Thursday, August 4, 2016
Cool River Morning Surprises
It has been hot here. This week's daily highs were mostly 98-102 F or 36-39 C.
I went early this morning before sunrise down to the river.
Walking from the dry sand levee, across the shallow sand bar, the first, ankle-deep water was cool from the night and early dawn. Stepping off the sand bar into the deeper, warmer current was like stepping into mild bath water. It carried the heat of the past week.
Walking the sand bars and narrow channels or backwaters across on the southern side of the river, I found a big turtle hauled up on a sand bar. I thought it would be a mature red-eared slider; but it was a different species, I did not recognize. I picked it up and turned it on its side to look at the neck and was surprised when he stuck his head out and did not retreat. I set him back down and he watched me as I walked on down the sand bar towards the sun.
Where the channel was deeper I sat and then floated along silently in the shallow 2 ft deep water. I was suddenly surprised by passing a beaver up on the bank in some dense reeds 6 feet from me. The beaver was surprised too, panicked and dropped into the water jetting straight at me, then 3 feet from me, powerfully turned (under water) and disappeared in the brown river.
The beautiful American Ruby Spot damselflies were out by the dozen and one Ebony Jewelwing all along the river bank perched on the tips of the of the reeds. No birds, other than a flock of a dozen Canada geese flying over. Often there are egrets and herons out foraging.
Cool big yellow and black bumblebees were out foraging for early morning nectar/ pollen breakfast in the yellow partridge peas along the white sand levee.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Morning at the River
Warm, plant-scented, humid air. Inch and a half of rain day and a half ago. Dew on the tall Johnson grass and sunflowers as I walk down the old jeep road to the river. Rich herb odor from Ambrosia giant ragweed(?) The cry of a red-tailed hawk hunting or circling over the over-grown gallery forest of cottonwood and red-osier dogwood.
I can't remember ever regretting a trip to the river. Getting down there often is an effort of will. But it is easy, just 1.5 miles down one road and I am there. It is an effort like life, every day is an effort; but the rewards are rich and wonderful. The fresh green small leaves and rich purple flowers of Verbena. The ranks of tall, yellow-blooming Oenothera, evening primrose. The pale white small morning glory-shaped flowers of Heliotropium
The clean light sand of the levee path had been cleared and reset by the rain. The few tracks there were new from animals last night or yesterday. I took off my flip flops and walked into the turbid water. This morning, the river was up waist-deep and running turbid, brown, filled with chalky red silt. A pair of green herons flew up from the river bank to the bare old cottonwood snag standing on the far side. They remained with me for my hour, at a safe distance. Maybe they were curious.
On the far (SW) side a quieter backwater channel had a fresh layer of clay capping and covering the more anoxic sediments below. Methane bubbled up here and there as I stepped through. At the shallower end, two turtles watched warily, only their snouts visible above the surface. They ducked quickly under, long before I was close enough to see more. A narrow, frequently-used, muskrat path crossed the soft mud mini-levee and ascended into vegetation. At the upstream end of the backwater, a gaggle of calopterygid damselflies were flitting and lighting on twigs and branches of the old tree hanging over and into the water. American rubyspot, Hetaerina.
Walking back into deeper, faster flow; I let myself drift, just barely touching the bottom with my backside and steering by dragging one finger on the sand I was floating above. What a luxury ride! With no effort, to be floating silently pass the nearby wonders on the bank. A turtle's-eye view.
A sudden rub of a smooth, powerful body against my foot was an unseen fish I surprised in the turbid water, dashing away.
Down river, the stronger current carried me above the deeper water and I swam 20 feet, to reach the sand bar hidden in the middle of the river. I ascended from chin deep and chest deep water to waist deep and then mid calf. Beautiful to stand in the middle of the flowing river and watch white cattle egrets flying down the river past me.
Out, up on the bank, I passed a few nests of turtle eggs, or what remained, the white, parchment-like shells of turtle eggs. Most of these nests had been discovered and dug up by some predator, a racoon?
