OUT!! Disclaimer/Walk Back

With the recent job search I'm conducting as well as the demands of my current work/lifestyle and the needs of the sister blog, I'll be updating here less. Don't worry though. I'll update this once a month starting next year owing to the title of the blog. I just thought I'd make that clear before you guys thought I'd vanished. The need to do two entries for On the Wing takes time and because I'm running the Babe Ruth of Ornithology tournie right now, that eats up some time too. Just some clarification. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

OUT!! #18: Wild Suburbanites and the Domestication of Humankind

Suburbia is the greatest threat to wildlife in regards to habitat loss, shrinking wild spaces, and increasing tensions between the humans that want to live in an area and the wild animals that already do. Or is it?

After taking a walk with a family friend of mine to Earthplace, a nature discovery museum and conservancy in Westport, Connecticut, we looked up to see a White-tailed Deer (Odocoileus virginianus) bounding across one of the nearby lawns and later walk calmly over to the backyard of one of the neighboring houses. This is hardly surprising after all. As of the year 2000, there was estimated to be over 76,000 deer in the whole of Connecticut with the highest densities in areas with high residential populations, mixed growth forests, and reduced predator populations. This isn't surprising considering that the line between suitable wildlife habitat and resources have been blurred ever since people have lived side by side with wild places.

I remember sitting in my room late one night earlier this fall and had the windows open to have some air flow. The neighbourhood pup was barking up a storm when suddenly it went quiet. I furrowed my brow. "Finally." I thought to myself. The thing barked most nights and it was nice to have some quiet. Instead it was replaced with a different sound. "Yip-yip-kayoooooo!" The howl was followed by a cackle of answering howls and whoops. "Coyotes." I thought to myself. "I've never heard them so close to the house." I listened for a while more as they transitioned through the neighbourhood and faded into the dark of the night. Having such wild creatures so close to our homes, lives, and experiences makes me so glad. It means that regardless of what structures and changes man makes to the environment, animals can adapt (some better than others, but for the sake of the argument I'll continue with what I'm saying) to these new areas and still flourish despite these changes.

Not everyone agrees however. Recently a story in the New York Times caught my attention (see link here) that made me both angry, yet sympathetic. What annoyed me about the article initially was the title. The use of the word "guardian" in relation to the wolves that were being hunted seemed to immediately polarize the audience into those supporting the hunting of the wolves involved and those who think wolves are the symbol of wilderness in need of love and understanding and never to be threatened by the barbarism of hunters who are only doing what's legal under the current laws within that state. As you can probably guess, I'm more sympathetic to the hunters on this one. I do this primarily because anytime a story about hunting hits papers on both coasts, animal rights folks take to the airwaves announcing the cruelties and injustices that these "barbaric" humans do to these creatures.

While I'll let you read the rest of the article, I have come to some conclusions about this whole issue. While this post started out nicely enough, this particular issue has been bugging me for some time. The general gist of the whole issue centers around appropriate use of resources and what our role on the Earth is. I've come to reason that humans with our advances in technology, medicine, architecture etc. have effectively bred ourselves out of the standard problems facing most organisms on this planet. For the most part we have become quite domesticated with cozy houses, plentiful foodstuffs, and the ability to travel easily where ever, when ever. Even those that spend more time outside and possess even a modest set of survival skills can at best be called feral. We're no longer the wild creatures that once fled from the plains to escape Short-faced Bears (Arctodus spp.) and Sabertooth Cats (Smilodon spp.), but instead get worried when gnats and spiders invade our homes. While its certainly a good time to be alive in the more built up areas of the world, I have to say that we're ill-prepared when it comes to disaster. As aftermath of the recent hurricane that devastated parts of New Jersey and New York has come to pass, I waited to hear stories of hope, but also of the ever present news of people who thought that the storm wouldn't be that bad and decided to hide in their houses and apartment blocks. Some had no choice while some knew better, but they stayed nonetheless. There was tragedy, loss of property and lives. People mourn and while I'm saddened by the loss, I know that had they not gambled in the presence of Mother Nature's wrath, they might still be alive today.

I've always marveled at people who return to the place of a coastal natural disaster. The neighbourhood ripped to shreds by wind and water, the soil mixing with sand and destabilizing the roads, and random debris causing chaos throughout. The strength it must take to rebuild your house once, twice, three more times when a blow comes through and levels everything. I still don't know how people in the Midwest deal with tornadoes all summer! What I suppose I'm trying to get at is that people seem to have misplaced priorities when it comes to where it's a good place to live. Next to the beach is cool until it floods during a storm or gets washed away by a hurricane. In the woods is fine until people start complaining about their animal neighbours because they weren't aware that it was their home before they built a luxury cabin nearby. Even in the cities with animals like coyotes (Canis latrans), deer, Red-tailed Hawks (Buteo jamaicensis), and others coming in from shrinking habitats and are finding homes in our yards and gardens, there are some who welcome them, while most are scared of the wild creatures that seem to be stealing ground back from the humans who took it from them. We all have our place in this world, but I think its time we prioritize on what and where ours is. Is it in dominion over the creatures of the Earth or is it in a sustainable manner that allows us to experience those wild lives, but still have ourselves to count on as well. Just a thought.

OUT!! #17: Nature I Loved

There's always a certain quality to outdoor life stories that have us drawn in again and again and again. Not survival stories necessarily, but a good "I'm going to the woods to find out who I am" sort of story. "Nature I Loved" by Bill Geagan is just such a story. The blurb on the back of the book describes the basic plot as the following: "Badgered by his parents to settle down, find a good job, and get married, Geagan spent two years alone thinking things over. He found good solutions. Full of hunting and fishing scenes, young and old alike will identify with this heartwarming true story."

The real sticking point for me was that, as a lover of the outdoors and of Mother Nature herself, I've always been intrigued by the prospect of an outdoor life by doing a combination of self sufficient living and woodsman skills. But I always felt I fell short, either in regard to basic survival skills to the remoteness that Geagan experienced back in those days and even whether I could even undertake such a seemingly monumental task. I remember picking this book up as a freshman at Unity College and reading it cover to cover. The journey Geagan was taking seemed so distant from what my path seemed to be at the time: a college aged boy learning the skills and concepts he would need to get a job in the wildlife management field and then go on to live his life according to that plan. However recently, as I spend my days sitting and reading and thinking (my current job has a lot of down time), I've come to relate to some of the themes brought about by the author. I can relate to the sense of hopelessness one feels when they cannot find something they like or want to do as well as the societal expectations one feels pressured upon them when they can't get a job quickly enough or even one associated with their degree of study. I feel fortunate though that during the period Geagan lived in, I don't have to live under the same conditions. Having been published in the 50s, the idea of settling down with a good job and a family on the way seemed like the perfect model for life at the time. Thank goodness he took a different path. (Mind you he got "there" eventually, but by no means in a conventional manner.)

I love stories like this with their rich descriptions of nature and its wonders, but also the hard reality of the situation he put himself in so he could find his true passion in life. As I was reading over it today, I read a paragraph that reassured a position I'd held for a while, but never had the courage to hold aloft as my own. No worries though. It's not a major character issue or problem, but instead the idea of beauty vs. function when it comes to fishing flies. I'm the type of person that will use something over and over again because it works as opposed to what it looks like. This is why I prefer using hand-tied nymph flies over dries. This is primarily because dries are supposed to imitate a specific surface insect form while a nymph can be bushy, pulled loose, and wooly without the fish paying too much mind to it. It's also because I tie really crappy dry flies. What's most important however, is the motion given to the fly or lure that will attract the fishes attention, rather than size, shape, or bold and bright colors. Geagan writes of an angler he met in his first summer while chopping wood at his cabin and describes the flies the man was using as "…very large, very gaudy, and very heavily dressed wet flies tied on huge hooks that somebody had unloaded on him." While it is true that some of the most complex salmon flies ever tied are beautiful pieces of art (as seen below), as Geagan describes, they are woefully overdressed for most situations.

