Sue Gets A Hornbeck!

NOW we can really go places!  My dear friend and nature companion Sue has finally taken the plunge and purchased a Hornbeck Blackjack canoe.  Because this boat weighs a mere 12 pounds, Sue can hoist it up on one shoulder and hike for long distances to hidden ponds that no car could have access to.  I've got a list of places I can't wait to take her to.  But first she wanted to baptize her Blackjack in the dear familiar waters of Moreau Lake, the lake that's our true home base and the place that we first came to know one another.  I joined her there on Wednesday morning.  I am, after all, a kind of godmother to Sue's new baby.

Here Sue sets out to test her new boat's performance and to get a feel for how far she can tip it before swamping.  After several maneuvers that involved her getting thoroughly soaked (on purpose!), she dumped the water out of her boat, dried off a bit, and set out to explore the shore of the lake.  That's my own Hornbeck Blackjack on the shore, and I quickly got in and followed her.

When we entered the first bay of the lake, I noticed quite a commotion in a tall Sassafras tree and saw flashes of red and black as this Pileated Woodpecker (Sue thought it was a juvenile) tugged at the ripening fruit.

Well, it's always exciting to see a Pileated Woodpecker, they're such flashily impressive birds, but I was even more excited to see so many fruits on this Sassafras.  Every year I hunt and hunt for them and only rarely find them, even on trees that I know had female flowers in the spring.  This has got to be one of the prettiest tree fruits, with blue-black berries resting on scarlet pedicels that hold the fruit erect like tiny goblets.  Obviously, woodpeckers love to eat them, but they're not considered to be edible for humans.

The shoreline of the lake is beginning to take on late-summer colors, with this beautiful little golden sedge (?)  growing copiously in the sand at the water's edge.   I love the pretty herringbone pattern of its flower heads.

While peering closely to admire that sedge, Sue discovered this moribund Katydid, an insect we rarely get to lay eyes on, since it normally occupies the treetops.  Such a lovely color, like the finest jade, and what delicacy of the wings! We guessed that this was a female, with that ovipositor protruding from her abdomen.  Does a Katydid expire after laying her eggs?  We felt a tender sadness toward her, and Sue laid her gently on the sand beneath the pretty sedge.

I was surprised to find Small-flowered Gerardia already in bloom, since this is a flower I normally don't start to look for along Moreau's shores until September.   The plants were not only blooming early, they also seemed to be extraordinarily large.   Is it possible another species of Gerardia has moved in on the territory?

This was quite an extraordinary clump of Nodding Smartweed.  I usually find just a few scraggly stems here and there, but here was a magnificent cluster of them all handsomely massed together in a most un-weedlike manner.

A Great Day for Flower Finds

We had a brief break in the rain this morning, a couple of hours that gave Sue and me just enough time to make the rounds of some wonderful flower sites in Warren County.  We started out in Queensbury where Sue lives,  and first thing, we pulled off the road to listen for Meadowlarks in a meadow near her home.  There, spread before our feet was a carpet of Bird's-eye Speedwell of the most marvelous blue.  I wish I could say the flowers were mirroring the blue of the sky above, but no, that sky was still low and gray and misting us with a very fine rain.  But not wet enough to stop us.

Our next destination was a roadway near Glen Lake where we count on finding a generous patch of Yellow Lady's Slippers every year about this time.  And sure enough, there they were, glowing like yellow lamps against a damp dark bank.

I already have so many photos of these beautiful orchids, why did I want to take more?  Well, I just can't help it, I can't get enough.  And today, the overcast sky provided a shadowless light that perfectly illuminated every feature of this gorgeous flower.

Next stop was the Warren County Bike Path where it runs north from Glen Lake.  Here, the path follows a sweet little babbling brook whose music perfectly complemented the sweet birdsong that surrounded us on all sides.   We heard Common Yellowthroat and Chestnut-sided Warblers and others that even Sue could not identify. (That's Interrupted Fern in the foreground, with its darker spore-bearing structures "interrupting" the leafy growth of its green fronds.)

A jungle of plant life pressed close on both sides of the bike trail, and all that lush green was made even more beautiful by its decoration of sparkling drops.  Here's Sensitive Fern.

And this is Field Horsetail.