Back through the willows and young cottonwoods and on my way out, going back home again. Richer for the hour with the morning and the river.
I can't remember ever regretting a trip to the river. Getting down there often is an effort of will. But it is easy, just 1.5 miles down one road and I am there. It is an effort like life, every day is an effort; but the rewards are rich and wonderful. The fresh green small leaves and rich purple flowers of Verbena. The ranks of tall, yellow-blooming Oenothera, evening primrose. The pale white small morning glory-shaped flowers of Heliotropium
The clean light sand of the levee path had been cleared and reset by the rain. The few tracks there were new from animals last night or yesterday. I took off my flip flops and walked into the turbid water. This morning, the river was up waist-deep and running turbid, brown, filled with chalky red silt. A pair of green herons flew up from the river bank to the bare old cottonwood snag standing on the far side. They remained with me for my hour, at a safe distance. Maybe they were curious.
On the far (SW) side a quieter backwater channel had a fresh layer of clay capping and covering the more anoxic sediments below. Methane bubbled up here and there as I stepped through. At the shallower end, two turtles watched warily, only their snouts visible above the surface. They ducked quickly under, long before I was close enough to see more. A narrow, frequently-used, muskrat path crossed the soft mud mini-levee and ascended into vegetation. At the upstream end of the backwater, a gaggle of calopterygid damselflies were flitting and lighting on twigs and branches of the old tree hanging over and into the water. American rubyspot, Hetaerina.
Walking back into deeper, faster flow; I let myself drift, just barely touching the bottom with my backside and steering by dragging one finger on the sand I was floating above. What a luxury ride! With no effort, to be floating silently pass the nearby wonders on the bank. A turtle's-eye view.
A sudden rub of a smooth, powerful body against my foot was an unseen fish I surprised in the turbid water, dashing away.
Down river, the stronger current carried me above the deeper water and I swam 20 feet, to reach the sand bar hidden in the middle of the river. I ascended from chin deep and chest deep water to waist deep and then mid calf. Beautiful to stand in the middle of the flowing river and watch white cattle egrets flying down the river past me.
Out, up on the bank, I passed a few nests of turtle eggs, or what remained, the white, parchment-like shells of turtle eggs. Most of these nests had been discovered and dug up by some predator, a racoon?
Back through the willows and young cottonwoods and on my way out, going back home again. Richer for the hour with the morning and the river.
Sunday, September 6, 2015
It's all here
Out to the River early on a Sunday morning, Labor Day weekend, the world of humans is sleeping in. By the river I am greeted by a tent with snoozing occupant. I pass on by. The cool green water beckons, the deeper narrow channel just off the intermittent stream sand delta. I step in and open to the real world. Across the river, large sand flats are barely submerged.. water depth 2 inches or less and a thin coat of flocculent algae is blooming under the warm, nutrient-rich water. Corixid water boatmen are as thick as fleas scooting underwater and feeding on the rich algae. Minnows too, probably enjoying the algae and the corixids. A few killdeer with their white vests and black necklines watch me and then fly, zooming low over water and sand, crying as they go.
There is everywhere up the river life and and things happening. On the northeastern sandy jeep road I come across the largest red-eared slider turtle I've seen this year. Their track has flattened the sand with the dragging of the plastron. Looked like it was temporarily blocked on its return to the river by a steep sandy bank. I pick it up and give a small toss up on top of the levee under some cottonwoods.
I watch a Bembex sand wasp busy excavating like a dog digging sand, flying out behind it in sand that was too loose. After 3-4 attempts with no success and just moving sand around the little wasp flew off in search of a firmer sand bank. Out in the water a beaver cut stick floats past my ankle and I turn in time to see a small black snout just barely out of the water on the other side. It looks like a largish snake that does not see me. It begins to cross the main current towards me and I move towards it until it sees me and heads upstream. But the current is too strong and I come up to the 2 foot long snake swimming energetically under water. I lift it quickly with my stick and toss it a couple feet out of the water and glimpse the yellow brown belly and unmarked olive green brown back before it falls back to the water and swims swiftly away. There is so much here. numerous viceroys on the flowers along the sandy levee road, golden rod, white boneset, one pink Pluchea. I see one damaged viceroy, the front leading apex of its left wing has been pecked away, perhaps by the near miss of a passing bird. Its back left wing also is missing a section. I wonder how it can fly if its aerodynamics are so altered. I've seen quite a few damaged viceroys these few weeks and it makes me wonder if viceroys may be suffering because monarch numbers are down and the mimicry of a poisonous or distasteful model may not be providing viceroys the normal protection. I wonder how general a phenomenon this might be.. the linking of the success and problems of mimics with their model.