The Green Highlander. More appropriately designed to capture the attention of humans than of trout.

Geagan said it best on pg. 158 when he described how they were more often human attraction devices than fish catching ones.

"With the white hair from the tail of the deer, also squirrel hair, feathers from the hens, and what materials I had in my kit, I was able to turn out a large number of streamers, also wet flies and tiny dry flies. My flies were far from first class. They would never have sold in the stores. But they weren't tied for fisherman, they were tied for fish and they caught them and stood up well under the punishment. Most flies I have seen in the shops were tied to attract the fisherman. And they buy them at prices I have always thought were much too high. The flies are gaudy and usually too heavily dressed to fool fish, particularly those wise old guys on waters that are fished hard."

I'm always amazed by the simplicity presented in this book, how function generally trumps form and how a little ingenuity and thinking can yield much better results than just sticking to convention. That's ultimately what brings me back to the book over and over again. Having some different idea or concept from everyone else and trying to work it out another way rather than hopelessly grinding away at tried and worn out trails to the same future trodden on by the feet of so many others. It's exactly what Thoreau described when he explained that "most men lead lives of quiet desperation…" We all want avoid that trap, so I give you the advice of another one of America's greats, Mark Twain.

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

 Thank you for reading and have a lovely weekend.

OUT!! #16: Mallards are Whores!

I was going to supplement the attention-seeking title above with more appropriate photos, but the ones I took today are gone. Why you ask? My ƒ%&$ing computer decided to delete not only the photos I took today, but also iPhoto crashed during final upload meaning that all the wonderful photos I took for my other sites are gone. GONE! Siiiigh, damn you technology.

Back to the subject at hand, I do have pictures of a similar hybrid/manky birds that will suit the purposes of this post well enough. Hopefully, I can make my point just as well with them.

The reason for the provocative title is because as any waterfowl biologist, birder, and aviculturists will tell you, Mallards (Anas platyrhynchos) are adulterous rapists. You heard me right. As shocking as this may seem, it is easy to write off the Mallard as a species is a diverse mishmash of colors, sizes, distributions, and origins. It's even been considered a complex much like the many circumpolar gull species that are present in the northern hemisphere, but I digress. Due to it's almost international distribution and presence on any available water body, it can live pretty much anywhere where there's food, shelter, and of course, water.

However, this presents problems for two species unique to North America, the American Black Duck (A. rubripes) and Mottled Duck (A. fulvigula). While similar in appearance the Black Duck is named for its dark body plumage, while the Mottled Duck lives up to its name by the male and female of the species possessing mottled plumage. As with the Mallard, the sexes can be separated by bill color with males possessing yellow-green bills and females sporting orange bills with brown blotches. The main problem for these birds is that they're similarly colored to female mallards and through no fault of their own often end up producing hybrid young. Whether or not this is due to being previously related to mallards in the past is to be decided in a later post (see end of this post)















As explained in the initial paragraph, I saw several "manky" birds today (to steal a phrase from here) that seemed to either be fertile hybrids or inbred with feral waterfowl. But due to a technological glitch and iPhoto system failure on my end, I don't have any of those photos any more. (I'll save the weeping for later ;_; ) However, below I've included some pictures from my Florida trip earlier this year as well as some other photos of the "Mallard complex". See if you can spot the weird ones.

Did you guess correctly? If not, you can clearly see that the fourth and fifth pictures clearly show a rufous-looking male Mallard with more extensive chestnut on his breast and belly than a normal gray-bodied male. Since I can't be sure of its origins, I can only speculate that it's more likely to be a feral cross than a wild bird cross. As for what can be done about it, that "Mallard complex" I was talking about earlier might be to blame. I'd go on to explain further, but due to the lateness at the time of writing this, I'm inclined to stop. Here however is another example of the fine complexities that Mallards display with some of the problems mentioned here.

For the final post this month, I might explore this subject a bit more by explaining my take on the "Mallard complex". I do this because of my interest in waterfowl in general, but also because I have an interest in the kind of results hybridization can have on separate species and populations. Hopefully I can explain it with better descriptions and pictures than I was able to do here. Until then, I hope you all have a lovely weekend outside in the wild blue yonder.

Update: It would appear that my computer saved the pictures of the manky mallards I wanted to post on here in the first place. Therefore, I'm going to include those pictures in this post to show what I was trying to illustrate before I supposedly lost everything. I will reiterate my point when I write more thoroughly about species complexes next week for the final posting of the month. I need to remember that this blog is for all things wildlife and associated with wildlife problems, people, and events so by focusing on a whole big taxonomic thing, I end up doing more of a service that way. Also if I want to rant about birds whenever, I'll just do so on the birding blog here. Now that that's out of the way, I'll leave you to appreciate the pictures I still had even if iPhoto seemed to crash and lose them all.

It was these three specifically show a dark bodied male Mallard but plumage details such as lack of a neck ring, overall dark body color, and lack of a defined breast color might point to a manky bird or fertile hybrid.

All I can say for sure is that while they add diversity to the field in terms of what one can see in the colors of the species, in the end, it just makes it a hell of a lot more confusing.

OUT!! #15: Hunting Redux

This past week I finished an excellent book that illustrates the dilemma that I'm feeling at the moment. I'm keen to get into hunting both as an addition to my other outdoor activities such as canoeing, fishing, and birding and as a means to provide a natural form of protein in my diet, but finding ways to start is often daunting. From various hunting related articles and shows that I've seen I'm keen to experience nature in the closer forum that hunters engage in, but also to be a part of a natural process that we are increasingly becoming estranged from as time goes on.

"Call of the Mild: Learning to Hunt My Own Dinner" by Lynn Raff McCaulou is just the volume to help me with my small plight. Having gotten my hunters education squared away, finding opportunities to be able to go out and experience the hunter's point of view has proven to be my primary sticking point, as well as not having legal arms to pursue game with. (What about that bow you mentioned in OUT!! #1 you might suggest? Well that was sold for gas money so I'm in a bit of a hole at the moment.)

Ms. McCaulou's journey started after moving to Oregon for a change from the NYC urban life she was living as an assistant in the Indie film industry. She picked up a reporting job where she began to meet hunters who would talk about how much their sport means to them and how they care about the animals they seek for sport and food. This led McCaulou to look into her own views about the environment and how they fit in with a viewpoint consistent with the agenda the hunters put forward as well as her own beliefs about the environment we all share for recreation and resources alike. This doesn't mean however that she accepted hunting outright after hearing a few good stories from local hunters. She did what anyone would do if shifting to something that is different from ones prior experiences and goes through a process that includes her assumptions about herself, her confidence to pull through on her goal to hunt, and her belief that she had the strength of will and spirit to be able to pursue this blossoming dream of hers. What she wrestles with most is the idea of taking the life of an animal. She references Bambi as a point in her childhood where she makes the connection that the reason hunters hunt is because they hate their prey and want to destroy them. As she thought about what taking the life of an animal means to her, questions like "Is it justified?" and "Will the guilt drag me down?" feature prominently throughout the book and her thought process. She eventually learns to manage the guilt by coupling it with the idea that by selecting one animal to be killed for food, it allows others to survive and perpetuate the species for future hunters to enjoy.

