April 27, 2025: Talons and Trilliums

Spring is popping up everywhere now, and I saw my first true wildflower Wednesday on a hike in the Ossipee Mountains - not where or what I expected.  But there on a southern exposure on the Mt. Shaw Trail, I saw my first flash of color, a bright Round-leaved Yellow Violet (one of those oxymoronic flower names).

Round-leaved Yellow Violet (Viola rotundifolia)

This was at 1800' elevation, and soon there were many of these violets, sometimes in large clumps.

A little higher up Mt. Shaw, on a ledge overlooking a deep-blue Lake Winnipesauke, I could see there's still snow on the trails at Gunstock.

It was a warm, sunny day, and approaching the trailhead on my way down in the afternoon I started seeing trillium leaves poking up through the leaf litter.  Then right at the parking area there were dozens of them.

Dozens of trillium at the Mt. Shaw Trailhead.

A few had buds that were about to open.

So I searched to see if I could find one that had opened, and finally I found one - just one, and just barely open, but that was enough to verify they were Purple Trillium.

Purple Trillium

On the next sunny day there will be a fabulous display of color at the Mt. Shaw trailhead on Rt. 171 for all to see.

A deciduous forest floor only gets direct sunlight for a brief period between snow-melt and leaf-out.  These early wildflowers have evolved the ability to emerge early enough to take advantage of this short window to collect enough energy to blossom and survive until next spring.  

It wasn't until Friday, back at Lake Wicwas, that I saw my first Trailing Arbutus in bloom.

Trailing Arbutus aka Mayflower

At the same time as the flowers are exploding on the scene, so are the birds.  This week I heard the first Hermit Thrush, Blue-headed Vireo, Phoebe, Palm Warbler, and Black-throated Green Warbler.  All of these have loud songs, and the hermit thrush is my favorite of the woodland birds.

On a mid-day kayak I saw my first osprey of the season as it flew over the lake and landed in a lichen covered tree on Loon  Point.

On the same paddle I came across a promising loon encounter.  Two loons were interacting closely, actively enough that I first thought they were in conflict.  But there wasn't any chasing or vocalizing, and their behavior didn't seem aggressive, so maybe they were just checking each other out.

When one of them swam right beside my kayak I was able to clearly see the white band with black dot that identified it as the northern male.  And later in my trip there were two loons fishing together in the northern territory, so perhaps the behavior I saw earlier was the loon version of flirting.  Maybe our male has accepted a new mate after last year's partner was killed.  

I also saw a second pair of loons in the south territory which may be the banded south pair, but we'll need to see bands to know that.  The busy loon-watching season has begun!

It's an exciting time of year on the lakes and in the forests as nature reawakens for the summer; there were many more new sightings, too many to note, so some will have to wait.  But something else is exploding on the scene too.  Be aware that biting insects will be out very soon, so the days of bug-free walks are almost over.  Here's clear evidence that the insects are coming.

Happy spring!

April 13, 2025: Spanish Moss and Soggy Snow

We spent the past week in South Carolina where it was nice to see something other than snow in the tree branches.  When we returned to the lake on Thursday night we found quite a change had taken place in the days we were gone.  Not only was all the snow gone, but the lake was almost completely open.  We were greeted the first night home with the call of a loon drifting over the lake.  The next morning was dull and gray - a perfect day if you're a duck - and we were immediately treated to a smorgasbord of ducks on the lake including mergansers, wood ducks, mallards, black ducks, and these ring-necked ducks which are always a treat to see.

Ring-necked Duck.

Later in the day a pair was having an afternoon siesta near the shoreline.  

Sleeping with one eye open at 1:00pm.

I was careful not to disturb them, but eventually they woke up and perked up a bit.

When they suddenly leapt out of the water, I thought I had startled them.

But in fact, their flock, which was hidden around a point of land, had taken flight, and they were just heading off to catch up with their friends.

Can you see the mallard on the rock near shore?

Another early migrant was an Eastern Phoebe.