It is remarkable that so much is here.. by a busy western/ southern town/city of 119,000. So much wildlife leading wild lives undeterred by 85,000 fans who have come to town to cheer for the first football game of the year. I can't remember having ever seen so many frogs as there have been all along the shallow bank of the river. They hop away in a panic as I walk along the sand and mud silty edge of the river bar close by the bank.
There is everywhere up the river life and and things happening. On the northeastern sandy jeep road I come across the largest red-eared slider turtle I've seen this year. Their track has flattened the sand with the dragging of the plastron. Looked like it was temporarily blocked on its return to the river by a steep sandy bank. I pick it up and give a small toss up on top of the levee under some cottonwoods.
I watch a Bembex sand wasp busy excavating like a dog digging sand, flying out behind it in sand that was too loose. After 3-4 attempts with no success and just moving sand around the little wasp flew off in search of a firmer sand bank. Out in the water a beaver cut stick floats past my ankle and I turn in time to see a small black snout just barely out of the water on the other side. It looks like a largish snake that does not see me. It begins to cross the main current towards me and I move towards it until it sees me and heads upstream. But the current is too strong and I come up to the 2 foot long snake swimming energetically under water. I lift it quickly with my stick and toss it a couple feet out of the water and glimpse the yellow brown belly and unmarked olive green brown back before it falls back to the water and swims swiftly away. There is so much here. numerous viceroys on the flowers along the sandy levee road, golden rod, white boneset, one pink Pluchea. I see one damaged viceroy, the front leading apex of its left wing has been pecked away, perhaps by the near miss of a passing bird. Its back left wing also is missing a section. I wonder how it can fly if its aerodynamics are so altered. I've seen quite a few damaged viceroys these few weeks and it makes me wonder if viceroys may be suffering because monarch numbers are down and the mimicry of a poisonous or distasteful model may not be providing viceroys the normal protection. I wonder how general a phenomenon this might be.. the linking of the success and problems of mimics with their model.
It is remarkable that so much is here.. by a busy western/ southern town/city of 119,000. So much wildlife leading wild lives undeterred by 85,000 fans who have come to town to cheer for the first football game of the year. I can't remember having ever seen so many frogs as there have been all along the shallow bank of the river. They hop away in a panic as I walk along the sand and mud silty edge of the river bar close by the bank.
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Evening River
A Tuesday evening, tired from a full day, I decided to go to the river for renewal. 8 PM the sun going down on a good day. Stepping across the gate and walking down the old jeep road, the yellow flowers of the tall Grindelia gumweed are noticeably closed, at least petals stand erect, closing off the central disk flowers. The world's tallest giant r,agweed stand (not really, but it is 2-3 m high) is releasing bright golden yellow pollen. Woe to those afflicted with autumn hay fever. Stepping through the green tunnel and out onto the levee, the warm white sand is unusually soft this evening.
At the river's edge the water is cutting more and more into the bank I first come to, where once there was a 10- 15 foot 'beach'. Now the current flow has moved against the sandy cliff of the levee.
Across the water a great blue heron flies up complaining with a hoarse croak about my late visit to the river. I can imagine the complaint something like, 'What are you doing here now? This is the time for the natives, the ones who have always lived here for the last centuries or more, back to a time of nature. Now is their time. What are you doing here?'