As her confidence grows, she finds that she is reclaiming or even resuming a once forgotten place in the natural world as a creature surviving on the meat of a fellow creature. She also recognizes her role as a hunter ensures money is provided to conservation efforts to purchase habitat for game and non-game alike, as well as, providing funding for research and monitoring on wildlife populations on both state, federal, and where applicable, private lands. As I finished the book, it reiterated a theme that I feel not only in my own life, but have seen elsewhere as well. The more technology one surrounds themselves with, the further they are from the heart of this world. We can hide ourselves from the soil and leaves and trees and animals, but we are still part of this big, wide world that we call home. We can claim human privilege and uniqueness, but ultimately we are organisms that need food, shelter, water, and sunlight for survival, but these are but basics. If we are to survive, we need to focus on the planet and how our needs reflect sustainable use of those resources we need to survive.

Personally, I see hunting as a method as surviving in a world that's plagued by meat of questionable origin and treatment before killing for our consumption. It also helps to know where ones food comes from and through that virtue, being able to provide that essential food for oneself and others who desire it. After watching several episodes of Fieldsports Britain on YouTube, I've become enamored with air guns and their simplicity, as well as effective use to dispatch a variety of pest and small game species. I want to start off slowly, with smaller prey that will allow me to hone my skills towards something larger or quicker, like ducks, or turkey, or deer. Hopefully, I can get myself on the next step towards hunting proficiency and be able to effectively take game safely and fairly. After reading this account about a fellow "adult on-set hunter", I can only hope for the best and learn the skills that will help me assume the mantle of an ethical, but effective hunter.

OUT!! Disclaimer

Having recently started a surveying position in Norwalk, CT this past week, I haven't been able to update as frequently, but since it's the start of a new month, I will put this back on track today. Thank you guys for being patient. In case you were curious, the family friends I'm staying with still don't have electricity about four days after Sandy hit, but hopefully they'll have their power back by the end of this weekend.

To everyone else who's suffered loss or damage in this storm, my heart, thoughts, and feelings go out to you and I hope you can get back to normalcy as quickly as possible. To those folks on Staten Island, NY, Hoboken, NJ, and other affected areas, I wish the best for you and can only hope for a speedy recovery.

OUT!! #14: Carp Diem

When you say the name Common Carp (Cyprinus carpio), two things spring into my mind. One is that, being from the UK myself, I recognize that carp is an important sport fish to many "course" fisherman and new records regarding weight and size are sought regularly. There are even specialist magazines that deal with various issues of importance to the carp angler such as proper bait presentation, what works under certain light conditions, what bobbers work best (balsa or god forbid, plastic!), and what tents (yes, you read that correctly) can be used for adequate outdoor shelter in order to provide cover during adverse conditions. To put it in basic terms, carp fisherman are the equivalent of fly-fisherman that aspire to the "Orvis model of perfection"; the equipment and gear used must be of the highest quality, be horrendously expensive, and have an air of such sophistication and grandeur that it will intimidate those of us of a more leisurely persuasion. I might be exaggerating a bit, but this to me seems to be a fair assessment. I'm fairly sure however that many American trout fisherman wouldn't want to even be compared to the lowly trash fish that's being discussed here.

According to the Mississippi National Park Service website, carp were introduced to America on what seems to be a food-driven idea (rather than an aesthetic view which caused a great deal of non-native plant life to become established on the North American continent) perpetuated and carried out by many European immigrants who were appalled at what they perceived as being a valuable food source not being available in the waters of North America. Never mind that North America has an enormous variety of game fish to choose from, it was clear that these people wanted carp and so they brought them in by the barrel full. Nowadays, we have a better understanding of the damage introduced species can have in new landscapes. We've seen the effects of habitat displacement by species such as purple loosestrife (Lythrum salicaria) and water chestnut or caltrop (Trapa spp.), as well as more aggressive species like Mute Swans (Cygnus olor) that drive out native waterfowl from breeding and foraging areas and destroy massive quantities of submerged aquatic vegetation (SAV). The carp have the same intentions as any biological organism, to survive by any means necessary and to live long enough to reproduce. As a result, they breed in massive numbers in the spring and can survive in conditions that would kill most game fish such as turbid, low oxygen environments. They hard to eradicate and, as these videos show, eager to conquer new territories.

These three videos feature carp that have been present in Great Meadows NWR in Concord, MA for a few years now and recently were more visible. This was due to the pumping of water from the nearby Concord River to fill the surrounding marsh with water for migrating waterfowl. As I explain throughout the videos, I'm amazed by the number and sudden appearance of these fish, as well as their introduced status and why that's problematic. Caution on the third video is advised as a minor swear is uttered briefly.

However, just over two weeks later, the marsh has been filled and the flowing waters have stopped. As a result, where the carp had originally surged to the pipe pouring water in the marsh, they are now trapped by the slowly draining pool created by the rushing torrents of river water. Even when cornered like this, their will to survive is strong and they counteract the lack of dissolved oxygen by breathing air directly as the photos above illustrate. Even so, as the upper right photo demonstrates, time is running out. Even as I passed today, the smell of fishy death is in the air and the carp that once happily swarmed to this flowing pool suddenly have found that their days are numbered.

This left me with mixed feelings. Generally, I'm pleased when a destructive and invasive species is vanquished in order to reclaim an area for native wildlife, but even if the carp in this enclosed marsh pool were fated to die, surely there has to be quicker ways of dispatching them! While I'm aware fishing is banned on the refuge itself, but surely allowing some bow-fisherman to take out the trapped fish would be more merciful than leaving them to suffocate in a watery pit. Since that's an unlikely solution, at least we can take solace in there being a few less bottom feeders ripping up our plants, crowding our fish, and foolishly dying in pools of their own watery misery. Well, at least that's what I'll be doing.

OUT!! #13: Wooden Waterfowl and Threadbare Hooks

Ever since I got my first book on the subject (a copy of Duck Hunting by Dick Sternburg and Jeff Simpson), I've been infatuated with the romance and practice of waterfowling. While I haven't gotten the chance to go yet, I hope I will be able to at some point. After getting my hunter education certificate almost two Octobers ago, I had hoped I would have gone by now, but something's has always been holding me back. Well, most things about the sport are holding me back, particularly the owning a shotgun, being able to aim at and hit targets, and having the means with which to hunt a particular area are all issues for me, but I have promised myself that it won't stop me now. Not while I still have a chance when I'm still young and have the time.

It's pretty fair to say that I idolize waterfowlers. This might seem like an overstatement, but they are, at least in my opinion, some of the most courteous, conservation-driven, and hard-working men and women in the sporting world. Within their sport exists a passion for quest and quarry that can easily be compared to other forms of hunting like deer, small game, and pheasant. But instead, it has the air of a distinctly American heritage that isn't seen in other sporting cultures around the world such as the private land shoots of European aristocracy or the safaris of Africa and India.

Hand-tied flies are always a joy to see and use.

What initially attracted me to the idea of going out waterfowling was the same thing that had attracted me to fly-fishing; it was the art and craft of making one's own tools for use in the field. In the picture to the left are three streamer flies, two nymphs, and three dry flies that I have tied within the last two years or so. The first thing that jumps to mind is their scruffy appearance which, to the eye of an expert, might put them off and refer to them as an amateur's attempt at trying to copy a natural form. But one has to keep in mind that fish, being wary but fairly simple creatures, tend only to care if they can eat something that fits easily into their mouths. The very earliest flycasters used hooks with barely any feathers and thread and still managed to catch fish, so I'm trying at the very least. Ultimately, when you see at something that you created, catching some finned denizen from a pond or stream, the pride that is felt is enormous. After catching a few panfish on my modified Brassie nymph (the small, brown, fuzzy-headed one with the thin, gold body), I caught a few more with my Fur Ant (the even fuzzier, black one above it). Such good times and yet, I want to go further.

