My Frozen Valentines

Posted on March 11, 2016 by Kim

Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined spending a Valentine’s Day on a beach with not one, but two, well-dressed men.

Well-dressed for the Arctic, that is. Because that’s what Point Lookout in Maryland felt like on this Valentine’s morn.

Robb, Don and I had come to the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay mostly to look for the fossils of Calvert Cliffs. Never ones to pass up a lighthouse, though, we drove to Point Lookout State Park at the very tip of the peninsula between the Chesapeake and the Potomac River.

On the way, we passed a weathered wooden barn at the edge of a slumbering winter field. My companions couldn’t resist a little tomfoolery. Don decided we should reenact an Andrew Wyeth painting, and made Robb lie down and pose in front of the barn. Laughter is the best medicine, and these guys keep me laughing all day long.

We found the lighthouse unimpressive, spoiled as we were by Drum Point the day before.

I was more intrigued by the ice coating objects along the shoreline. Not sure what these are. Can you guess which way the prevailing wind blows?

Nearby, a section of fallen chain-link fence arched gracefully to the ground, providing the framework for a fascinating ice abstraction.

Robb and Don are always changing plans on the fly. I love it because I always get to see lots of different things when I’m with them. I don’t do spontaneity well. They push me to expand my horizons, while being endlessly patient as I adjust to stepping outside my comfort zone.

Sometimes they move too quickly, though, and miss what’s right in front of them. Cold as it was, they were keen to leave Point Lookout for our next destination. It took more than a little effort to convince them I’d spotted a neat beach to explore.

My parents inspired a love of beach glass collecting many years ago. For a long time, that glass came exclusively from the Jersey Shore ocean beaches. Now I am collecting it in many other places – rivers, lakes, and bays. Point Lookout yielded several pieces of glass, my first from the Chesapeake Bay.

This one wasn’t coming home with me, though. Couldn’t budge it.

Ice on the half shell.

The rocks of the jetty formed a luscious confection, topped with terraced frosting that oozed into bubbles, then drizzled off the edges.

There were no fossils here, since we were south of the end of Calvert Cliffs. Instead, our focus was on pebbles. One of the things I love most about my friends is the variety and passion of their interests. Their enthusiasms change as quickly and as intensely as cloud formations in a summer thunderstorm. I am swept along with the gusts, learning along with them.

And here they are, my frozen Valentines, bundled in parkas and balaclavas. Without them my Valentine’s Day might have been warmer, but not nearly so sweet.

Snow Scenes

Posted on February 21, 2016 by Kim

Winter can be such a drab season. Everything is bare and brown. There’s no green anywhere, save for the invasive vines that are so obvious at this time of year. Trips to the Jersey Shore and the Pine Barrens (evergreens!) break up the monotony. But it takes a good snowstorm to really shake things up. Suddenly all those bare brown branches are sugar-coated and the ground is clean crisp white.

After our January blizzard, I went walking every day to enjoy the snow. There’s a local park with a trail that parallels Darby Creek. Of course I took my camera along.

While I was watching the wildlife, the wildlife was watching me. I’m pretty sure this is a Red-tailed Hawk. I’m out of practice identifying birds. Been spending a lot of my time with plants and pebbles.

Snow-covered rocks in the stream – Mother Nature’s cupcakes.

Memories of summer days.

Carolina Wrens are tiny birds with BIG voices. I usually hear them long before I see them.

Same storm, different location. Lancaster County barn.

A couple of weeks later Don and I went to the Pine Barrens on a Thursday to look for, what else, pebbles. On the following Saturday, Don, Robb and I were concerned that our chosen destination for the day would be too icy. So we debated an alternative. Don suggested a return to the Pines. I said “But, Don, you know the Pines got 4 inches of snow Thursday night, right?”

“Nonsense,” he replied “my family drove the Atlantic City Expressway right through the Pine Barrens yesterday and they said there was no snow.” So that’s where we went.

Um, Don, no snow? What’s all this white stuff on the roads?

We tried to drive to Apple Pie Hill. I’m pretty intrepid on the sand roads, but not when they’re covered with snow and crisscrossed with icy truck tire tracks.

Eventually we turned back, and opted for a short walk in Penn State Forest. The white snowy roads were the perfect complement to the evergreens against crisp blue sky.

Pine cone icicle.

The perfect shelf for a miniature moss garden. Look very closely for the red moss sporophytes just at the left edge of the snow.

Ahh, the essence of the Pine Barrens in any season. Pitch Pine cones, snow frosted.

Perfectly lovely photo of snowy pine boughs, photo-bombed by Robb.

We are trying to learn about geology, and the identification of rocks. It’s a tough thing to learn on our own without experts to guide us. We’ve had an ongoing argument about whether the pebbles we see in many places are naturally occurring rocks, or from fill placed by man. Don had a point to make in that debate.