We had come here specifically to look for Nodding Trillium, a flower that's becoming ever more scarce over its original range, but which seems to thrive in this location.  We did find a few, but it seemed there were fewer than we'd found in other years.  But it is a plant that likes to hide, and it's easy to pass them by without seeing them.  Especially that lovely flower, tucked away underneath the leaves.

You can't miss Glaucous Honeysuckle when it's in bloom, even if it is crowded around by invasive Tartarian Honeysuckle.

 The flower clusters are as brightly colorful as a handful of confetti: red buds that open into orange trumpets sprouting yellow anthers, all encased in a cup made of its terminal leaves.

On the other hand, the small greenish flowers of Mountain Maple would be very easy to miss if they weren't borne in clusters that are held straight up from their large-leaved boughs.

While peering closer at those maple flowers, I came nose to nose with this tiny spider and its delicate web.   I think it may be a Marbled Orb-weaver, and it was no more than half the size as it's pictured in my photograph.  Very cute, with its mottled abdomen and tiger-striped legs.

We sure didn't have to search to find the Early Azalea blazing away high up on a bank.  Even if we'd been blind to its vivid coloring, we could have located it by its sweet spicy scent alone, carried toward us today on the warm humid air.

Here's a closer look at those beautiful blooms.   If you click on this photo you might be able to see the glandular hairs on the flower tubes.  These hairs and the delicious fragrance they produce are keys to distinguish this native azalea from the equally beautiful, but fragrance-free, Pinxter Azalea.

We could have stayed on the bike path the rest of the morning, but Sue wanted to show me the Rose Twisted-stalk that she had found growing in Cole's Woods, in nearby Glens Falls.   Because of heavy lumbering and extensive trail-widening occurring in Cole's Woods this spring, Sue was concerned that this unusual flower might be exterminated from this location, but we were happy to find it growing abundantly and, so far, undisturbed.  It would certainly be easy to overlook this flower, since it can't be seen by looking down from above (although you can see its zig-zagging "twisted" stalk).

  Update:  I have since learned from noted botanist Ruth Schottman that the "twisted" in this flower's name refers not to the leaf stalk but rather to the flowers stalks, a feature that is obvious when observing the live plant but is difficult to see in my photo below.

But if you lift up the leaf -- or lie down on the ground to peer underneath -- then you can see the pretty little speckled pink bells that dangle down from the stalk.  So dainty!

In contrast, Clintonia, also known as Corn Lily,  holds its yellow lily-like blooms well above its glossy-green basal leaves.

Here's another flower that's easy to miss if you're not looking for it:  Indian Cucumber Root, with a little flower as green as its leaves.

The colorful parts of Indian Cucumber Root flowers are the deep-red, oddly-elongated pistils and the apricot-colored anthers protruding downward.  But you do have to peer pretty closely in order to find them.

And then there was Wild Lupine!  Here's a flower that's about as showy as a flower can be, and we found lots of it growing in an open sandy area.  This is a favorite of bees and butterflies, and Sue is trying to get a shot of one of them here.
 

Be sure to check Sue's blog Water Lily to see what beautiful photographs she produced from our wonderful day of flower hunting.  It may take a while before she posts today's photos, but she has lots of other entries to enjoy in the meantime.

Late Fall on the Fen

 "Come on in!  The water's fine!"  And Sue was right, the water was fine for a paddle through the Glen Lake Fen today.  Too cold for a swim, of course, but with high water filling channels now clear of frost-killed lily pads, we could paddle way, way back into the fen to parts we could not slog through in high summer.

Who knows how far we could have paddled, if we hadn't run into this beaver dam?  Sure, we could have climbed out and hauled our boats over, but it was just too chilly this morning to risk a possible tumble into that cold, cold water.  So we turned around here, deep into the fen in an area marked by a number of beaver lodges and many beaver-felled trees.  Sue just couldn't stop remarking about what a great turtle habitat this will be, come summer.

I am more grateful than I can say to have a friend who knows how to amble slowly along a boggy shore, poking into the reeds, trying to identify the remnants of summer's flowers, stopping to photograph the odd anomalous aspect, and just generally reveling in the delights of a bright crisp day to glide along on a beautiful waterway before the ice closes in.

We explored the shore of a Tamarack-studded island, noting the presence of such bog-loving plants as this Bog Rosemary, distinctively purple against the brown-grass background.