A folksy sort-of attempt at a winter plumage Spoon-billed Sandpiper.

I want to make and hunt over my own decoys. I certainly have the ability and the means to do so. As the photos on the side attest, I have at least mastered the basics of carving and can paint a decent decoy, but I want to excel to something much trickier and that if put to proper use, would be way more rewarding.

A sleeping juvenile plumage Spoon-billed Sandpiper decoy.

Earlier this year I received probably two of the most important inspirations that have spurred my renewed interest in hunting waterfowl. The first was the discovery of Jeff Coats' channel on YouTube. The man has an immense passion for hunting sea ducks and Brant (Branta bernicla) in Maryland, as well as other waterfowl in other parts of the country like the southern bayous or the Pacific coast. After watching his documentation of Pat Vincenti's method of making Susquehanna Flats style Surf Scoter (Melanitta perspicillata) decoys as well as his own videos on how he makes working decoys for his guiding business, I was blown away by the dedication the man had to his sport and to his craft of decoy making. Seeing someone willing to put the time and effort into building and maintain their own "blocks" was a real inspiration to me. With that spark, I set out to look for other sources of inspiration. I'm pleased to say that I wasn't disappointed.

Earlier in the summer, I got the opportunity to visit the Ward Museum of Waterfowl Art in Salisbury, MD, a museum dedicated to exhibiting the craft and art form of working and realistic waterfowl decoys, as well as other bird carvings. Some of my favorite pieces came from the namesake of the museum, the Ward brothers themselves, in an exhibit which contained a detailed replica of their workshop down to the paintbrushes, blocks of wood, and carving tools they used to make it all happen. Like most famous decoy carvers, they were originally hunters who carved their own flocks of birds to hunt over. Other famous area decoy makers include Robert F. McGaw, Samuel T. Barnes, and the revered R. Madison Mitchell, who with their own unique carving patterns and styles, maintained a presence in hunting culture within the area. Today, many of their works are considered to be collectables and are prized possessions to many a modern collector.

With all sorts of inspiration around, I recently got down to the how-to of decoy making. After recently finishing of my Hooded Merganser (Lophodytes cucullatus) decoy (needs eyes however), I'm feeling ready to start my flock of decoys. Turning to my beaten up copy of the aforementioned "Duck Hunting", I looked into what supplies I would need to start learning the right skills of the sport I have been reading about all my life. Because I'm interesting in hunting for food, I'm going for dabblers, with some of the better tasting divers like Ring-necked Duck (Aythya collaris) in mind as well. As such, on the list of decoys to make are the following:

10 Mallards (6 m/ 4 f, 2 feeders)
4 Black Duck (2 m/ 2 f, 1 feeder)
4 Wood Duck (2 m/ 2 f)
8 Scaup (4 m/ 4 f)

I'll have pictures of my progress up as I go along, but for now I'm just planning. It's time to make this dream a reality and I will make sure that I achieve it. Let the good times roll. ^_^

OUT!! #12: Records of the Birding Past

Over the past few weeks, I've been writing up a database for Bird Observer magazine, a Massachusetts- based, bimonthly, entirely volunteer-run birding blurb that features articles relevant to birding, famous people associated with birding (the issue that I have beside me documents the history and practice of Ludlow Griscom, a personal hero of mine, who worked at Harvard in the ornithology department and was a pioneer in the optical birding and field mark recognition-based birding at is utilized today) and perhaps most importantly, records of the species reported to the magazine by birders around Massachusetts throughout the year. I approached Bird Observer after starting this blog and its sister blog On the Wing: A Life Inspired by Birds and asked if I could provide articles for publication as well as offering my services to volunteer to help them out.

That was almost a month ago and I've volunteered to help with the accumulation of a database that will be used to document all Bird Observer records prior to 1994 (which presumably is when computer records began) and catalog them in an Excel spreadsheet for easy access. Recently, I've come to realize the importance of this data in relation to another goal I've set for myself this year. As I mention many times on the biweekly updates of On The Wing, I'm currently trying to get 300 species of birds on my life list by the end of the year. I'm currently at 293 after a very successful trip to Parker River NWR this past Friday and now need only 7 species to round up the list. What really got me thinking about the importance of the work I'm doing for Bird Observer was the recent purchase of the three volume set of Edward Howe Forbush's "Birds of Massachusetts and Other New England States" as well as Ludlow Griscom's "Birds of Concord" and Frank Chapman's "Handbook of Birds of Eastern North America"

I will freely admit that I'm a lover of old books, especially about birds or nature. What I would give for an original copy of John Gould's paintings or Audubon's Elephant Folio, but alas lacking the requisite funds or stealth points needed to steal such works, I can still admire the civilian reproductions that show up every few years or so. Just recently my girlfriend got me a copy of "The Birds of America" with commentaries by William Vogt and I love reading his species descriptions ascribed to the over 300 species Audubon shot and painted over much of his life. However, over the past few days I've been using Forbush's and Chapman's guides to give me a sense when I should be focusing on certain migrants during this year's fall migration. Over the past several weeks, I've watched several warbler and sparrow species I've never seen before, as well as witnessing a very rare and accidental Say's Phoebe (Sayornis saya) that had been present at Parker River since Thursday of this past week. Needless to say, these texts not only mention the presence of these rare birds in Massachusetts beforehand, but also have the dates and places they were seen (and then subsequently dispatched by bird shot).

What this tells us whether you're a casual birder, an ornithologist, a biologist, or just about anyone interested in the presence of birds in our neighbourhoods and surrounding areas is that changes have been occurring since these records were compiled. For example, earlier this summer I posted this to On The Wing discussing the legacy of Ludlow Griscom in Massachusetts, as well as, the population trends and abundances of the species he frequently saw on his travels around eastern half of the state. He described how many forest species like chickadees and Blue Jays (Cyanocitta cristata) had suffered as a result of the massive logging of Eastern forests that had taken place in prior generations, while other species that preferred opener stretches of forest and farmland thrived. Nowadays, the opposite is occurring with forests heading towards or having attained small patches of mature glory, while the farm fields and secondary growth forests have suffered with age and patchier distribution.

Ultimately, what I hope to get out of this is a way to determine the periods in the year when certain species are more common and therefore more easily viewed while providing a picture of the changes that have occurred to bird populations in Massachusetts and adjacent New England states during the same period. What I'm especially excited about is what new species might be moving into New England over the next few years (or more realistically, decades). The recent influx of southerners in the last seventy years such as cardinals, titmice, and the almost ubiquitous Carolina Wren (Thryothorus ludovicianus) are great evidence of that. I personally can't wait to see Blue Grosbeaks (Passerina caerulea) up here more frequently, but that's a dream for now. Hopefully soon I can begin to make such comparisons, but until then it's a cold, hard slog through cold, hard data. I wouldn't have it any other way.

OUT!!: Posting Notes

I just wanted to let you guys know that I'll be updating more than twice a month just to try something out. Over the past few weeks, I've really gotten into the blogging world with the sister blog, On The Wing: A Life Inspired by Birds and wanted to update this one a bit more often as well. So I'll be updating three times a month rather than two just so I can get more ideas flowing. Just a simple update since a new month has arrived. Hope to update soon.

OUT!! #11: I Don't Like Your Dog('s Crap)

I'm sorry. I just had to be blunt about it.

I just returned a few hours ago from Callahan State Park in Framingham and am happy to report that I've added two more bird species to my life list. It was a lovely excursion through thickets and woods that yielded many common species such as Blue Jays (Cyanocitta cristata), Black-capped Chickadees (Poecile atricapillus), a Belted Kingfisher (Ceryle alcyon), and the two new species, a well-hidden, but calling Northern Waterthrush (Parkesia novaboracensis) and a juvenile Tennessee Warbler (Oreothlypis peregrina) foraging with some titmice near the southern end of park.