Our boot prints. From left to right: Kim, Robb, Don. The sizes are deceiving; my foot is smaller than the guys’. Really it is.

Our “short” little walk didn’t go at all as expected. Mistaken shortcuts took us far beyond the bounds of Penn State Forest into unexplored territory. The Pines are a mysterious place filled with unmarked sand roads, and even Pines veterans can find themselves bewitched and bewildered. We ended up having to retrace our path; though we were certain of the route back, we were grateful for the confirmation of our boot prints. We left at noon, and hours later found ourselves back at the car, hungry and thirsty.

Just in time to see the sun set on a lovely day in the snowy Pine Barrens.

At the Top of the World

Posted on February 12, 2016 by Kim

The Winter Queen is imperious and aloof, demanding and notoriously fickle. This year she opted to remain far to the north, leaving us in the gentle arms of Lady Autumn until late in January. Then Her Majesty swept in on howling winds of ice, and buried us in feet of snow.

She is beautiful, and her passage leaves a photographer is eager to get outside to admire the winter wonderland. But first her demands must be met: two days of shoveling, and the passage of enough time for the roads to clear.

Many are the photos I have of the lowlands wreathed in snow: Heinz Refuge, Valley Forge, Ridley Creek. Lacking are any images of snowy scenes from on high. Nearly a week after the blizzard, I set forth on a journey to visit the Winter Queen in her mountain fastness.

Cardinals kept me company as I hiked up the narrow channel of compacted snow where others had walked before me. The soft sigh of the wind in the trees whispered above the rhythm of the wet crunch of my footfalls and squishy creak of my trekking poles.

I wondered what I would find when I reached the Pinnacle. How would the Susquehanna River below be dressed? Open dark water? Or would it be garbed in Her Majesty’s mantle of white?

The wind quickened as I neared the Pinnacle. The first glimpse through the trees made me gasp.

My heart soared and I hurried to the overlook.

Yes! The Winter Queen has indeed been here!

The evidence of her frigid touch is everywhere, frosting the hills rising above the river…

…and tracing the surface of the ice in intricate swirls and waves.

On previous visits to the Holtwood Gorge Pinnacle, we discovered a wondrous place just down the trail.

It’s a place where pine trees and rhodendrons stand guard over a garden of rocks.

In dry weather, it is a fun boulder scramble to the farthest of the rocks to look straight down to the water. When the Winter Queen is in residence, it requires much more caution. I clambered carefully down the rocks, often on my butt, very tentative when on my feet. Sometimes my foot plunged through the snow to my knee.

There was the point beyond which I would not go. The Winter Queen cares nothing for the safety of her admirers.

But, oh, what there was to admire! I sat on a dry boulder for a long time, soaking in the sights and sounds of the Gorge in snow. The wind howled through the trees, a whisper no longer. I felt it stinging my face, as the cold seeped into my legs from the rough rock below me.

Boulders loomed above me, their surfaces braided in stripes of dark grey, white and rust, dusted with lichens and puddles of snow. Three Bald Eagles circled past, and a kettle of Turkey Vultures.

A flock of Robins passed through, flitting noisily through the shrubs. Did the Winter Queen take offense at the cheery presence of these harbingers of spring in her frozen domain?

Slowly I made my way back up the boulders.

The climb was tricky; I had learned the hard way not to trust that there would be solid ground beneath every patch of snow.

I used my hands and knees more than my feet.

Walking the trail was easier.

At the top, I turned once again to drink in the wonder of the Her Majesty’s creation, the pearly white ribbon winding through dark hills and twisting out of sight.

As if to remind me of the Winter Queen’s capricious temperament, when I reached my car, it began to snow.

Finding Refuge in the Snow

Posted on February 5, 2016 by Kim

This has been one weird winter. December and January were abnormally warm. Philadelphia set a new record for latest first snow.

Then the meteorologists started beating the drums for a winter storm of near-blizzard proportions, a full week in advance. When it finally came, it was a doozy, dumping 30″ of snow in some locations, and 22″ at the Philadelphia Airport. It took two days to clean up.

Finally, I escaped to John Heinz NWR to enjoy it.

Looked like we weren’t the first to venture out.

Who goes there?

Great Blue Heron, definitely.

Red fox, perhaps. Or maybe one of the feral cats that hang out at the Refuge.

We weren’t the first humans out either, judging by the well-beaten path.

Everything looks new in the snow. Darby Creek was frozen on a gray day…

…and the impoundment wore a mantle of white.

The snow storm brought strong gusty winds, which created some intricate patterns on the surface of the impoundment.

On this walk we had one destination in mind, and we were going to reach it, no matter what. And what, pray tell, was the object of our desire?

