceeded to make orange pen marks in areas where the warblers have been seen recently.  “Can the Kirtland’s Warbler be called with human vocalizations?” I asked.  

“Yes,” Don replied, “but I can’t tell you without getting in trouble.  One of my friends calls them to within a few feet.”

When the males arrive in the spring from a winter in the Bahama Islands, the male establishes a territory and sings a musical “tup, tup, chichi, weewee” to attract a mate.  It is during this time that DNR and National Forest Service folks conduct a survey.  The known breeding area is set up with a series of transect lines.  The experts move along this line and listen for the song of the male warbler, which is easy to hear for folks with good hearing.   (Later, a girl at the Forestry office played it from a CD ROM on her computer so Pat and I would know the exact vocalization.  I could not hear a single note – too high-pitched for ears damaged many years ago by excessive exposure to rifle fire -- especially to Marine Corps M1 rifle shots.  I am forced to depend on Pat’s ears and my vision.)

Don suggested that I visit with the “guru of Kirtland’s Warblers” named Jerry Weinrich.  Maybe Jerry could take us out to help us find our first warbler.  “Jerry is a biologist who is one of the ‘chief protectors’ of the KW.  Biologists who wished to do DNA studies on the feathers of a KW asked if they could capture some of them and remove a few feathers.  Jerry said no!”  Jerry also kept the loggers out of KW territories.  Don tried to contact Jerry by phone, but Jerry was not answering.  “Somewhere around here is a video with info about the warbler,” Don claimed.  He searched for a while in the drawers of several desks but came up empty-handed.  “You will want to visit with the U.S Forest Service office, cause they are the ones who give KW (Kirtland’s Warbler) tours.” 

“So what is the current status of the KW?” I asked.

“Very good,” Don replied.  “They prefer Jack Pine from about 6 to 18 years of age.  About 15 to 20 years ago, there was a lot of prescribed burning and cutting of larger trees to make way for the planting of small Jack Pines for these birds.  Fire causes the seeds of the Jack Pine to sprout, but there were many liabilities associated with the burning.  One forester was accidentally killed during a prescribed burn to improve warbler habitat.  Now there is more shredding and roller chopping to remove unwanted vegetation.”

“Anyway, whereas the total numbers of male KW were down to about 150 in the world, last year there were 804 and this spring we have counted 902 singing males.  They will be taken off the endangered species list when these numbers reach about 2000, so progress has been made.  Almost all these birds were found in the Mio area.  In 1957, one KW was found in Ontario and five in Wisconsin -- none were found in those areas this year.”  

“Only well-trained individuals are allowed to cooperate in the KW census.  They must undergo a KW school before we can trust their sightings.  So we are fairly confident in our estimate of bird numbers.”

As we chatted, I noticed a sign on Don’s office door.  It read: “Endangered Species Area.  Curmudgeon crustii, Crusty Toad Habitat.  Caution: Toad will bite and emit nasty comments and opinions.  Stay out of area or risk personal injury or insult.” 

 “My friend put that up,” Don said. “ Didn’t notice that he called me a toad.” 

I explained that my sister, Dorothy, has often called me a curmudgeon, so we must be soul-mates or something.  

Leaving the DNR office with hands full of literature and maps, we next visited the U.S. Forest Service Office.  A sign in front of the office read, “Kirtland’s Warbler tours Monday thru Friday until July second.”  Today was July 13th, so we were too late for tours.  Entering the office, we met Michaela Knorr, who often gives the tours.  I explained that we had come all the way from Texas to see a KW.  “Is there any chance that you could still give us a tour?” I asked.  

“Well, I would have to do it unofficially,” she explained.  “It would certainly be unethical to take you on the trails where I normally gave the tours because that is where the birds are now nesting and we do not wish to disturb them during nesting season.”  Then she produced another map of the area and showed us where she gave the tours and explained that even though it is illegal ($500 fine/person) to enter the nesting area, maybe we could see one from the road, which is legal.

I asked her why the KW is so rare.  “One of the main reasons is due to parasitism by brown-headed cowbirds.  In 1960 the experts monitored 137 KW nests and found that 75 contained one or more cowbird eggs.  The brown-headed cowbird lays its eggs in the nests of other birds.  When the young cowbird hatches, it is larger than the warblers, so it gets almost all the food brought in by the warbler parents.  The warbler chicks starve.  Consequently, the brown-headed cowbird is the worst enemy of the KW.  To reduce this problem, brown-headed cowbirds are trapped in large cages that are baited with grain and water.  Although cowbirds cannot be totally eradicated, the problem of cowbird parasitism of KW nests has been minimized.

“But it is the planting of young Jack Pine trees that accounts for the success of this program.  About 73.1% of all warblers are found in the replanted areas, 19.4% in a large wildfire area and only 7.5% in all other areas.

