Ice on the Lake, Sun in the Sky, Fish in the Pan

Thursday, February 9:  What a day for a walk on the lake:  a radiant blue sky overhead, solid ice underfoot, fresh air in our lungs, warm sun on our backs, a good friend to frolic with, and a fisherman generous enough to share part of his catch with me.  Sweet!

After checking with staffers at Moreau Lake State Park, who assured us the ice on the lake was plenty thick enough to walk on,  Sue and I donned our Yaktrak and headed out to enjoy that wide expanse of ice and sky.  Sue was a little dubious about our safety at first, especially with the ice roaring and cracking and grumbling and growling as if it were about to explode, but I (who grew up on a Michigan lake and was used to such "singing" ice) was able to reassure her.  So off we went.

We stopped to chat with the ice fishermen and admire their catches.  Here, a man named Jim shows us some splendid  perch.

Oh my, look at the size of those fish!  Much bigger than any perch I used to catch off my daddy's dock when I was a kid.  Jim's going to have a nice supper.

The biggest, fattest perch was full of eggs, Jim told us, and when I asked him if he was going to eat them, he told me no, he didn't like them.  Oh boy!  Would he give them to me?  Yes, and gladly, he said, as he pulled out a knife and opened up that fish and gave them to me.  Luckily I had a zip-lock bag with me.  Caviar for supper!  And lots of it!

No, Sue hasn't taken a fall in this photo, she's just lying down to get a good shot of some ice formations glistening in the sun.

The ice had many different kinds of interesting cracks and crazes and ridges and more, including this patch of crystal-clear ice that was as full of bubbles as champagne
.

There were lots of these "ice spiders" all over the lake, and they always make me a little nervous.  They look like you could put a foot right through them, but closer inspection reveals that that black ice is plenty thick and hard.  Different people have different explanations for how they form, but I'm not sure the mystery has been solved.  My friend Ed Miller told me he'd heard they are formed when a snowfall  too heavy for the ice to support forces water to rise from tiny cracks and spread out in that spidery pattern, melting the snow and then appearing black when the water refreezes.  I don't know.  We haven't yet had a heavy snowfall this winter, and the lake was covered with "spiders" today.

Here's a photo of that perch roe, the whole clump of eggs dusted with flour and sauteed in butter until firm throughout, dressed with a little lemon and salt.  The flavor was very mild and the texture was more like polenta or couscous than caviar.  Not fishy-tasting at all.

I would have shared the roe with Sue, but she didn't want any.  However, we will be sharing supper on Friday (Feb. 10) at the annual Friends of Moreau Lake annual chili dinner, held at the Moreau Community Center on Main Street in South Glens Falls.  Good eats and cheap ($5), and after dinner you get to hear Sue and me talk about the plants and animals and people of the park while we show some photographs.  Hope some of you can join us.  Supper starts at 6.

Cold and Snowy -- Hurray!

Two clear cold, blue-sky, bright-sunny days in a row!  And with some nice fluffy snow in between.  Hurray!  As long as we have to have winter, we might as well have some real WINTER!  Happily for me, I was able to get out and enjoy it, both yesterday and today.  Yesterday, inspired by reports of eagles feeding along the Hudson at Ft. Edward, I headed over to Washington County to follow the river roads through Ft. Miller to Ft. Edward.  Well, I didn't see any eagles, but I sure saw lots of geese.  Wherever there was any open water, there were hordes and hordes of geese that never went south for the winter. 

But hey, what's that snowy-white fowl out there in the middle of that flock of geese?   Looks like a barnyard goose has come out to visit his Canadian cousins.  Or could that be a Snow Goose?  I can't see its tail feathers, which would be black on a Snow Goose.  Usually, Snow Geese gather in large flocks along this stretch of the Hudson.  Do they typically mingle with the Canadas?

Today was even sunnier than yesterday, and what a dazzling sight it was, to see Moreau Lake all sparkling white from shore to shore, following last night's snowfall.  Most exciting, the "Thin Ice" signs were down,  so the lake was completely walkable, all over its surface.  I don't know how to explain it, but I always feel a certain thrill, walking across that wide-open frozen lake under that huge blue sky.

I stopped to chat with some ice fishermen, including this cheerful fellow named Vince, who had caught two beautiful Rainbow Trout.  Nice big ones, too.  See them lying on the ice in front of Vince.   I swear, it takes a special breed of guy to sit out on a windy cold lake all day long and insist that he's having fun.  I love the cold, but I have to keep moving in it.  Man, he doesn't even have GLOVES on!

If I had to sit still on a frozen lake all day, I'd do what this fellow named Zach is doing, sitting nice and cozy inside a blind that keeps out the cold wind and keeps in the heat from a small propane heater between his feet.

But then, wouldn't that make it all the colder, having to climb out of that warm cocoon to tend to the fishing lines?   I guess he must feel it's worth it, especially when a nice 18-incher like this one is tugging on the other end of the line.