We found just one Pitcher Plant,  ruby-red in that cold blue water, its single flower still erect and intact.

It was Sue who noticed a whole bank of Bunchberry plants, their leaves the most radiant shades of pinky-purple against a carpet of moss and lichens.

Judging from all the rose hips along the banks, the air must surely have been filled with fragrance in summer.

The remains of Canada Lilies stood out, with their stout pods split open to reveal neatly stacked layers of dark red seeds.  (On second thought, these could be the pods of Blue Flag instead.)

Smooth Sumac is now in its glory, its crimson berry clusters held high against the dun background.  What lovely Christmas decorations they would make, adorning sprays of evergreens!  I wonder how long they keep that gorgeous color.  Do they darken with winter's freeze? 

For part of our journey today, we were accompanied by a soaring Osprey, who wheeled overhead, then flapped away, only to return shortly to settle into a tree and observe our approach.   I sure wish I had a telephoto lens.  I can make out that Osprey at the very center of this photo, only because I know he is there.  Of course, he flew away again as we drew abreast.  A breathtaking sight!

The Bog in Autumn

November 2, All Soul's Day, the Day of the Dead.  But it wasn't at all a dismal day, what with the brilliant sunshine and bright blue sky, a frosty morning with the promise of warmth to come.  We couldn't have had a nicer day, Sue and I, to revisit our favorite bog near Lake George, to see how the typical bog plants there were changing with autumn's chill.  So we pulled on our rubber bog-trompers, pushed through a hedge, and headed out across the sphagnum mat, surrounded on all sides by plants of spectacular color.

I don't think I've ever seen Winterberry so abundant or so vividly colored.

The Tamaracks' golden glow was intensified in early morning sun.

Just looking at all that gorgeous color brought big smiles to our faces.  I would say that Sue looks very happy to be here.

The fluffy tufts of Cottongrass looked as if they were floating above the bog mat as they swayed and bobbed on their slender stems.

The predominant plant of this particular bog is Leatherleaf, which, this time of year, carpets the ground with colors like stained glass.

Blueberry leaves with the sun behind them resembled tongues of flame.

One leaf in particular caught the sunlight and glowed like a Christmas light.

Down close to the sphagnum mat, ripe cranberries dangled like tiny Japanese lanterns.

Where sunshine had not yet reached the ground,  ruby-red sphagnum was sparkling with frosty ice crystals, as was this little brown leaf, edged with rime.

Although frozen solid, this pretty pink mushroom retained its distinctive color.

An orange jelly fungus had found a home in an old sawn log now covered with moss and lichens.

The Tamaracks and Black Spruces of the bog were veritable lichen farms, their branches festooned with beard lichens, mostly, but Sue found this one carnation-like clump of ruffly lichen, its pale green "petals" outlined with a darker hue.  Very pretty.

This Bartonia was quite a surprise find, a tiny plant hiding out in the grass.  Not very common to begin with, it's a miracle we ever saw it.  Although dried out now and gone to seed, it actually looks pretty much the same as when it was newly in bloom with minute yellow flowers that barely emerge from its sepals.  The five-angled stem is what clinched the ID.

After walking about the bog for an hour or so, sinking up to our ankles at times in the ice-crystalled  moss, our rubber-booted feet began to feel too cold for comfort.  So we headed back to our car, changed into our shoes, and stopped off for a walk at nearby Lake George.

Its surface unmarred by the roaring speedboats of summer,  the lake today was as lovely and serene as a lake could be, dotted with islands and surrounded by mountains that merged with the blue of the sky.

Walking along the beach, we were enjoying the ripples of golden light cast on the sandy bottom, when we stopped to puzzle over this anomalous commotion in the water.  After watching its upwelling motion for a while, we decided it must be a spring.

Here's an apt image to mark the Day of the Dead.  In a nearby park, we found an abundant patch of Partridgeberry with its glossy red fruits and dainty evergreen leaves.  As I knelt to take this photo, I was surprised to find the dried remains of several millipedes curled among the leaves.

Even more surprising was finding this sprightly Dandelion.  In fact, we saw a good number of these sunny yellow blooms starring the green grass of a lawn.  Considered a quintessential spring flower, the Dandelion will often bloom again in autumn, when the length of the day equals that of early spring.  As winter's dark and cold begin to descend, it's nice to have this little reminder that spring will again return.