Eastern Phoebe perched over the lake, hoping the insects are out soon.

And no surprise, with the ice out, the beavers are back on their evening cruises across the lake in search of food and timber for building supplies.

There were branches nibbled clean of their bark showing they had been on shore, and sure enough, come night fall, one arrived to feast.

That's one big beaver that seems to have stored up plenty of winter food, but nonetheless is looking for something fresh to eat.

Now, South Carolina.  Our hostess arranged for perfect weather in the mid 80's all week and not a drop of rain.  A fun part of visiting new areas is finding unfamiliar things to investigate, such as these blossom-type items scattered all over the ground in a Low Country forest.  I figured they were pollen-producing blossoms of a tree and it didn't take long to identify them as Sweetgum.  

The dried up, brown spikey-thing (a "gumball") tucked into the leaf litter on the left was a helpful clue.

Imagine how much pollen can be expelled from all those blossoms.  

Male flowers of the Sweetgum tree.

Not far away at food-serving facility beside a lagoon I saw a large bird we don't have in New England but is easy to identify.

A Black Vulture looks for easy pickings.

Black Vultures don't venture north of Massachusetts, but maybe soon they'll make their way up here like the Red-bellied woodpeckers and winter Bluebirds have.

On the Isle of Palms we saw the usual culprits such as Laughing Gulls, Egrets, and Boat-tailed Grackles, but also a new bird for me, Willets.

Willets foraging in the surf on Isle of Palms.

It took a bit for me to recognize them as they were wearing winter or immature plumage.  (Thanks RB for the confirmation!)

Along Shem Creek in Mount Pleasant, a pair of Barn Swallows was dashing around over the marsh collecting insects, but then perched on a railing just for our enjoyment.

Barn Swallows at Shem Creek.

There were also pelicans gliding low over the creek watching the fishing and shrimp boats for cast-off fish.

Over at Folley Island we saw Pelicans performing their freefall crash into the Atlantic Ocean.

Searching for targets.

On the attack.

Contact!

No trip to the Low Country would be complete without a visit to a stand of Live Oaks with their Spanish Moss.

This is "Oak Alley" at Boone Hall Plantation which also provides much history of the slave trade and life in South Carolina.  It's worth a visit, for the history lesson as well as the flowers.

Some of the gardens in front of the plantation Mansion.

And then, after a beautiful trip through the Shenandoah Valley where we drove along miles of Red Buds and flowering trees, watching summer return to late winter, we were back in New Hampshire.  And yesterday, mother nature made sure we knew that as we woke up to this on Saturday morning.

Back to snow in the trees - we should have stayed down south another week!  Thanks for a great visit!

April 28, 2024: Spotted Salamanders and Vernal Pools

Spring is full speed ahead now and everywhere you look you see it, whether on land, water, or in the air.  I'll start on land with these beautiful Red Maple blossoms bursting out with a bright blue spring sky behind them.

Red Maple blossoms.

Red maples are among the first trees to push out flowers and leaves, and where there is a large stand of them the whole forest can take on a red tinge.  

Next onto the airborne signs of spring.  The early migrants are starting to arrive in the Lakes Region; on one morning walk I heard or saw no less than 19 different bird species including my first warbler, the yellow-rumped, a blue-headed vireo, and a hermit thrush.  There is no sound in the forest that's more comforting than the gentle, soothing flute of a hermit thrush.  The phoebes on the other hand, are anything but soothing.  Although a joy to hear, their call is loud, raspy, and somewhat harsh, and right now they are really making their presence known.  Mr. Phoebe will sit outside on those red maples by the lake singing his heart out. 

Eastern Phoebe in a Red Maple.

And it's great fun to watch them flit up to catch an insect then return to their branch to wait for the next tiny morsel to fly by.  I can't imagine how many gnats and black flies (yes, the black flies are out) they must consume every day.  He makes quite a racket in the process of letting every other phoebe in a wide area know he's there.