A Brisk Riverside Ramble

A bright beautiful day today, but ooh, that wind!  Ear-piercing, nose-numbing, cheeks-freezing wind.  I really hate wind in the winter.  But I'd been house-bound for two days and I had to get out, so I drove to the end of Potter Road in Moreau and made my way down to the Hudson through the woods.  Here, there is often some shelter from wind, thanks to mountains rising to the south and west, and it's almost always quiet in the woods.  There was a brisk wind whipping down the course of the open river, but the water out there lay still as glass under a sheet of ice from shore to shore.

Last time I was here, I found the cocoon of a Cecropia Moth lashed to a twig of a Black Tupelo, and I was glad to see it was still hanging there.   Today, backlit as it was by the sun, I could see that the larva was still snug inside its winter wrapper.  It seems hard to believe that that packet of flimsy tissue could keep a living thing safe through the bitter cold, but I guess it must.  Does anyone know if I could break off that twig and bring the cocoon home to place outside my kitchen window, so I could watch it emerge in the spring?  Or should I leave it where its caterpillar chose to place it?

There is some snow in the woods along the river here, but it's icy and pocked by having been melted, rained on, and then refrozen.  I couldn't find any animal tracks except those of deer, the only animal heavy enough to break through the hard crust. It really is amazing to see the variety of tracks criss-crossing this woods when the snow is fresh:  otter, mink, fisher, coyote, fox, squirrels (red and gray), turkey, deer, rabbits, mice, voles and shrews, plus wingprints of ravens and eagles as they land on the frozen bays.  You'd never guess, without those tracks as evidence, that this woods is so well-populated by all these creatures.  Rare indeed is the moment when you actually lay eyes upon them.  I thought for just an instant today, that I'd caught a glimpse of a large owl sitting at the base of a tree.  But nope, just some peeling bark with two dots of well-placed fungus.

A Frosty Walk Up the Red Oak Ridge

Oof!  The consequences of too many weeks of overeating and undermoving were evident today as I huffed and puffed up the steep parts of the Red Oak Ridge Trail at Moreau Lake State Park.  I really gotta get back in shape!  It's too easy to make excuses not to go out for a walk when the weather's really cold, as it was this morning -- about 5 below zero when I came down for breakfast.  But the sun was up, too, and the morning soon warmed up to the teens, so no more excuses, Jackie, get out there and get moving.

When I got to Moreau, I was pleased to see the lake entirely frozen over at last.  It's still too thin to walk on, though, so I hiked around the shore to the trail that would take me about half way up the mountain seen here in this photo and then continue along the ridge.

There's enough up and down to this trail to give you a pretty good workout, but the best part about it is how beautiful it is in every season, as it passes through oak/hickory and mixed conifer forest and crosses several pretty tumbling streams.

The streams were rushing full from recent rains, and the frigid night had turned the watercourses into fairy castles of ice.

After leaving the trail to follow a stream up the mountain, I came to an area of hemlocks and huge boulders, perfect habitat for porcupines, who make their dens in a series of caves that run underneath the boulders and who dine each night up high in the surrounding trees.  I've yet to see one in the flesh up here, but when there's snow, I have seen their well-trodden trails leading from dens to the trees.

Here's one of the caves where they make their dens, detectable from some distance away by a strong odor like rancid sawdust emanating from the depths. As I crouched in this opening to peer in, I could feel warm humid air wafting upwards and out, which explains the festoons of hoarfrost decorating porky's doorway.

Leaning further into the mouth of the cave, I could see many porcupine quills littering the passageway.  I also heard odd sounds coming from deep within, a sort of grunting and muttering with an occasional squeal that let me know that someone was home.  I've never heard porcupines make any noises, but I was hoping it was indeed a porcupine (or two!), and not a bear whose sleep I had disturbed.   (I did record just a few of these sounds, which you can hear in the post below this one.)

Here are some close-up shots of those frosty festoons.

As I walked around the area among the boulders and caves, I saw several similar accumulations of frost, and when I knelt down to examine them, I felt that similar rush of warm humid air and discovered openings leading deep down into and under the rocks.  I wonder just how extensive this cave system is, and if they are all connected.  The porcupine caves are big enough that I could crawl into them if I stayed on my hands and knees (and could bear the odor!), but this opening was much smaller.

And this one smaller still.  When I lifted that maple leaf, I could feel a draft of that warm humid air and see a small passage leading down until it disappeared in darkness.

I sure had a wonderful time up there, poking about in the woods and the rocks and the water just as I used to do when I was a kid.  Pure contentment washes over me, a feeling that I possess everything I could ever need or want, and that all is well.  I was reminded of a poem by Mary Oliver that I looked up when I got home, and yes, she says it exactly right:

When I Am Among the Trees

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust, 
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness, 
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.


