March meanderings

a beaver story, wolf tracks, twisted pines, and a raven’s prank

Our meanderings in March produced some interesting observations. One day we followed a tiny creek up a hill, through the forest, to a muskeg. At the edge of that muskeg, our canine companion showed great interest in some blueberry stems. We then saw that these stems had been cut by sharp teeth; just a few feet away there was a small, de-barked hemlock stump, and the upper part of the little tree was gone.

Then we found obscure old footprints in the snow that looked like beaver tracks, and down in a tiny gully were several bark-less blueberry stems. An opening in the ice at the bottom of the gully showed where the bark-eater had come and gone, connecting to the main creek. Of course, we then searched on downstream a short distance and soon spotted a small beaver lodge, with a cache of sticks in a pool not far away. This beaver had built several very small dams, creating little pools at the headwaters of the creek.

This is a strange place to find a resident beaver—and perhaps it is just an overwinter bivouac. The creek is extremely small, maybe just a foot wide, and offers little prospect of creating an extensive pond system. The beaver had harvested blueberry, alder, hemlock, and crabapple sticks, in the absence of more usual fare (cottonwood and willow). Soft, green aquatic vegetation would be rare to absent in this little drainage system, so this summer food would also not be available.

We imagined our beaver—probably a young one—swimming in the salt water from its natal stream as it dispersed to find a home of its own. Then it must have sniffed out the fresh water coming down to a beach and explored its way up to the headwaters of this little creek. At least it could overwinter here.

We were not the only ones to discover the beaver signs. A wolf had left it gigantic pawprints rather recently, as it checked out the lodge and cuttings before cruising over the ridge.

There were other things to see, too: Tracks of deer, porcupine, and grouse. Grouse scat that looked as if the bird had started to shift from winter food to soft summer food. An old, rotten log riddled with beetle borings full of frass (beetle feces) that was better preserved than the wood itself. Very fresh bird scat on the trail, berry-stained and full of false lily-of-the-valley seeds.

double-twisted-pine
Photo by Katherine Hocker

A big, dead, double-trunked shore pine claimed our attention. As do the great majority of dead pines we’ve looked at, this elegant specimen showed a strong twist to the right. In fact, I’d say that over ninety-nine percent of the many dead pines we’ve inspected have this right-hand spiral in the wood. So far, we have found no cogent explanation for this observation; all the suggested published ideas fall far short.

On another hike, at the edge of a muskeg, we were entertained by a raven that flew overhead and dropped something—thud—onto the snow next to the trail. It was a wad of moss and tiny twigs. Oh, I said—nesting material. But something didn’t look quite right (and would moss and little twigs make a thud??). So I reached out and turned over the wad. It was nesting material, all right, but not for a raven. It was an old robin’s nest, mud-walled inside the moss-and-twig mix, and frozen solid. Now the question became—what was that raven really doing? Bombing us, as message? Playing games?

Early October

gray, rainy days, some expected seasonal changes, and a few little surprises

The mallards on my home pond gradually molted into their breeding plumage, so I could now distinguish males from females, in most cases. Some males were already in good feather for breeding, while others lagged behind, sometimes way behind. So some of those brown ducks were just getting a few green feathers on top of their heads, and it would be a while before they caught up with the rest of the males.

Most of the cottonwoods were nearly leafless (and I would soon have to clean my rain gutters), although the alders were still leafy. A little stroll through Eaglecrest meadows gave us not only some tasty alpine blueberries but a few floral surprises: we found a single blooming bunchberry flower amid thousands of others bearing ripe fruits. One late-blooming pink bog laurel flower stood out against a background of mostly green. There was even a lonely shooting star, which commonly blooms in spring. These solitary flowers had gotten their hormonal signals crossed and had no hope of pollination at that late date.

Fall is mushroom season, and they were in full exhibit out around the Eagle Beach area. Big moss clumps growing way up on the side of a cottonwood tree sported great tufts of white ‘toadstools’ (but no toads, up there). Alder stumps were covered with crowds of brown mushrooms (I fear I’m sadly ignorant about mushroom ID). Tough little bright orange fungi poked through the packed gravel on the trail. Purple coral fungi (I do know that one) were common in the forest, growing in groups of slender, pale purple ‘fingers’.

amanitas-david
Amanitas. Photo by David Bergeson

Beautiful, but poisonous, fly amanitas (or fly agarics) spanned all age classes from bumps newly emerging from the ground to decrepit and no-longer-beautiful old age. The cap comes in various colors: often red, but sometimes orange or yellowish. The ‘fly’ part of the name may come from an Old World custom of putting pieces of this widely distributed mushroom in a dish of milk; this apparently attracts and traps flies. Despite their well-known toxicity, many of the mature amanitas had nibble marks around the edges, where squirrels or mice had snacked. Amanitas are important components of the plant community, because they form mutualistic associations with many trees, providing nutrients to their partners and sometimes serving as links for transport of nutrients and defensive compounds between trees.

There was plenty of bear sign: tracks in the mud, a few scats with undigested high-bush cranberries mixed with vegetation fibers, and numerous shallow digs. Some of these digs had turned up clumps of the white nodules of rice root (a.k.a. chocolate lily), but these remained uneaten. Instead, the bears may have been after angelica roots, but that’s a guess, because there were few identifiable remains. Small brown slugs festooned themselves over the digs, enjoying the decaying leftovers.

We found two of the small brown slugs engaged in some sort of sexual activity. They circled each other, with penises erect, for many minutes. We went off to look at something else briefly, and when we returned, they had each gone their own way. So we don’t know if they were just thinking about mating, or if they were engaged in some post-mating display, or what. Slugs are hermaphroditic, meaning both male and female (Hermes was the Greek god of travelers and the handsome messenger of Zeus; Aphrodite was the goddess of fertility and love), and mating is generally reciprocal. After mating, slugs of some species chew off their mate’s penis, but there are many kinds of slugs, and I don’t know if that curious habit applies to these. One might well speculate about how this habit came about!

As the temperatures dropped below freezing around the high mountain peaks, the water levels of our glacial rivers dropped markedly, leaving sloughs and sandbars and exposing interstadial wood from forests that grew in the valleys before the Little Ice Age glaciers demolished them. We surprised a dense gang of gulls and six or eight ravens gorging themselves on stranded salmon carcasses in a slough beside the main river. Farther upstream, a broad sand bar had hosted a wolf party that apparently involved some dancing. One of the cavorting group had left enormous tracks in the sand, some of the largest we’d ever seen. What fun!