It was a lovely experience overall, but something just bothered me as I was leaving.

A present? For me? You shouldn't have!

At the start of each trail, there are a multitude of signs that indicate that not only should dogs be on the leash at all times, but that thine owners should clean up their crap as well. I have a problem with the doggy bag theory to begin with, but what bothered me more is that even though the park provides these bags free of charge, whoever came through here with their canine companion either forgot that their beloved, furry friend had just shat in the woods and they had left it there unintentionally, or (and I hope this isn't true) they truly didn't give a crap about the crap that had been left there. You'll be glad to know, I disposed of it in the trash upon my return to the parking lot.

Earlier in my travels, I arrived at the southern parking lot of Callahan where an open meadow leads to an earthen dam that overlooks the surrounding woods and fields, as well as a nearby golf course. I would have been able to enjoy this walk further when I saw something I rarely find pleasing. A large group of dogs that were off the leash. It seems it doesn't matter that there are signs everywhere that say "Keep dogs on leash at all times." because unless people are enforcing the rules, it really doesn't matter. I find this particularly troubling because I have a slight anxiety towards large groups of dogs (usually four or more) and want to stay the hell away from them when I'm alone. Especially when I'm alone. This stems mainly from bad experiences with Doberman Pinchers and larger groups of dogs when walking afield, but I digress.

Even when something can spoil your day, you can always find something to end it on a good note.
In my haste to get away from this group of canine botherers, I went up a forested side trail and found to my surprise, a bevy of small songbirds just waiting to be watched and counted. There were Tufted Titmice (Baeolophus bicolor) everywhere, as well as a few White-breasted Nuthatches (Sitta carolinensis) and even more Black-capped Chickadees. The biggest surprise however came when I looked up into a pine sapling in front of me to see a small, yellow warbler. Not a Yellow Warbler (Setophaga petechia) mind you. I've seen enough of them to know what they are. What struck me was its yellow supercilium, white outlining the wings, olive back, and yellowish underparts. I wrote down these details and looked them up on my iTouch version of the Sibley Guide. I smiled as I recognized the features that pointed to either a juvenile or dull female Tennessee Warbler. Another life bird for me! Despite the canine marauders and a lowly bag of dog crap, I still managed to enjoy myself and picked up two more for the list.

OUT!! #10: Tenkara Doom!

Judging from the title, one might suspect I've come up with a new novel or indie film. While just as likely, I'm actually referring to my brief stint with tenkara (a form of Japanese fly-fishing) that most likely has concluded this September day. It started off earlier in the day when I escaped the confines of my parent's house in Sudbury to go fishing at Puffer Pond in Assabet River National Wildlife Refuge. I have been a life long fisherman, but in recent years have slacked off because of either my own laziness or having a social life that distracts me from the need to taunt the underwater denizens with hook and line. I'm not in anyway implying that fisherman, especially fly-fisherman have no social life, but one does have to realize that once hopelessly addicted to something you cannot adequately explain to the unbaptized members of society, why you find the sport so damn interesting. I went a step further by pursuing a sport very few had even heard of, save for a few Pacific Coast stream fisherman who'd become enamored with combining the simplicity of cane poling with the grace and patience of fly-casting

For all intents and purposes, tenkara pursues the same goal all fly-fisherman have of catching a fish using a lure that best imitates the food a fish is used to seeing in their environment, in the most delicate and natural way possible. The difference with tenkara is that in order to make it even simpler they took away the reel and attach the line to the tip of the rod. They also use mono line as opposed to the white and green fly lines most modern fly casters are used to having in their arsenals. This makes the fly lighter and less "artificial" looking as it slowly sinks to the bottom of where ever one is fishing from. In fact, that's what they generally recommend doing as the main way of fishing. This is done by using a fly that can best be described as a plain hook with a single ruff of hackle feathers that's bobbed gently up and down in the stream or pond to entice a bite. The flies I'm used to using were clearly designed either to be floated (dries), sunk (wets), or streaked through the water like grease lightening (streamer flies) in the vain hope that one of the more sporty and "manlier" game fish would partake. The overall impression this has left me with is that, while a unique contribution and spin on the typical view of "what fly-fishing is", it is quite annoying to have only the one casting style and lure to your availability. The diversity within fly-fishing itself leaves much to be enjoyed, but by trying to simplify something that I feel is best left complicated, you in turn make it more complicated than it needs to be. But enough of the technical aspects, we must return to the story.

As I got to the pond, I extended the pole, attached the line to the end and launched the fly on the end into the air in a series of pirouettes above my head. Back and forth, back and forth. The fly went back and came forward several times hitting the water, surely causing alarm to whatever lay below in the weedy depths of the pond. I wasn't getting into the rhythm, so I slowed down in my casting. It was at this point that the wind decided to blow onshore which all but ensured a failure to cast it (the fly) appropriately onto the water. I tried for several more minutes to cast but either the fly wouldn't cast far enough or the wind would cause the worst sort of tangle: the mid-air line collision tangle. The mid-air line collision tangle is caused when the wind pushes back on the line upon the back cast causing the line to collide with the line nearer to the end of the pole. This then causes the worst part of the tangle to form whereby the fly decides it wants to play too and knots itself around both lines. The resulting tangle leaves the user irate and abusive to the wind obliging line that you had so causally tossed into the wind in the most strained of hopes wouldn't do what you were currently struggling with.

This by far was bad, but the day of tenkara doom wasn't finished with me yet. I decided to try another spot and hopped into the car for the 15 minute journey from ARNWR to Heard's Conservation Land. Along this beautiful spot mainly used by dog-walkers and birders, the Sudbury River sidles lazily around a wooded bend making perfect fishing for panfish such as Brown Bullheads (Ameiurus nebulosis), Bluegills (Lepomis macrochirus), and Yellow Perch (Perca flavascens), as well as some of the larger Largemouth Bass (Micropterus salmoides) and White Suckers (Catostomus commersonii) I'd seen in the river. I walked down the bank, took out my tackle and started waving the rod in the same back and forth manner as before. In my haste to catch the easiest fish in the world however, I failed to realize that my casting backdrop was a Silver Maple tree (Acer saccharinum)and cattail reeds (Typha spp.) and subsequently caught not the panfish I was seeking, but instead the leaves and branches of the aforementioned maple.

After two more tangles and nearly uprooting the entire marsh of leaves and reeds, I safely concluded that it wasn't working. While I'm sad it hasn't worked out, I'm still a fisherman. I can still go bait, spin, and fly fishing (I might even give surf fishing a try one day), but my time with this venture is over. What I won't say is that tenkara isn't worth trying. It certainly is. If you're into fly-fishing and want to simplify your efforts by doing the same activity with a whippy cane pole that's more prone to wind than an errant feather and requires the delicate touch that I cannot muster even if I wanted to, be my guest. The next time I cast a line, it'll have a worm on it.

OUT!! #9: Of Catalpas and Hedge-Apples

You've seen them at least once this summer or at some point in life. The weird, lumpy fruits that bounce off of your lawn from that tree or bush of spurious origin or the long, bean-like fruits of the one with the heart-shaped leaves. These trees are some of my favorites because of their appearance and how little people seem to know about them or where they came from. I am of course referring to Catalpa (Catalpa spp.) and Osage-Orange (Maclura pomifera) trees. Far from being foreign and unknown, these trees are uniquely American species and while not closely related, are at least well recognized for their unique appearance on the New England landscape.