The bare, dead trees up above the far bank are silhouetted against the silver sky and more interesting and beautiful in silhouette than their full-leafed neighbors. The river continues to drop, exposing more, more expansive sand bars in mid channel. The flow now winds principally in smaller deep channels to the side or still in the center.
Stepping in to the water the temperature is mildly warm, a result of the long string of low 90F days. But on of the river there are bands of cooler water, cooling with evening. I wade across the water and the sand bars to the far bank and the deeper channel. I walk my sometimes/ frequent morning route there but see no damselflies. I do see the snout of a water snake swimming upstream, I scare away.
There is one place by the old concrete rip rap where the water is still chin deep,. but after it shelves out to a broader shallow spread of water. I turn to return and see the silhouette of a large darner dragonfly above the water with a hunting night hawk in the sky above. Returning up the jeep road a dozen fireflies are doing their thing. I think about Phenology and Global warming.. and how the May/ June flood may a bit like a quick example of global warming. The river is only now beginning to develop soft beds of algae across much of the bottom. Before the scouring and churning water and sand prevented significant growth. Now there will be food for corixids and other algal feeders, and later for predators feeding on the corixids. This is all starting and happening about two months later than was the case the previous 4 years. Now autumn is not long in coming.. and the succession is in early stages. What will it be like when the first cold days arrive?
At the river's edge the water is cutting more and more into the bank I first come to, where once there was a 10- 15 foot 'beach'. Now the current flow has moved against the sandy cliff of the levee.
Across the water a great blue heron flies up complaining with a hoarse croak about my late visit to the river. I can imagine the complaint something like, 'What are you doing here now? This is the time for the natives, the ones who have always lived here for the last centuries or more, back to a time of nature. Now is their time. What are you doing here?'
The bare, dead trees up above the far bank are silhouetted against the silver sky and more interesting and beautiful in silhouette than their full-leafed neighbors. The river continues to drop, exposing more, more expansive sand bars in mid channel. The flow now winds principally in smaller deep channels to the side or still in the center.
Stepping in to the water the temperature is mildly warm, a result of the long string of low 90F days. But on of the river there are bands of cooler water, cooling with evening. I wade across the water and the sand bars to the far bank and the deeper channel. I walk my sometimes/ frequent morning route there but see no damselflies. I do see the snout of a water snake swimming upstream, I scare away.
There is one place by the old concrete rip rap where the water is still chin deep,. but after it shelves out to a broader shallow spread of water. I turn to return and see the silhouette of a large darner dragonfly above the water with a hunting night hawk in the sky above. Returning up the jeep road a dozen fireflies are doing their thing. I think about Phenology and Global warming.. and how the May/ June flood may a bit like a quick example of global warming. The river is only now beginning to develop soft beds of algae across much of the bottom. Before the scouring and churning water and sand prevented significant growth. Now there will be food for corixids and other algal feeders, and later for predators feeding on the corixids. This is all starting and happening about two months later than was the case the previous 4 years. Now autumn is not long in coming.. and the succession is in early stages. What will it be like when the first cold days arrive?
Mid Day Flora and Fauna
Nice Saturday morning. I went to the river at 11 to see the midday natural world.
The walk down the jeep road is lined now with yellow Grindelia gumweed flowers. Oddly, I rarely ever see any pollinators on these flowers. I'll have to ask Phil G. or Michael K. why this may be so. The orange Campsis trumpet vine is still bright and colorful laying on the ground. The Pogonomyrmex ants are busily foraging in a more-or-less straight line down one track of the road. Odd to think that their bite venom is ounce for ounce is more deadly than a rattlesnake.
The walk down the jeep road is lined now with yellow Grindelia gumweed flowers. Oddly, I rarely ever see any pollinators on these flowers. I'll have to ask Phil G. or Michael K. why this may be so. The orange Campsis trumpet vine is still bright and colorful laying on the ground. The Pogonomyrmex ants are busily foraging in a more-or-less straight line down one track of the road. Odd to think that their bite venom is ounce for ounce is more deadly than a rattlesnake.
Friday, August 21, 2015
Evening River Walk
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.
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.
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.
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