The Refuge’s big pride and joy – our new Marsh Boardwalk. A year in the making, it extends hundreds of feet into the freshwater tidal marsh, and gives visitors and schoolchildren an up-close look at the ecosystem. This was the first time I’d seen it in snow.

This is the marsh in winter. Because it’s tidal, the water rises and falls beneath the ice, and the ice rises and falls with it, fracturing into frozen plates. No smooth skating rink here!

Darby Creek flows through the marsh in braided channels. Where water ran, the ice yielded to its passage.

One week later, the sun was shining. Another oddity. We’ve had more than our share of blue-sky days this winter. This Downy Woodpecker was busily looking for something yummy to eat.

The impoundment was peppered with little balls of snow. Or so I thought. On closer inspection, I discovered they were balls of air bubbles that had puffed out of small holes in the ice.

The duck icebreakers were hard at work. This Mallard hen was determined go somewhere new. She would try to climb up on the ice to walk, only to break through to the water. Rinse and repeat. After a while she had opened up quite a channel.

A Great Blue Heron fished in the golden glow of sunset.

Geese streamed in with the dying light, ready to call it a night.

Two weeks after the Big Storm, the temperatures have rebounded. The snow is all but gone. Darby Creek is ice-free. The trails at Heinz Refuge are clear. People were seen in shirt-sleeves. One weird winter!

The Clown Prince of White Rock

Posted on January 14, 2016 by Kim

Consider the Coot.

In the pantheon of White Rock Lake, he is the court jester.

Black of body, red of eye, white of bill, the American Coot is a plain-looking water bird that can’t figure out where he belongs.

On water he swims and dives like a duck; but he isn’t a duck.

Consider the Coot. On land he doesn’t waddle, but walks like a chicken. He’s sometimes called “Mud Hen” and his shape resembles a chicken; but he isn’t a chicken.

In the air he’s awkward – but first he has to get there, a challenge for the coot. He takes off by running for a long way across the water while flapping his wings, like a loon; but he isn’t a loon.

Other birds don’t think much of the Coot.

Double-crested Cormorants, undeniably snooty, look down their bills from lofty heights at the Coot.

Great-tailed Grackle struts, smug in the knowledge that he outshines the Coot.

Great Egret is studiously cool, ignoring the Coots.

Yes, the bird royalty treats the Coot with disdain. Not so the squirrels. They think the Coot’s a little nuts.

Perhaps this is why. What sensible bird would hurl himself at a wall of rushing water 5 times his height – for fun?!? Yet that is what the Coot does, over and over again. He walks up the face of the dam spillway until the water knocks him tail over teacups and washes him down the stream bed. Then he walks up and does it again. It’s whitewater kayaking, coot-style.

Click for full-size image

FUN FACT: The American Coot is most comfortable on the water, but his feet aren’t webbed like a duck’s. Instead they have long toes with lobes of skin that propel him through the water. The same lobes keep him from sinking into mud when he’s on shore leave.

Look out, here come the Coots!

White Rock Lake is a large park in a highly urban area. Lots of folks come down to the shore with bags of bread for the “ducks.” What they get is Coots.

Consider the Coot. The Coot is a rail; rails are usually known for their secretiveness. But he’s a noisy gregarious bird that hangs out in large flocks in the open.

Which squabble over every bit of junk food tossed their way.

Other birds think this behavior unseemly. Little do they know how magical, how wondrous, it is!

An audience of young urban children is enthralled with his comedy routine. They giggle at his antics, and shriek with delight. For many of them, the park is a rare escape from the noise, the congestion and the concrete of their neighborhoods. The Coot is their first connection with wildlife.

If even a few of these children grow to love and defend wild animals and wild lands, it will have started here. In this urban park, in the heart of Dallas, on the wild edge between man and nature.

The promise of the future rests on the wings of the clown prince of White Rock, the American Coot.

All hail the Coot!

Searching for Peace

Posted on January 1, 2016 by Kim

So you speak to me of sadness and the coming of the winter,
The fear that is within you now that seems to never end…

War. Terrorism. Murder. Violence.

2015 was a banner year for mankind to be cruel to one another. I have been growing more cynical with the years, but it’s hard now to retain any faith in the wisdom and goodness of humanity.

Abroad, terrorists are slaughtering hundreds in the name of a religion their so-called “beliefs” don’t resemble in the slightest. On the home front, politicians vying for the highest office in the land spew hatred, fear and humiliation in the pursuit of attention and power. It’s enough to make a nature girl weep.

Trail time offer a respite from the cacophony. Walking along a peaceful lake or thunderous surf, watching the infinite variety of critters going about their daily lives… All serve to remind me that man is but one of the species sharing this planet. To the bufflehead ducks swimming by, I am of no consequence. Somehow that soothes my soul.

But what in nature can restore my faith in the human species?

…It is here we must begin to seek the wisdom of the children
And the graceful way of flowers in the wind.

