The late summer katydid chorus was going strong as I walked down the short jeep road towards the river evening. The green dominance of Johnson grass all along the edge of the jeep road, is now broken by many single stems of Grindelia, with bright yellow gum weed blossoms.
Out on the sandy levee, a half inch of rain yesterday had cleaned the sand of tracks and left a dimpled damp crust. The river was a little up.. but still much lower than a few weeks ago.
I walked into the muddy turbid water and out into the middle of the channel, where a sand bar was only ankle deep.
By the far bank the deeper channel is now narrow, only a little more than a meter wide. In the evening I saw just one Heteraina damselfly, where in the morning there will be 2-3 dozen.
Friday, August 21, 2015
Sunday, August 16, 2015
Life a Viceroy day and Odonate predation
Viceroy Day
Out at the river by 8. The Johnson grass was still wet with dew and the air had the first bit of a feel of fall.. although it really is only late summer. Perched on the low cottonwood shrub where I drop my pack there was a beautiful Viceroy, basking. The back left wing had been damaged (likely by a glancing 'peck' of a bird). The right wing was immaculate, orange and black, beautiful. Then there were two other Viceroys flying. Then there were six. May have been a recent emergence of late adults.
With the recent half inch rain we received Friday, the sand levee was smoothed with a new crust. Below the stream outflow, a beaver had emerged from the river, clawed up the foot high sand dune cliff and sashayed thirty feet across the sand to the stand of young willows. The curving track of its tail left me imagining a beaver in the predawn dark, dancing or waddling happily on it way to its meal. It had cut a small sapling at the base and dragged it back to the water. The story was there in tracks it left across the sand.
The river had risen a bit so that sand bars in the middle were mostly covered. I walked slowly across, enjoying the tug of the brown flowing water at my knees and thighs until I was across to near the far bank and briefly in surprisingly chilly water up to my chest. Partly submerged in the river, I walked backwards, facing away from the sun, watching robins, cardinals and sparrows foraging through the shrubs and exposed hanging roots. As usual, there were dozens of Hetaerina rubyspot damselfly males flitting from perches along the bank. I thought for a moment how the male rubyspots were coming to the end of their summer. In a month or two their lives will be complete. There will still be many more wonderful dawns, more days above the brown river watching; but these males are no longer young. They are on the home stretch. For an instant I felt the same. Then a pair of foraging robins flitted into view. In their lives, this is a season of plentiful food. A time to enjoy life to the full in preparation for the coming winter and the following new spring. I am a bit like the robin and a bit like the rubyspots.
At the tip of a cottonwood that had collapsed into the river, there was a sudden flurry as a green female Erythemis dragonfly pondhawk encountered a male rubyspot.. and to my surprise captured it. The Erythemis flew a meter to a cottonwood twig perch low above the water and began to deliberately chew on the head of the rubyspot. I watched the slow process from inches away.
I stepped away down stream watching the bank carefully for the beaver who lives there; but there were only damselflies flitting between their perches.
Out at the river by 8. The Johnson grass was still wet with dew and the air had the first bit of a feel of fall.. although it really is only late summer. Perched on the low cottonwood shrub where I drop my pack there was a beautiful Viceroy, basking. The back left wing had been damaged (likely by a glancing 'peck' of a bird). The right wing was immaculate, orange and black, beautiful. Then there were two other Viceroys flying. Then there were six. May have been a recent emergence of late adults.
With the recent half inch rain we received Friday, the sand levee was smoothed with a new crust. Below the stream outflow, a beaver had emerged from the river, clawed up the foot high sand dune cliff and sashayed thirty feet across the sand to the stand of young willows. The curving track of its tail left me imagining a beaver in the predawn dark, dancing or waddling happily on it way to its meal. It had cut a small sapling at the base and dragged it back to the water. The story was there in tracks it left across the sand.
The river had risen a bit so that sand bars in the middle were mostly covered. I walked slowly across, enjoying the tug of the brown flowing water at my knees and thighs until I was across to near the far bank and briefly in surprisingly chilly water up to my chest. Partly submerged in the river, I walked backwards, facing away from the sun, watching robins, cardinals and sparrows foraging through the shrubs and exposed hanging roots. As usual, there were dozens of Hetaerina rubyspot damselfly males flitting from perches along the bank. I thought for a moment how the male rubyspots were coming to the end of their summer. In a month or two their lives will be complete. There will still be many more wonderful dawns, more days above the brown river watching; but these males are no longer young. They are on the home stretch. For an instant I felt the same. Then a pair of foraging robins flitted into view. In their lives, this is a season of plentiful food. A time to enjoy life to the full in preparation for the coming winter and the following new spring. I am a bit like the robin and a bit like the rubyspots.