While originally from Texas, I saw my first Osage-Orange tree while working as a camp counselor at Drumlin Farm Day Camp in the summer of 2011. As I handled one of those lumpy fruits I could recall having read about such trees and their unusual fruits in a Golden Guide to Trees I'd read as a child. The guide states the following:

"Osage-Orange like Catalpa is planted widely outside its original range. It was used as one of the first "living fences" to bound prairie farms. Indians prized the tough wood for bows and war clubs; we use it to a limited extent for posts and ties. Osage-orange is a relative of the Mulberries and the Fig. It is easily identified by its shiny leaves, thorny twigs, bright orange inner bark. The unusual, wrinkled, orange-like fruit, 4 to 5 in. in diameter, has a typical citrus odor, but the inside is dry and pulpy, with a milky juice. It grows from a ball of small green flowers. Height: 15 to 50ft"

Photograph of leaves and fruit courtesy of Wikipedia

I remember that description well and was delighted to find several of the trees at Drumlin. Why they had been planted there is anyone's guess because they seemed to be scattered throughout the property. I have seen only three trees myself and hope that there are others of this one-of-a-kind tree elsewhere. Their scatter shot plantings didn't seem to have a fence post or enclosure in mind so perhaps, they were used for folk remedies when they were planted with the hope that the fruit they produced could be used to ward of various insects and spiders that hid in the home. According to a Wikipedia article on the plant, while it was used as a natural fence, its fruit, often called "hedge-apples", were used as insect repellant. This was possibly due to the citrus smell given off by the fruit and in some instances was strong enough the keep certain insects away permanently.

A Catalpa that resides on the Heard's Conservation Land.

While the Osage is unique in its own right, it is certainly less familiar than the Catalpa. One cannot drive anywhere along a main road in Sudbury or Wayland without seeing one of these distinctive trees. They're are the archetypical shade tree with their broad, green leaves and enormous canopies. I initially was only aware that there were trees by such a name due to a type of fishing bait I'd heard of called catalpa worms. The worms themselves are actually misnomers. They are actually the larvae of the Catalpa Sphinx Moth (Ceratomia catalpae) which feed on the leaves of the plant that they're named for. Originally of the Missouri River Valley, the Northern Catalpa (Catalpa speciosa) has been introduced widely as fast-growing tree for timber production by farmers, but also for its aesthetic and shade providing qualities.

The unusual, yet intriguing aspects of these trees make them pop out to those who are paying attention. But to those who puzzle over a lumpy green fruit from that monster tree in the yard or that beautiful shade tree planted 100 years ago, you can be assured that if its either one of these trees, you will be thrilled.

OUT!! #8: The Natural Child

This summer has quite possibly been one of my most productive in terms of personal growth and learning about what truly makes me happy as an individual. The joy of being able to teach children about the natural world is a wonderful occupation and having the ability to be outside and interacting with nature fills my heart with unadulterated glee! Being able to show these young people these beautiful places that have been set aside for their benefit and education is one of the reasons I'm interested in becoming a teacher. Perhaps not a classroom teacher, but a teacher of nature and how it works.

For the past four summers ('08, '09, '11, and '12) I have been a summer camp counselor at Drumlin Farm Day Camp and have taught kids from 1st to 5th grade about the natural world, local wildlife, the state of the environment, and sustainable farming practices. With such a range of subjects, it almost seems daunting that anyone could cover such a diverse range of topics, but the degree of professionalism and knowledge shown by the Drumlin Farm camp staff is simply phenomenal. So many people from so many backgrounds all come together to produce (I'm quite biased as you can guess) one of the best summer camp experiences possible. However, as the title suggests this posting is less about praise and more about my perceptions about what children should be able to experience in the outside world.

I'm currently working from Assabet River National Wildlife Refuge Mini-Camp, which is a satellite location from Drumlin Farm that offers shorter camp sessions (three days) in exchange for more specialized curricula and activities to take place than would be possible at the main camp. For example, last week was themed "Nature Exploration" and focused on the three habitats found at the refuge: fields or woodland openings, the surrounding forest, and the kettle pond (Puffer Pond) in the center. For anyone to suggest that all kids are interested in these days are video games, electronics, and the latest androgynous pop stars has never seen a group of first graders crowded under a tree, quietly watching a Blue Jay (Cyanocitta cristata) that was right above our heads. The bird seemed unperturbed by our presence and sat peacefully in the pine sapling above our heads, occasionally turning its head to survey the surrounding area. Another example to contradict this idea of bored children with little regard for the natural world was last week on the last day of the "Nature Exploration" camp we had to ask the campers several times to STOP ponding so that they could hike back to eat lunch. They had been ponding* for over an hour already and if it weren't for their need to consume food in order to remain happy and agreeable for the remainder of the day, we would have let them continue to do so.

*For the uninitiated, "ponding" refers to an activity centering around active nature exploration where the campers use sieves on the end of broom poles to scoop and sample the depths of ponds for the organisms that dwell within them. Common catches include, but are by no means limited to, diving beetles (Dytiscidae), water striders (Gerridae), dragon and damselfly larvae (Odonata), crayfish (Cambarus bartonii bartonii is the commonest), and frogs (typically consisting of Green and Bullfrogs (Rana clamitans and R. caresbeiana)).

While I understand that not all children can be let free in the wilds and expected to enjoy it as much as the person teaching them about it, for the most part, the kids that come are excited to be here. For those who aren't as enthused, while I'll be glad to show the kids a gall left behind by a wasp or other plant-molesting insect or point out the difference between a White Pine (Pinus strobus) and a Red Pine (P. resinosa), there are those few that seem to have been sent to camp as a way for the parents to get their kids outside for the summer and to have a place to look after them while they are at work. In those cases, few benefit and often the child is bored as they seem more interested in playing games that resemble school sports and causing wanton destruction to the surrounding plant life. Regardless of a given child's level of interest in nature, these kids have a future ahead of them plagued with troubles that threaten the very wildlife and plant life that they are allowed to freely revel in today. It is my hope that through this current generations efforts to protect and further educate those interested in the natural world, we can start a movement similar to the "back to the earth" movements of the 1960s and 70s which focused in on the importance of outdoor education and advocacy with an emphasis on greening communities using more local materials and traditional methods of agriculture.

Perhaps this is a pipe dream. Perhaps wishful thinking for the future. But even if there is just one who truly believes in a cause, they will make it happen, no matter the obstacles. Such dreaming reminds me of the Lorax by Dr. Seuss where the Onceler's selfish actions cause such severe environmental degradation to the point of local wildlife leaving in a mass exodus and causing enough smog to block out the stars at night. The message left by the Lorax as he "lifted himself by the seat of his pants" is a hopeful, yet ominous "UNLESS" causing the Onceler to regret his actions and tell the story to a local boy in order to enlist him as a steward of the last of the Truffula trees. This story is truly inspirational to me and through its example I hope we can find that strength to fix our current problems and allow for those future generations to be as fortunate as we are now to have woods to frolic in, ponds to pond in, and wild areas that people can explore for years to come.

OUT!! #7: Bugs of the Sun

You can hear them now. They starting coming out about two weeks ago and their ever present whining in the treetops is more commonly noted than their haggard appearance. More persistent than the hungriest mosquito, but more subtle and expected, the cicadas have returned for another summer of heat and humidity. This is only the second week I've worked at camp and I've already found several of these alien bugs in the bushes around Drumlin Farm. With their dark bodies, window pane wings, and hooked legs, they look weird even by bug standards, but are key indicators of summer in Massachusetts for as long as I've been here. The edginess that one feels in the heat is smoothed by the pleasant, but constant drone of these hidden musicians.