Art!

Man’s need to create beauty reminds me there’s a flip side to the boorishness and hatred. Even far from paint brushes and sculptor’s tools, the artistic hand of man can be found.

Sometimes it’s a small garden statue placed just so among the flowers in the woods.

Sometimes on my meanderings, I come across cairns, these small stacks of stones. Cairns originally functioned as directional signals on trails, but have been raised to an art form by creative wanderers.

Once I came across a humorous figure perched on a bridge, placed there just for the amusement of others. And in its serendipity, I am reminded of our sense of community, our need to comfort and cheer one another.

At Point Betsie in Michigan, the entire beach is covered with a wondrous variety of weatherworn cobble. Perfect for creating art.

Seeing these works of trail art reminds me of humanity’s love for beauty, and gives me hope that our race may one day put behind us cruelty and hate.

And the song that I am singing is a prayer to non-believers,
Come and stand beside us we can find a better way.

Lyrics to “Rhymes and Reasons” by John Denver.

Gone To Seed

Posted on December 18, 2015 by Kim

Cape Henlopen

Posted on December 11, 2015 by Kim

Black Friday dawns at Cape Henlopen State Park. Nearby, shoppers are crowding the Delaware outlet stores, looking for bargains. Away from the maddening crowd, there is only the cry of gulls and the crash of the waves for company. Ah, sweet sandy serenity!

This is what a healthy dune ecosystem looks like. Trees, shrubs, plants and grasses. Not row after paved row of houses, shops and hotels.

Cape Henlopen panorama. At the far left is the Breakwater Lighthouse, which sits on the inner breakwater. The cylindrical building at the center is a WWII fire control tower. The spit of sand behind the tower is Cape Henlopen Point. Beyond that is the Harbor of Refuge Breakwater, with the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse at its right end. Photographed from the Cape Henlopen Fire Control Tower.

Cape Henlopen Point, the Delaware Bay to the left.

Two ferries for the price of one!

Barnacles.

What is the well-dressed mermaid is wearing this season? A mermaid’s necklace, of course! A mermaid’s necklace is chain of egg cases laid by a whelk, a predatory sea snail. Each egg case can contain up to 99 eggs, and there can be more than 150 cases in a chain. That’s a lot of baby whelks.

Even a mermaid needs a handbag – it’s not like she’s got pockets! So she carries a mermaid’s purse. This is an egg case of a skate. Similar in appearance to rays, skates are cartilaginous fish whose skeletons are made of cartilage rather than bone. Egg cases of most skate species contain a single embryo.

The sun sets over Rehoboth Bay, singing a lullaby of tranquility.

A Bird In Hand

Posted on November 25, 2015 by Kim

Wildlife photography should always be this easy!

While in Cape May, I stumbled upon a demonstration by the Cape May Raptor Banding Project. This is a research project that captures, measures and bands hawks at several sites in the fall to study migration. The researchers also meet the public to discuss their work, bringing banded hawks for up close observation.

And I do mean UP CLOSE. Usually I’m photographing hawks on the wing in the distance. Occasionally I’ll be lucky enough to see one perched nearby. But here was a chance to see and photograph these magnificent birds 10 feet away – and they weren’t going anywhere!

The birds arrived in these tubes. They’d already been measured and banded. The tubes keep them calm.

The first birds out were Sharp-shinned Hawks, male and female.

“What’s up there? I want to be up there!”

After we’d had a good long look at the Sharpies, they were released. Sharpies live in forests; since they pursue their prey through dense stands of trees, they are speedy and acrobatic fliers. It didn’t take long for them to fly out of sight.

Getting a Cooper’s Hawk out of a travel tube. One of the two presenters was a young college intern. She handled these birds like a pro.

Even when they objected. Her free hand is making a motion meant to calm the hawk. Note the talon marks on her left hand!

Cooper’s Hawks live in woodlands, but have become quite comfortable in suburban yards. They take an interest in the songbirds on my feeders from time to time.

Sharp-shinned and Cooper’s Hawks look very much alike and are difficult to tell apart. Experienced birders talk about differences in tail shape, head size, eye position and other field marks.

Cooper’s Hawks are bigger than Sharpies, but this isn’t apparent unless you have two next to each other to compare. And since female Sharpies are nearly as big as male Cooper’s hawks, it still may not be obvious. This is a Cooper’s, and a big bird, so I think this is the female.

After the two Cooper’s Hawks were released, the last raptor came out to play, a Merlin. Look at those eyes! Quite a contrast to the yellow eyes of the other hawks. Merlins, in fact, aren’t hawks at all, but falcons.

The presenters gave us a good opportunity to see the detail in the back feathers…

…and the wings…

… and the talons, sporting a brand-new band. Understanding the migration patterns of hawks is important in protecting the birds and the habitats they need for survival.