Mud-Plantain Lives Up To Its Name

Family commitments have kept me away from my blog this past week, and new ones will do so for the week to come.  But I did have a little island of time today to explore outdoors on this absolutely perfect summer day.  So what should I do?  I looked back at my entries for this week last year and found that now was the time to go looking for Grass-leaved Mud-plantain, also called Water Stargrass (Heteranthera dubia).   To find it last year, I canoed on Fish Creek for quite a ways from my put-in near Victory Mills, only to discover I could access this flower's site from a bridge I could easily drive to.   So I drove to that bridge today, and looking down from the road, I could see bright spots of yellow starring the grassy mudflats below.  Could that really be my Mud-plantain?  It's supposed to grow out in the water.

Well, low water this year has left many water plants stranded on shore, so down I scrambled to see if those spots of yellow were the flower I was looking for.  This should be easy, I thought to myself.  I can just walk up to them and take their picture without struggling to hold my canoe against the current.

Uh. . .  it wasn't so easy, after all.   One step onto that mudflat and I sunk to my shins.

It was quite a struggle to work my feet free as both of them sunk deeper into the mud.   But I finally did and made my way back to firmer ground.

And I even managed to get the photo I wanted.  Yep, these were Grass-leaved Mud-plantain, all right.
To see a more representative photo of this flower in its typical watery habitat, click HERE to visit my blog post from last year when the water was high.

Other plants occupying that muddy bank included this red-stemmed Water Purslane, with little green four-parted flowers growing in the leaf axils.

False Pimpernel also covered the mud, with little blue flowers a bit bigger and prettier than those of Water Purslane.

After struggling to wash some of the mud from my feet, I climbed back up the bank and drove home by the scenic route,  marveling at the glorious vistas of mountains rising beyond the Hudson River off to the east.  I believe the highest peak in the distance is Mt. Equinox in Manchester, Vermont.

One more treat awaited me on my way home, the radiant blue flowers of Great Lobelia, growing in a roadside ditch.

I really treasure these beautiful plants, and I fear they're not long for this world.  Each year the road-maintenance crews mow more and more of them down.  I found only three plants standing this year, where in other years I found dozens.  I would dig them up and plant them at home, but my soil is too dry for them to thrive.  Maybe I should make a sign and plant it where these grow:  Please Do Not Mow the Lobelias.

A Three-Eagle, One-Photo Day

Wow, a three-eagle day, and THIS was the best photo I could get?!   With the naked eye, I could hardly see that Bald Eagle perched in the tree along the Hudson River yesterday,  although my binoculars showed it clearly enough.

My camera couldn't see it very well, though.  This is the closest I can crop without pixillation.  But I think the white head and tail are evident even in this blurry shot.

When I say a three-eagle day, I should amend that to say Sue's three-eagle day, since my friend Sue is the one who actually saw and identified the distant specks that only later revealed themselves to be eagles.  We started our birdwatching day yesterday at the Betar Byway in South Glens Falls, where Sue saw the first eagle flying along the river (I arrived too late to catch sight of it).  After waiting in vain for a reappearance while stamping our feet in the cold, we then hopped in our nice warm cars and moved upstream to where the Hudson makes its big curve just above the Spier Falls Dam in Moreau.  That's where we saw the eagle perched in the tree above, very close to the site where state park naturalists have placed a road-killed deer carcass.  It was probably resting after enjoying its carrion breakfast.

That eagle soon took to the air and soared close over our heads before taking off upstream with the heavy, slow wingbeats so distinctive of this species.  Here, Sue and another eagle enthusiast named Pat follow the bird's flight until it disappeared among the trees far upstream.  Pat is a truly dedicated seeker of eagles who had been at this site for many hours already before Sue and I arrived, and it was she who pointed out the one I managed to photograph.

Pat also told us about another good spot for eagle sightings, Fish Creek at Stafford's Bridge, so off we drove to Stafford's Bridge Road between Saratoga and Schuylerville.  We were just in the process of telling each other we didn't think this was a likely spot, when this great big brown juvenile eagle came soaring toward us, dive-bombing a double line of pigeons sunning themselves on power lines right over our heads.  I hope Sue got a good photo, because I sure didn't.  Maybe she'll post a photo of it on her wonderful blog Water-Lily.

 So Pat's recommendation came true after all, and we thank her for it.  We'll have to revisit often, as long as the water stays open.


Three eagles in one day is rather remarkable, especially since they quite promptly disappeared from sight soon after we saw them.  Most days, we search and search to no avail.  On Sunday afternoon, my husband and I stopped by the Hudson bend at Moreau, hoping to spot eagles feeding at the deer carcass.  We didn't see any, but the river was so lovely and serene I just had to take photos of it.  If I were an eagle, I'd sure like to call this place my home.

Fish Creek at Victory: A New Place to Paddle

On my trip to the Ice Meadows Thursday, I not only made a new friend, I also found a new place to paddle and a new flower to add to my life list, thanks to her. That new friend is Elizabeth Collins, wildflower enthusiast and member of the Thursday Naturalists, and she told me about a flower called Water Stargrass that grows in a lovely stretch of Fish Creek near Victory. So armed with her directions on how to get there, I hurried over to Victory the very next day to put my boat in the creek just below the Mennen Road bridge and paddle upstream.

I've paddled other parts of the Fish Creek before, but I never knew about this lovely wooded stretch, with Silver Maples and Black Willows leaning over the water, and not a house or a farm to be seen for at least a half-hour's paddle. Catbirds mewed from the thickets, Phoebes and Kingbirds dashed out over the water, snagging insects, and a Great Blue Heron kept lifting its giant wings and disappearing around the next bend at my approach. The birds must know this creek is safe haven for them, designated as it is a Wildlife Management Area by the Department of Environmental Conservation.

Swamp Milkweed and Joe Pye-weed outcompeted the alien Purple Loosestrife for blooming space along the wooded banks.

Mudflats were carpeted with masses of the tiny-blue-flowered False Pimpernel, a native wildflower that loves to grow in damp places.

Here's a closer look at one of those tiny blue blooms.

Here was the first sign of human habitation I found, this odd little hut that looks like a home for a gnome.

I might have landed my boat to investigate that hut, but this sign warned me to stay away.

OK, OK, Sgt. Trigger Finger, I'm leaving! Don't shoot! (I wonder if he shot the beaver who tried to down the tree this sign was posted on.)

The next evidence of human habitation was a cleared area belonging to the Fish Creek Rod and Gun Club, which was my signal to start looking for Water Stargrass, according to Elizabeth. And sure enough, there it was, a pretty little yellow star emerging from the water on a stiff stem, with its several-branched leaf stems swaying underwater with the current.

Heteranthera dubia is its scientific name, and Grassleaf Mudplantain is the common name the New York Flora Association calls it by. I like Water Stargrass better. I wonder why I've never seen this Pickerel Weed Family plant before, in all my paddling adventures.

On my paddle back to my car, I heard a pair of Killdeers piping away before I saw them scurrying around on a sandy flat. By the time I could get my camera out of my bag, one of the pair had disappeared, but this one hung around to keep an eye on me.