Now on to the water, and water is always a great source of life in spring.  One of Meredith's Conservation Commissioners sent me this video of water collected from a vernal pool this spring.  Vernal pools are critical bodies of water for certain animals because they dry out in summer which means fish can't live in them, making them essential breeding habitat for small animals that would be quickly gobbled up by fish, either as eggs or as small larvae.  In this video there are a number of different species, including amphibians, insects, and, I think, fairy shrimp, the larger animal in the center of the video near the end.

This description of vernal pools, provided by another commissioner (thank you RP) is from the Appalachian Trail Conservancy:

Vernal pools are hotspots of life and biodiversity. Certain species, such as spotted, Jefferson, and marbled salamanders, wood frogs, and fairy shrimp (small, hearty crustaceans), need vernal pools to complete their lifecycles. Although they spend most of their lives on dry land, these species would not be able to survive without mating, laying eggs and developing in vernal pools. For that reason, they are called “obligate” species, meaning they are required — or obligated — to use a vernal pool. Other species like spring peepers, snails, clams, spotted and Blanding’s turtles, dragonflies and caddisflies use vernal pools but can also survive in other wetlands. The animal life in vernal pools is also a food source for predators, including great blue herons, racoons and insects.

And as if that's not enough to appreciate vernal pools, look at this gorgeous salamander Linda discovered while gardening yesterday.

Spotted Salamander (Ambystoma maculatum)

The yellow-spotted salamander is a large mole salamander; this one was over six inches long.

Like most salamanders, the spotted salamander spends almost its entire life below ground, burrowing under large rocks, rotten logs, or under the leaf litter, eating slugs, spiders, insects, and algae.  They emerge for only a few days in the spring to make their way to a vernal pool to mate.  The mating ritual includes a dance routine by the male, which if successful, will result in a female following it to the water to lay her eggs.  These predator-free vernal pools are essential to the survival of these amphibians which are a rare treat to find.  We found this one under a large flower pot that spent the winter outside, and we carefully replaced the pot to restore its well-sheltered home.  

You can read more about vernal pools here. 

Speaking of vernal pools and water, a friend on the lake came across a neat poem titled "Lake Wicwas" which she sent to me. (Thank you SD!) 

Lake Wicwas

I glide my paddle through the water,
pull toward the island, the lilies
on the surface parting at the bow.
My friend up ahead marks the path,
I find clarity in what is no longer hidden --
the sand and the rocks, minnows, and a can.
Now the only ripples cast are our own --
no thought of the election, no screech
of the prophet or of the abyss.

I glide my paddle through the water
and follow her, the artist maker,
translator of earth, and the way, and yes,
we are kayaking Lake Wicwas,
crossing the earth and the water,
the surface written and revised
by the seen and the unseen.

We glide our paddles through the water.
The lake reflects the cloudless morning sky --
blue heron glides, her wings arched upward
as we slow and hover, floating
between island and shore,
and turn to what cannot be known.

What cannot be known.  Well said.  This is in a book of poems about New Hampshire's lakes, ponds, and streams titled "Water Ways" by William O'Daly with essays and photography by J.S. Graustine.  O'Daly lives in California, but Graustine is a Meredith local.  Here's a description of the book by publisher Folded Word Press:  

From the Connecticut Lakes to the Seacoast, Otter Brook to the Salmon Falls River, and the circumnavigation of Lake Winnipesaukee, the poems, essays, and photographs in this book celebrate New Hampshire’s gateways to “the most serene surface, the silence / of what we no longer remember: who we are, / to whom the loon calls across the emptiness.”

Innisfree Bookshop doesn't carry it, but you can find it at Folded Word Press.

I wonder if there's a poem in there about paddling on a beaver pond in spring.

April 14, 2024: Eclipse

Well, the eclipse of 2024 stole the show for this week, and perhaps this decade, but I'll first record the dates of some spring milestones for the journal.  I saw my first phoebe on Tuesday, April 9th, and heard the first wood frogs singing in the vernal pools that same warm evening.  On my first kayak trip of the year I found Canada geese nesting on an island, not in the marsh, because the lake level is so high their usual location in the marsh is flooded.  There should be more signs of spring to report next week.