Before we left the Forest Service Office, we checked out all the relevant literature in the office.  One book was devoted exclusively to the Kirtland’s Warbler.  Aptly titled “Kirtland’s Warbler,” it was written by Lawrence H. Walkinshaw and subtitled: “A Natural History of An Endangered Species.”  It contained all the detailed studies that one might expect from a graduate student thesis.

Realizing that we had probably overstayed our welcome and due to the fact that the office was closing for the day, we decided it was time to leave.  Armed with these maps, brochures, and information we felt ready to begin an odyssey into Kirtland’s Warbler habitat.  But what were our real chances of seeing one of these rare birds?  Don had rolled his eyes upward when I asked him that question.  Consequently, our expectations of actually seeing a KW were low.  “Maybe if we stay here and search for a week or more, we might actually see one of these birds,” I suggested to Pat.

So we drove out into the Huron-Manistee National Forest to get a feel for the search of this rare bird.  At the site recommended by Ms. Knorr, we listened carefully for the “tup, tup, chichi, weewee” vocalization of the male.  Don had suggested that some might still be singing even though the mating season was past.  Instead, Pat heard some chip, chip sounds in the dense Jack Pines along the road.  We saw a Cedar Waxwing on a large, dead tree, a Spotted Towhee, and a Song Sparrow, but no warbler.  “What the heck,” I thought.  “Maybe I can call one to the side of the road.”  Signs along the road warned us of the illegalities of entering the nesting areas behind the sign, so we dared not enter the forest in search of this elusive bird.  I tried my sparrow call about five times and suddenly, a yellow bird appeared in clear sight about 30 feet away.  It had a small warbler beak, black streaks on the back, broken white eye ring, yellow breast with stripes on the side and all the other characteristics of the Kirtland’s Warbler.  It was a definitive identification of a Kirtland’s Warbler. Pat and I were elated.  It was really much too easy.

We watched as the warbler found a large insect larva, caught it, beat it against a small limb a few times, and finally consumed the whole thing.  Any guilt I was feeling for possibly disturbing this warbler by calling it, was greatly reduced when I saw it feed.  When Pat suggested that calling these birds might be harmful to the birds, I began to wonder if the calling had really attracted the bird or whether it was an accident that I had called and the bird had appeared.  It was necessary to test the hypothesis.  We moved down the road about 100 yards and I called again.  Three Black Capped Chickadees appeared along with a young or female Kirtland’s Warbler.  “Enough!” I said.  “Let’s leave these birds in peace.”  Although a sample size of two is very small, I feel fairly confident that calling in two places and obtaining two sightings of a KW was convincing evidence that calling was effective.

Now, what do we do?  There we were with maps full of marked locations to search for KW and we had already seen two at our first stop.  We had come to the mecca for birders who wish to add the KW to their bird lists -- and had experienced success. We felt mixed feelings of elation for having seen this rare warbler, but some disappointment that the hunt was over so quickly. 

I find it interesting that in order to save one endangered species, it is necessary to destroy the native forest on which so many other species depend.  But apparently replacing the native forest with monoculture Jack Pine trees has been beneficial for the KW.  Is it worth sacrificing some native forest in order to save a very rare species?  Maybe in the future, we may find that there was really some other way that this warbler could have been saved without having to destroy native forest.  In hindsight, we may look back and criticize the biologists and administrators who made the decision. However, since their strategy for saving this warbler has apparently been successful, it is very difficult to criticize their decisions.  These are the kinds of problems that practical wildlife biologists and wildlife administrators face.  I’m glad it’s not my decision.

 

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Ireland and Met an Irish Girl

Ireland and Met an Irish Girl

Interloper Girls with Fanny, Peter, Peggy, Anne, Ruth, Pat and Scott

August 26, 2007

Siobhan (pronounced something like “Shaban)” was perched on the horse cart with her brother Micheal Joe Dhonncha, her cousin Jason and her dad when we arrived on the ferry.  My wife,  three sisters, sister-in-law and two brothers had just arrived at Inisheer Island after a 30-minute ferry ride across the choppy emerald waters of Western Ireland.  We had read that this island had retained its rustic charm because its inhabitants continue to live the old ways.  The only way to get about the island was by walking, biking or horse cart.   We made a deal with Siobhan’s dad, paid 10 euros each and climbed aboard his horse-drawn wagon for a one-hour ride.  We found that the island was not quite as primitive as had been advertised.  The roads of the village were paved, a few autos could be seen and an electric cable now provides electric light to the Island homes.  An airport was even available for small planes and construction was underway for a new medical center.  Tourism was apparently modernizing the little island.

Siobhan Dhonncha

 

However, the essential charm of this rocky, treeless island was obvious.  The island land had been divided among the families by tall rock fences, often with narrow lanes between two of these fences.  Obviously, one of the major occupations of the original inhabitants had been prying the rocks out of the fields and building fences with them.  Sand was hauled from the beach, spread over the rocks and mixed with seaweed for fertilizer so that potatoes, pasture, and other crops could be grown. 