Upon first coming to the United States, my parents thought that the houses had electrical problems due to the constant buzzing in the trees around them. However, they were quickly assured that they were nothing more than whirring insects in the trees above. Despite their initial skepticism, they quickly came to accept these buzzing creatures as just another part of the American summer. The true beauty of these creatures is not found in their looks, but instead within their whining music played in those hot summer months. As inviting as a breeze on a humid day, their simple melodies are too precious to live without.

The Japanese, observant to the ways of nature, associate cicadas with rejuvenation and renewal and their renewed presence each summer illustrates this revitalization felt by those upon hearing of the relaxing buzz of the cicadas in the treetops. The life cycle of cicadas compared to many insects is lengthy, but dependent on the presence of trees. Without trees, cicadas are woefully unprepared for life above the soil's surface. Starting out as eggs in slits carved into tree branches by the females, the nymphs hatch out and drop to the ground where they promptly bury themselves into the soil. They remain here for up to 17 years, but often for much shorter periods. After emerging, their alien shells appear on branches, bushes, and any structure they can hold onto. They molt from these shells into their adult forms in a similar fashion to dragonflies and mayflies when they emerge from their watery homes. After climbing into the trees, the males start their buzzing serenade to females, all the while sipping on the sap found the xylem of the trees they sit on. So much like Jimmy Buffet himself "nibbling on sponge cake" and relaxing in the summer sun, cicadas provide the vocal backdrop to the essence of summer in Massachusetts and around the country.

OUT!! #6: Lessons from a Muskrat

A few days ago I visited the gem of the Metrowest wildlife areas of interest. Don't get me wrong, I love our other wild spaces like Heard Conservation Land, Drumlin Farm, and Walden Pond, but this is one of the few places where I can walk through one of my favorite places to walk, relax, and watch the natural world be. After going through job searches and looking for work for the summer (even this late in the game I know!), I was feeling particularly stressed about where life was going and what I should be doing about it.
This stress was immediately noticeable while I was walking the the main trail between the two marshes. My pace was quick and agitated. I wasn't really looking, but hurrying! It was almost as if I expected nature to show me the way immediately and just accept my presence and dare to calm me down. But then I stopped and thought "What am I doing?! You might get attention thrashing around looking for calm, but that way you ruin the calm that everyone else has come to seek. I looked up and down and breathed deeply. I was approaching this place the wrong way, as a harried adult looking for jobs would with stress on the brain and in the heart.

After I calmed myself down, I looked around at the world that I have visited for wisdom, solace, and insight. I love marshes because they embrace that element so important for life that exists here so beautifully. Here water is king and the water-loving plants know it with the marsh being dominated by cattails (Typha spp.), pickerelweed (Pontederia spp.) , and the ever-loathed purple loosestrife (Lythrum salicaria). Despite the water being controlled by a single set of drains and locks, the water remains most of the year attracting the host of birds it's famous for. I witnessed three Great Blue Herons (Ardea herodias) squawk and chase each other around the pickerelweed, vying for the best spots. They are a peculiar bird with their long necks and pointed beaks. So tall and perfectly designed for spearing fish and other aquatic creatures and yet so rail thin. They eat some pretty big fish and it's a wonder that they don't pack on more pounds.

One thing that's noticeable when trekking through this wonderland are the amount of business and cargo and personal aircraft that buzz like mechanical mosquitoes over the landscape. The nearby airport that they report from is busy enough on this day that in the two hours I spent there I counted almost 20 planes that flew over in a northerly direction. Even with this intrusion, life goes on. The birds, who have probably lived under this barrage of aircraft-generated noise. The Marsh Wrens that make their summer territories here certainly weren't bothered as they song their rattling song in the cattails bordering the main walkway. Their plucky presence is such a delight to see and one wonders whether their tail that stands upright so resolutely ever bows. I giggled as I thought of a wren with a stuck-up tail trying to fly and tumbling while doing so.

As I walked further, other signs of summer were making themselves known. A northern water snake (Nerodia sipedon) sunning itself on a muskrat house. Families of Canada Geese (Branta canadensis) and Wood Ducks (Aix sponsa) roamed the area looking for grass and roosting in the late afternoon sunshine that beckoned from the threatening storm clouds in the distance. Though it threatened to rain a few times, the clouds eventually kept their distance and brought for radiant sunshine for the world below.

Perhaps the most significant moment that made me realize I make my problems bigger than me and therefore let them get to me was when I happened upon a muskrat (Ondatra zibethicus). Muskrats aren't particularly well known for promoting philosophical thought about everyday life, but the muskrat pictured above did so for me. I took the right trail towards the woods that ringed the upper marsh. Before I'd gotten further down the trail I saw movement. The movement came from a brown patch of fur resembling a tribble (Star Trek fans will remember this as the fluffy, asexually-reproducing creature that nearly overflowed the Starship Enterprise that one episode). But it had the small eyes and ears of a rodent, as well as the trademark scaly, laterally-flattened tail that characterize this unique species. As I loomed over it, I noticed that it didn't pay me any attention and kept on nibbling at the grass and cattails. I pished and whistled at it, and loomed over it even more. It didn't react. It didn't acknowledge me at all and continued eating. I stared, amazed that this little creature so often seen as a prey animal and less impressive than other creatures was ignoring one of the most successful species on the face of the planet. The critter made no attempts to escape and continued about its day.

Upon my walk back, I pondered the muskrat and its habits. I've been able to walk up to muskrats before with them having little reaction. Have they simply gotten used to people or are they less persecuted here than they would be in other states. What amazed me most was how the muskrat didn't seem to trifle with me as I had loomed over him so menacingly. If I had done the same to a squirrel or a cottontail, they would have fled immediately. It was then that I realized that I could apply this to my own problems. I had come to the marsh with looming problems about future employment and my future as a student of wildlife management. I left feeling lighter than air and much calmer for what I'd seen. I thought of the herons, and the waterfowl I'd seen, the swallows that had swooped over the marsh, the tenacity of the wrens on their territories. I marveled at the diversity of life I'd witnessed in the marsh and each of the creatures preforming their roles with apparent ease and grace. Finally I thought of the muskrat who in my enormous presence kept going, doing, being. Keeping at the grindstone and moving forward and eventually your current crop of troubles will be whittled away. Fearing the looming cloud will not make it go away, but actively clearing the air will destroy the cloud. I'll try to keep that in mind from now on as I go. Forget "busy as a beaver" and go for a muskrat!

OUT!! #5: Woodchucks of a Third Kind

Woodchucks. Whistle Pigs. Gophers. Groundhogs. Love 'em or hate 'em, they are one of the most recognizable rodents in North America. Just behind the beaver in charming wildness and just ahead of the squirrel in mischievousness, the woodchuck has garnered itself a mixed reputation, especially in our backyard. You see, in our yard we keep chickens. Two Buff Orpingtons that provide us with semiregular supply of eggs throughout the year providing they haven't laid them elsewhere in the yard or have, God forbid, gone broody!

But what, I hear you asking, do woodchucks and chickens have to do with one another? A mixture of shelter, food, and opportunity caused a woodchuck both this summer and the last to take up residence in our yard. The one this year has three young chucks with it and hopefully, unlike the one last year, won't start stealing my chickens food. The one last year dug under the shed and used it as a hidey hole when I ran at it trying to run it off and out of the yard. This tactic of course was doomed to failure since he would simply appear when we weren't looking and then vanish before we could properly realize that it had graced our presence once more. The summer ended and whether it left or went into hibernation was unknown to us. We did our best to try and bury its handiwork and plug the holes under the shed, but as we've learned this summer, burying the home of an animal that lives underground constitutes either the highest optimism or the lowest intellect.