So, the eclipse.  Certainly the northeast lucked out on the weather with perfect atmospheric conditions in northern New New Hampshire to observe the celestial event of the century.  Linda and I decided to take the trip up to Colebrook to get a full three minutes of totality during the eclipse, and it was worth every second of the drive up and back - all eight hours of it coming home.

I'll start by saying I found the people around us to be the most polite and jubilant large crowd I've ever experienced.  Even standing in long lines to get coffee everyone was happy and sharing stories.  I met one person who lives in Texas and was planning to watch the eclipse in San Antonio.  But when she saw the Texas forecast on Sunday, she bought a plane ticket to Boston and drove up to Colebrook that morning!   Even the drivers in the massive traffic jam heading home were courteous - everyone was still stunned by what they just witnessed, and the long drive gave us lots of time to ponder what we had experienced.

Having arrived early we found a comfortable spot in a large field with a good view and watched other  eclipse observers file in - the anticipation was building.  

The event started at 2:17 pm when the moon took its first bite out of the sun.  (The following pictures were taken with a solar filter on the camera.)

Over the next hour the sun was slowly gobbled up, the light dimming so slowly that my eyes adjusted and I wasn't really aware it was getting darker until perhaps 75% of the sun was blocked.  

The colors changed as the sun was covered, though it didn't have the same hue as a normal sunset.  Even with over 95% of the sun blocked the scene was still quite bright.

This was only about 30 seconds away from totality.

The temperature dropped and the wind picked up; I put on my coat.  As it got noticeably darker, the crowd got quieter and quieter.  The wind stopped.  Someone noted that birds were flying off to find a safe spot for the night.  Stars appeared.  There was a sunset on the horizon for 360 degrees as darkness loomed.

By the time there was just the smallest sliver of sun showing, the crowd fell silent.  

Then, a truly magical moment occurred - it was like a light switch.  According to Dr. Angela Speck, chair of the Physics and Astronomy department of the University of Texas at San Antonio, even at 99.9% partial eclipse, there is still at least 100 times more light coming from the sun than during totality, and when that last sliver of sun went instantly dark, the most fabulous ring of light appeared around the moon. 

The silence was burst with a huge cheer, gasps, hoots and hollers.  Safely taking off the dark glasses and filters from the camera and binoculars, the sight was truly astonishing.  Through the binoculars you could clearly see the red solar prominences that are produced by plasma, super-heated gases in the sun's surface which emit red light (think of the light from a helium-neon laser). 

Solar prominences, hot plasmas containing highly charged helium and hydrogen gas.

These don't show up well in my pictures but you probably saw excellent images from telescopes photographing the event.  During totality I took a couple of photographs with different exposure times to capture the corona which is the hot outer atmosphere around the sun, visible only during a total eclipse.  The longer exposures capture the dimmer parts of the corona farther from the sun while over-exposing the bright edge around the moon.  

This exposure was 1/15 of a second; the prior image was 1/250th of a second.

Just as quickly as totality arrived, it left.  In an instant we were blinded by a flash of just 0.01% of the sun; we had to look away, and it was over.  It was three minutes of magic, followed by another hour of the sun slowly returning to normal.  

The factors that came together to allow Linda and I and thousands of others to experience this celestial miracle are hard to fathom.  In addition to the weather, the size of the sun and moon, and their distance from earth, all conspired in this fleeting moment in of wonder.  There was more than one discussion about whether the nearly identical size of the the sun and moon as viewed from our planet is a highly improbable coincidence or whether there is some divine or scientific aspect to it.  Do these particular parameters have a correlation with the establishment of life on earth?  The natural world provides endless questions to ponder.  

It was only three minutes, but it's three minutes of my life that will be remembered; that image is burned into my mind forever.