At the tip of a cottonwood that had collapsed into the river, there was a sudden flurry as a green female Erythemis dragonfly pondhawk encountered a male rubyspot.. and to my surprise captured it. The Erythemis flew a meter to a cottonwood twig perch low above the water and began to deliberately chew on the head of the rubyspot. I watched the slow process from inches away.
I stepped away down stream watching the bank carefully for the beaver who lives there; but there were only damselflies flitting between their perches.
Sunday, August 9, 2015
Strong change at the river this morning. After weeks of bank to bank coverage, overnight, a few large sand bars emerged in the center of the channel. It looks as though the river has suddenly dropped several inches. Odd. There is no dam upstream that should be making this difference.
Several torn or beaver-cut branches of willow and cottonwood were beached on the wet sand bars. I planted a half dozen of these upright in the wet sand bars to see if they would sprout roots and begin to grow where they were in the middle of the river. Their longterm survival should be about nil because the river will flood again in the next year or so.
On the south west bank I saw fewer of the Hetaerina ruby-spot damselflies. I did see a few pairs mating in the wheel or heart formation - the female with light green abdomen and lighter colored wings.
A greater diversity of passerine birds this morning foraging up and down the far bank. Still no big wading birds; however there was one shorebird, like a small plover, exploring the shoreline and energetically bobbing like a dipper.
As the river winds down to a lower flow volume, the insect life in its side channels and back pools will likely return. Nepid water scorpions, Belostomatid water bugs, Dytiscid and Gyrinid diving and whirligig beetles, Corixid water boatmen apparently were swept away in the floods and now may re-colonize this stretch. Bembidion beetles should return in large numbers to the wet shore of stagnant pools.
Along the jeep road approach just beyond the gate, there is now a great, rich yellow-orange cucurbit blossom.
No show from my (short notice - 20hr) invitation to 25 folks to join me, leaves me wondering if our culture here may have moved on from appreciation of, and need for contact with nature.. or maybe it is related to other causes, scheduling etc.
Large-ish animal plopping into the water after I passed by the cottonwood projecting into the flow. Turtle? Young beaver? I heard and saw the splash but didn't see the animal.
Several torn or beaver-cut branches of willow and cottonwood were beached on the wet sand bars. I planted a half dozen of these upright in the wet sand bars to see if they would sprout roots and begin to grow where they were in the middle of the river. Their longterm survival should be about nil because the river will flood again in the next year or so.
On the south west bank I saw fewer of the Hetaerina ruby-spot damselflies. I did see a few pairs mating in the wheel or heart formation - the female with light green abdomen and lighter colored wings.
A greater diversity of passerine birds this morning foraging up and down the far bank. Still no big wading birds; however there was one shorebird, like a small plover, exploring the shoreline and energetically bobbing like a dipper.
As the river winds down to a lower flow volume, the insect life in its side channels and back pools will likely return. Nepid water scorpions, Belostomatid water bugs, Dytiscid and Gyrinid diving and whirligig beetles, Corixid water boatmen apparently were swept away in the floods and now may re-colonize this stretch. Bembidion beetles should return in large numbers to the wet shore of stagnant pools.
Along the jeep road approach just beyond the gate, there is now a great, rich yellow-orange cucurbit blossom.
No show from my (short notice - 20hr) invitation to 25 folks to join me, leaves me wondering if our culture here may have moved on from appreciation of, and need for contact with nature.. or maybe it is related to other causes, scheduling etc.
Large-ish animal plopping into the water after I passed by the cottonwood projecting into the flow. Turtle? Young beaver? I heard and saw the splash but didn't see the animal.
Saturday, August 1, 2015
First day of August. Went for a 9:30 morning exploration down by the river.
Through the short green tunnel of brush, Ampelopsis wild grape, and Cocculus snail seed vines twine new fresh tendrils, growing quickly into or above the little path. Robust Ambrosia giant ragweed, Amaranth pigweed, Ipomoea blue morning glory and Phragmites wild reed compete to fill the gap.
The 30 foot pool in the drainage ditch has shrunk to 4-5 feet and the trapped minnows need to be rescued, or they will expire in the heat of the day.
On the clean warm white sand of the broad levee, patches of Aphanostephus lazy daisies, Chamaecrista partridge pea and Oenothera primrose provide color and interest between the ranks of young Salix willow, Populus cottonwood and Tamarix salt cedar.