Inisheer Homes and Fences

 

Jimmy, our old horse, was lazy and sometimes refused to pull the wagon filled with 12 humans up the steeper hills.  Consequently, it was necessary for most of us to disembark and walk up the hills.  Jimmy, would also balk when coming downhill.  Siobhan’s dad encouraged him with a short whip that the little horse watched carefully to see if his master was serious about its application.  Most of the encouragement was verbal, but if Jimmy’s bad behavior continued, the whip would be felt and Jimmy would respond with only as much effort as was necessary to stop the whip. 

Jimmy and his Wagon Load

 

Apparently, Siobhan was learning how to be a tour guide from her father and would go into long explanations of the scenery we were passing.  Her brother, cousin, and father often joined in – sometimes all at the same time, so that it was often impossible to understand any of them.  She explained that school was starting next week to the dismay of her brother.  Although she spoke in a voice that was almost too soft to hear, her English was good.  Her father, who had grown up on the island, spoke only Irish (Gaelic) as a child but found it necessary to learn some English to accommodate the tourists.

We made several stops to give Jimmy a rest and for us to see the sights such as the old shipwreck that sat high on the rocks, where some terrible storm had deposited her in years past.  Siobhan gave us many of the details of the wreck, but her small, lyrical voice could not be heard by my deaf old ears.  But I caught enough of the details for my satisfaction and chose not to interrupt her narrative.

When the tour was completed, we were deposited at the town tea shop where we were met by a lady who spoke such clear English that we were skeptical that she was an island native.  It turned out that on a trip to this island, her daughter had fallen in love with one of the native boys and they were married.  Now, both the girl and the mother live on the island most of the year but commute back to their home in Wisconsin from time to time.  Property on this island can be bought only by families whose ancestry can be traced to the fathers of the island.  And, to live on this island, one must learn to speak Irish.  Anyway, we had our tea, coffee, and sandwiches in the warm sunshine on the tables of the tea house and learned about the life on the island from Wisconsinites.

Peggy, Ruth, Wisconite, Anne and Fanny

 

Siobhan, arrived from somewhere and I asked if I could take her picture.  She looked at me shyly and obviously needed some encouragement.  So, I told her that she might someday be a famous movie star and I wished to have a photo of her.  She did not immediately agree so I thought my offer had been refused.  But then a few minutes later, she came up to me and said, “OK.”  I took her photo, showed it to her and she seemed happy – although she seldom smiled.  When I called her the “Island Princess” she looked dismayed, so I thought I had hurt her feelings.  But, as we were leaving, she came up to me and in her palm was a ring with a purple stone.  She said, “This is for you.”  

“Does this mean we are engaged?” I asked.

Her answer was a timid smile.

Anyway, if in another 10 years of so, you see a beautiful young lady with blond tresses adorning the screen in a movie starring “Siobhan Dhonncha” please let me know so I can dig out this photo and say, “I knew her when she was only 10 and lived on an Inisheer Island.”

 

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Virginia to Macon

Virginia to Macon

Pat and Win in Shenandoah Valley

Travelling south from Washington, DC, after daughter Ellen's wedding, we drove the Blue Ridge Parkway.   A lady in a VA visitors center had assured us that there would be no trouble negotiating the 2-lane highway in a motorhome.  The overviews of the Shenandoah Valley from the many stops along the Parkway allowed us to see the fall colors, especially of the maple trees.  Although it was still early for the full color, some trees were brilliant red.  The reason it is one of the top scenic drives in the USA was very evident.  The afternoon sun peeked through the cumulus clouds and shone across the Valley revealing the farms, communities, rivers, and streams below overlooks along the highway.  The distant range of the Shenandoah Mountains clearly defines the Valley through which flows the Shenandoah River.   In the Big Meadows Campground, the deer grazed outside our door and in the cool, crisp air the nighttime sounds of coyotes soothed the small tensions from driving on mountaintop roads.

Descending into the Shenandoah Valley the next day, we visited Natural Chimneys regional campground where a large Jesus revival was being held.   The countryside echoed the sound of hymns forced through large, high wattage, speakers.  By divorcing the Suzuki from the motorhome, we were able to 4-wheel drive up into the Washington National Forest.  The next stop was back across the Blue Ridge to Charlottesville where we visited an old Aggie friend and spent a day touring Monticello, the mountain-top home of Thomas Jefferson.  He remains one of the few politicians (current or historical) for whom I maintain much respect.  While in the neighborhood, we visited a mountaintop apple orchard and sampled the tree-ripened, mouth-watering Macintosh, lopsided York, and Crispin apples.  We bought a supply that would normally last a week but they were gone in a couple of days.  Wish we had bought more.  We did not realize how delicious fresh apple cider could be - a half-gallon disappeared far too soon.  

