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.