From the one foot sand cliff by the water and the two foot sandy dune above, the river is still churning and brown but the channel is becoming more heterogeneous. Shallower water in mid channel reveals new sand bars under barely a half foot of water that will soon be exposed.
I walk across and find the deeper channel by the far bank. I can drift along the bank, up to my chest, shoulders or chin and surprise the normally wary young kingfisher perched on bare poison ivy, or in the shade and concealment of the old willow. From only six feet away the kingfisher flies away with a rattling call to another perch up river.
Where a big cottonwood tree has tipped over, into the river, a thick bank of heavy clay interrupts the sand bottom and bank. A patch of Cornus rough-leaved dogwood grows down close to the water there and a population of Hetaerina americana rubyspot damselflies gathers. The red pedicels of the dogwood, bearing the unripe green berries are a perfect background field for the red and green damselflies. They align themselves to take advantage of the colors.
Above the clay bank there are a few curious tennis-ball sized spheres of clay. I'd like to know more about how they are cut or formed.
Back across the river the sandy banks and long shallow pools do not have the mats of algae that were common the last few summers. There are also no young corixids there to feed on the algae. In previous summers, the corixids numbered in the hundreds of thousands in a half mile of river. This morning I also see no bronze Bembidion beetles, where in previous summers (and earlier this summer) there were thousands per half mile of river, foraging and feeding everywhere along the wet sand. Today there are just a few Ephydrid shore flies at the water's edge.
I watch a Mississippi kite dive to near the ground and then swoop back up.. perhaps after one of the big cicadas calling. The kite circles over the river, catching updrafts to regain its altitude. A small sparrow crossing the river diverts a few degrees away from the kite; but not much, as if it knows there is little threat.
Along the sand cliff a loud splash like the sound of a beaver; but it is only a part of the eroding bank caving in and dropping into the water.
Heading back up the path, a few small yellow Happlopappus vinegar weed and Coreopsis sunflowers and a family of four mockingbirds see me off, as I head for home.
Through the short green tunnel of brush, Ampelopsis wild grape, and Cocculus snail seed vines twine new fresh tendrils, growing quickly into or above the little path. Robust Ambrosia giant ragweed, Amaranth pigweed, Ipomoea blue morning glory and Phragmites wild reed compete to fill the gap.
The 30 foot pool in the drainage ditch has shrunk to 4-5 feet and the trapped minnows need to be rescued, or they will expire in the heat of the day.
On the clean warm white sand of the broad levee, patches of Aphanostephus lazy daisies, Chamaecrista partridge pea and Oenothera primrose provide color and interest between the ranks of young Salix willow, Populus cottonwood and Tamarix salt cedar.
From the one foot sand cliff by the water and the two foot sandy dune above, the river is still churning and brown but the channel is becoming more heterogeneous. Shallower water in mid channel reveals new sand bars under barely a half foot of water that will soon be exposed.
I walk across and find the deeper channel by the far bank. I can drift along the bank, up to my chest, shoulders or chin and surprise the normally wary young kingfisher perched on bare poison ivy, or in the shade and concealment of the old willow. From only six feet away the kingfisher flies away with a rattling call to another perch up river.
Where a big cottonwood tree has tipped over, into the river, a thick bank of heavy clay interrupts the sand bottom and bank. A patch of Cornus rough-leaved dogwood grows down close to the water there and a population of Hetaerina americana rubyspot damselflies gathers. The red pedicels of the dogwood, bearing the unripe green berries are a perfect background field for the red and green damselflies. They align themselves to take advantage of the colors.
Above the clay bank there are a few curious tennis-ball sized spheres of clay. I'd like to know more about how they are cut or formed.
Back across the river the sandy banks and long shallow pools do not have the mats of algae that were common the last few summers. There are also no young corixids there to feed on the algae. In previous summers, the corixids numbered in the hundreds of thousands in a half mile of river. This morning I also see no bronze Bembidion beetles, where in previous summers (and earlier this summer) there were thousands per half mile of river, foraging and feeding everywhere along the wet sand. Today there are just a few Ephydrid shore flies at the water's edge.
I watch a Mississippi kite dive to near the ground and then swoop back up.. perhaps after one of the big cicadas calling. The kite circles over the river, catching updrafts to regain its altitude. A small sparrow crossing the river diverts a few degrees away from the kite; but not much, as if it knows there is little threat.
Along the sand cliff a loud splash like the sound of a beaver; but it is only a part of the eroding bank caving in and dropping into the water.
Heading back up the path, a few small yellow Happlopappus vinegar weed and Coreopsis sunflowers and a family of four mockingbirds see me off, as I head for home.
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