The woodchuck (I don't particularly care if it was the same one or not) came back and is now raising its children in our nature haven of a back yard. I guess that's what we get for not trimming the grass more regularly, but it is truly a delight to see rabbits, chucks, squirrels, birds, and chickens mingling and living together in harmony. We've declared amnesty on the woodchucks now and it will stay that way so long as these ones don't touch the chicken feed. If they can avoid that, peace will be maintained and the lazy summer can continue.

OUT!! #4: Bird Song

Listening carefully outside the kitchen screen door, I hear the plaintive whistle of an Eastern Wood-Pewee (Contopus virens), a simple, but sweet "pee-ah-wee". I can vaguely hear the calls of other birds like robins, swifts, and sparrows. But the simple repeated message of the wood-pewee is a delightful sound to hear on a calm late spring day. Since it hasn't gotten to to solstice, it's still very late spring despite the temperatures we've seen on the East Coast lately.

A brief twittering indicates the presence of a hummingbird and a few seconds later, a jay calls it's scolding jaybird call. The wood-pewee has stopped. Although, I can hear other birds filling the vacancy left by this small brown bird of the trees, they don't do nearly as good a job of keeping my attention. The sharpness of the birds notes and the gentleness of its delivery reminds me of water in a stream. The song of late spring and early summer, easing us into the lazy, easy months of the year. What a joy it is to listen and appreciate these small things and their simple, yet elegant music.

OUT!! #3: Summer Blog Postings

I'm going to try and do this more regularly this summer so you guys can get a feel for the kind of work I'll be doing on Chimon Island which is part of the Stewart B. Mckinney NWR. I can't really say what I'll be doing yet, but I do know that this is going to be a fun and interesting summer that will probably be a door into a world that I until now had only really had glimpses into. To know that I'll be working with wildlife and their habitats this summer is a dream come true.


Now all I have to contend with are the ticks. :(


I thought I would be doing to following for the summer, but it didn't work out. I won't go into the details, but island stewardship wasn't really on my list of things to do. Put simply, I need to find something else to do in the mean time. I'll still post randomly as the blog title suggests, but I need to take some time to figure out what I need to do next. Finding another field position is top priority and doing so within the next few weeks is paramount to my getting experience in the ornithological world. I also need to find a part time job since all the summer positions have expectantly dried up. Oh well, I'm sure I'll find something.

Edit: I have returned to Drumlin Farm for a fourth summer as a camp counselor. This will certainly keep me busy and spice up my summer. Stay posted for more details.

OUT!! #2: A Duck From Wood

I have an interest in wildlife wood carvings, specifically ducks, that I've held for all my life. Ever since I got a copy of Duck Hunting by Dick Sternberg and Jeff Simpson, I have had in interest in the creation and design of duck decoys. Their unique forms coming from a solid block of wood and being transformed into beautiful works of historic art. The decoy makers of old such as Elmer Crowell, Mason Decoy Company, Harry V. Shourds, R. Madison Mitchell, and many others with their trademark styles, folk art roots as working objects designed for trickery and deception, and their simplistic beauty make them as an attractive of an art form as any of the fine arts.

A first time decoy. Hooded Merganser Female.

As a birder, wannabe hunter, and appreciator of the natural world, I can honestly say that I want this as a personal past time and as an art form. I tried several times through high school to get a grip on carving. My first attempts were to try to create a cardinal from a pine block. I didn't even get an outline done for the first few weeks and I tried to cut it out using a coping saw. "Too much work!", I thought at the time. This past Christmas, the gift of a Dremel and draw knife made the carving process much easier and as of last week, I have completed the first major phase of my Hooded Merganser decoy.

Head details including eye holes. Originally was going to be male (from the pencil marks on head), but decided to make it female to better fit the profile that the head presents.

Being a first time carving, there isn't much to look at. It's rough shape formed from the draw knife's repeated waves and strokes over pine 2x4s. I hope to work with cork next time for an easy supply of multiple bodies. My attempt at New Jersey style decoys (hollow as opposed to solid blocks) failed as my Dremel didn't seem to appreciate the idea of burning through several inches square of pine board. I tried drilling the holes demonstrated by many enthusiasts of this medium to speed the process. I even contemplated using a Native American technique called bowl burning to create the depressions needed for the hollow deek. The idea fell apart. Now I had two perfectly shaped sides (top and bottom) and a head piece I had created earlier. The head piece is made of basswood and looks fairly lifelike, though it resembled a Pileated Woodpecker earlier in the process than that of a hoodie. The pictures I've provided below should give a better impression of what I have come up with.

OUT!! #1: Arrow Bend or Why Carbons are Infinitely Better Than Aluminium Arrows

The victim with pen for scale.

After returning home for my two week spring break, I got the itch to shoot my bow. I've had it since high school, but every time I've said that I would go hunting, I always found something that would get in the way. Over the past semester and semester before, I discovered a love of carving and for this past Christmas, I received the Dremel I'd asked for. Boy did that make carving much easier. Now with this tool in hand, I finally had a new incentive to interact with the outdoor world.

Archery has also been an outlet for me as well. I've always enjoyed the feeling of the arrow leaving the bow, the swiftness with which it strikes its target, and the power the arrow has once contact has been made. As the title suggests, I'm here to talk about the power. I own a PSE Impala recurve bow that has a 50lb draw. This allows me if I wanted to (I don't, but there you are), to pursue the big game animals within my state such as white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus) and black bear (Ursus americanus). It's also a good weight for general purpose shooting and for a man of my stature and size that works well.

As I was shooting today however, I ran into a familiar problem of mine. Aiming. While I've improved my overall accuracy (I can hit the target), my precision is so wacky, it's almost laughable. I was taking mostly kneeling shots as I wanted to simulate a hunting scenario where the game would be on alert, but still vaguely unaware of my presence. I've found that it's easy enough for me to be able to hit the target. I vaguely register where I want to hit the target, aim briefly, and with fairly good accuracy (70-80% in a hopeful guesstimate). On this occasion, I was using my Tough Bag® target and to prop it up, I had secured two aluminum arrows into the soft earth near where an old chestnut (Castanea sp.) used to stand. After several practice shots at 10 paces (baby steps still, I know), I backed up to about 15 paces or what looked to be 15ft away. After several more shots, I was nearing the end of my shooting session. I released an Easton® carbon arrow from my recurve, expecting it to hit the target or maybe even glance off. It was carrying a G5 Small Game Head® and what happened next was totally surprising, but completely expected.

The damage is done.

The noise the head made as it collided with the lower section of the planted arrow was akin to a small "tink". The devastation caused however, belied the small noise made by the small game head. The "tink" left (as the pictures demonstrate) a crippling bend on the hollow shaft. The arrow buckled, as the carbon arrow with its bludgeoning tip, ricocheted off and landed about a foot away. I laughed. I knew that aluminums were prone to bending due to glances and bashes, but having just witnessed the crushing power of a small game head mounted on a carbon shaft, I was all the more impressed by the performance of such a light, yet durable material. Certainly lighter than wood and infinitely more durable. As I picked up the mangled arrow, I remarked at the severity with which the arrow had been crippled. I knew that I wielded a very powerful weapon, but seeing its devastating power up close gave me all the more respect for such a primitive, but still clearly dangerous weapon. As for the hunt I thought; that would have to wait until I could hit a target with precision enough to warrant a clean kill. After all my target is waterfowl, not deer.

Introduction to OUT!!

As the titles suggests, this blog will be updated with regular bursts of activity, before falling into a dormant torpor, much like evolution itself. I hope that I can adapt a schedule that works in a way so I can post with greater frequency and hopefully provide an insight into the natural world that I see everyday. I hope you find something to enjoy.