Bypassing Richmond, Williamsburg, and Virginia Beach, we camped in the little town of Waves on the beach of the Outer Banks of North Carolina.  Visited the Lost Colony Park on Roanoke Isl. and watched birds on Pea I. National Wildlife Reserve.  A large fraction of the double-crested cormorants and brown pelicans on the Atlantic Coast had congregated at Oregon Inlet.   To say that they blackened the sky would be overstating the case,  but in the afternoons they appeared in goose-like formations in uncountable numbers.   I speculate that if commercial overfishing in the Atlantic has released the smaller fish from the predatory control of the larger fish that are caught commercially, this would result in greater survival of small fish on which cormorants and pelicans feed.  Consequently larger numbers of young birds survive, explaining the large numbers of these birds.  Only 10 years or so ago, brown pelicans were an endangered species.  

The Wright Brothers Museum allowed us to review and learn about their amazing feat of engineering and determination at considerable risk of injury.  We lazed on the beach and watched the young black-backed seagulls foraging and squabbling with the herring and ring-billed gulls and each other.  Black-backed gulls were of particular interest because we had watched them develop from eggs to their first tentative attempts to fly from the windy and rocky crags overlooking the Bay of Fundy and elsewhere in Nova Scotia.   They often learned to fly when the wind was blowing so hard that it was not necessary to flap to rise briefly from the edge of the nest.  Now, these same young gulls were migrating south along the coast.   Offshore, through the binoculars, we could observe mother, goose-sized, gannets leading their young to warmer, southern, climates.  Like the brown pelicans, they fly at wave-top level and often disappear behind the waves before emerging again, not distracted from their migratory mission by any fish that they might see below.   After a couple of years migrating north in spring and south in the fall, we feel a greater kinship with the migratory birds.  What required millions of years of evolutionary history for them to select for the advantages of cool weather and cheap, plentiful food in the northern summer and to leave for warmer climes when the bitter cold returns, we humans have been able to learn in only one generation.   This year our migratory timing has coincided with that of the yellow-rumped warblers.  Seems that we have been on almost identical migratory patterns most of the year as they followed us from Texas to Prince Edward Island and back to Georgia.  

Leaving the Outer Banks by Cape Hatteras it is necessary to board 2 ferries to reach the mainland.  The ferry from Ocracoke to Cedar I. requires 2 1/2 hours and is worth the $40 cost for the 47 feet of motorhome and toad (Suzuki).  During a brief stay on the Bogue Banks near Cape Lookout, a visit to Fort Macon provided some more interesting Civil War history.  On south around Wilmington, the devastation of Hurricane Fran was evident.  Pine trees snapped like matchsticks, large trees still on the roofs of homes, and beach-front home destroyed suggest the origin of the name of nearby Cape Fear.   Entering South Carolina, we found little attraction for the tourist mecca of Myrtle Beach.   

 

Because we do not golf and prefer not to eat at restaurants, the multiple golf courses, miniature golf courses, amusement parks, and restaurants held little attraction.  After one frustrating night of mosquitos and too many trees to get satellite dish reception, we left the expensive, local state park for Summerville.  My sister-in-law, Anne had just returned from her trip to Egypt and was suffering from jet lag and a cold but insisted on feeding us.  She assumed that we must eat out all the time while we travel so we could use a home-cooked meal.  She entertained us with stories of brother Pete's experiences with the Egyptian culture.  Pete will evidently not return from Egypt until about June 1997.  While there, a visit to the waterfront of Charleston to absorb the local culture and history was essential and entertaining.  

We arranged to meet brother Scott and Joan at Hunting Island State Park for the weekend.  Other than a few, pesky, sand flies, the park was exceptional for its beach, palms, pines, and facilities.  The weather was warm for late October and Scott's grilled shrimp were mouth watering.  A leisurely walk on the beach was great fun largely because of our similar interests in nature.  Following Scott's motorhome, in caravan style, to Macon was one of the longest trips we had taken all summer.  Normally, we travel only  3-4 hours before stopping for a couple of days.  After negotiating the steep driveway, we are now parked behind Scott's house.  Out our window is a view across his lawn and garden into the forest, rich with antlered fauna.  We hooked up a 50 amp outlet to his fuse box so have all the electricity and water we need.  

Scott is taking us on a canoe trip down the Flint River later in the week.  Otherwise, we are catching up on our correspondence and housekeeping chores.  It really strikes home what a soft life Pat and I lead when we hear Scott leave for work at 5:30 am followed by Joan and sons Jeff and Richard around 7 am.   We have an appointment for some minor motorhome repairs near Tampa, Fla. on about November 18th.  For the next month or so we will be playing "gypsy" around the state of Florida. 

 

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