I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and the discernment,
and never hurry through the world
  but walk slowly, and bow often.


Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, "Stay awhile."
The light flows from their branches.


And they call again, "It's simple," they say,
"and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine."


I took the slow road home, stopping by the farm where I used to see two huge and beautiful Belgian horses.  In their place today were these two huge and beautiful Paints, who came right up to the fence and let me pet them.  I think they could sense my feeling of sweet contentment.  They certainly added to it with the gentle gazes from their lovely eyes.

Back Out to the Woods and Waters

A bright, cold, clear day, and oh, it was wonderful to get under that radiant sky and swing my legs along pine-needled paths and sandy shores at Moreau Lake State Park.  I do love the holidays, a month of feasting and family fun from Thanksgiving to Christmas, except that most of that month is spent indoors and eating far too much food that's not good for me.  So now I'm ready to get back to healthier eating and especially to just go out and play in the woods all day.  Yesterday,  a ferocious wind slapped me back into the house after just a few moments outdoors, but today a calmer air and a kindly sun called me out to wander for hours.

No snow as yet, as these photos show, but ice now covers the back bay of Moreau Lake from shore to shore.  I can hardly wait until the ice is thick enough to walk on, allowing me to reach my favorite haunts around the lake more quickly and directly.  We'll have freezing nights the rest of the week, I've heard, so I'm hoping it won't be long.  Today, the ice was whooping and moaning, a sign of further freezing.

Up close to shore, I could see all the wrinkles and crinkles that form as the water freezes.  It would be amazing to have a time-lapse movie of how these patterns progress.

Part of the fun of winter hiking is trying to recognize plants in their winter attire.  On my way home from Moreau I stopped off at Yaddo to visit some American Bladdernut shrubs that grow by a stream, and was glad to find a few bladders still dangling from the twigs.

A tree had fallen into the stream, and its bark was mottled with a very dark green lichen I don't recall seeing before.

I risked a slip into the stream to get a closer look at that lichen, much darker green than the very common Green Shield Lichen.  I though it was quite beautiful.

Icy Delights

A sparkling day, clear and fresh and cold as the tumbling stream that runs through the Orra Phelps Nature Preserve in Wilton.  That's where I took my walk today, seeking a landscape that matched the beauty of this crystalline day.

We've had little snow so far, but the nights are now cold enough for ice to form along the stream, where droplets splash on overhanging boughs.

Not even diamonds are more beautiful than the crystal spears that dangle over the rushing water.

 Bubbles collect along the banks, and there they freeze into brittle plates of froth.

As winter approaches, it always amazes me to see the bare buds of Hobblebush, leaves and flowers already formed, protected against the coming season's icy blasts by no more than the merest fuzz.

Small Treasures Along a Wintry Trail

Outdoors at last!  And what a pretty day for hiking!  Household duties and holiday preparations have kept me indoors all week, but today's bright blue sky and crisp cold air was too tempting to resist any longer.  Besides, I'd arranged to have my friend Sue meet me for a walk at Bog Meadow Nature Trail this morning, so that's where we went, longjohns underneath, boots on our feet, cameras and binoculars in our bags.

In flower season, I travel this wooded wetland trail quite often,  seeking the wide variety of native plants that grow here.  I've made a mental map of where some of the most interesting species grow, so I can look for them in every season and try to recognize them at every stage.  This abundant patch of Downy Rattlesnake Plantain is always easy to find, since it's marked off with wooden stakes to prevent the trail maintenance folks from mowing it down.  The beautiful evergreen leaves are now buried under the snow, but its spent flower stalks still hold their heads high.

Since most of the flowers and leaves are now withered and faded, any spots of pretty color stand out against the browns and grays of the landscape, such as this patch of rich green lichen adorned with a little cluster of coppery fungus.

The trunk of this tree was almost completely covered with a dusty pale-green lichenous growth, spotted with patches of rosy pink.  Its subtle colors reminded me of old-fashioned faded wallpaper.

 The rich-red pedicels of Panicled Dogwood certainly stood out from the rest of the underbrush.

But nothing is more vividly red than beautiful Winterberry, so striking against the blue sky and water.

Deep-blue ice has newly formed in the little trailside streams, creating patterns of needles and stars.

How reassuring to see these protruding shoots of Skunk Cabbage,  reminding us of the promise of spring, just as the new-formed ice announces the arrival of winter.

We hiked to this marsh with the hope of observing waterfowl, but found its surface completely covered with ice, no open water even around the edges.   So, no waterfowl.  We did see Goldfinches, Bluebirds, Cardinals, and Chickadees feeding among grapevine-festooned trees, one Red-tailed Hawk sailing in circles over the marsh, and Sue kept hearing what she thought was the cry of a Flicker, although she allowed as it could have been the Hairy Woodpecker she did manage to lay her eyes on.

Anyone know what kind of bird made this mud-daubed nest in the crotch of a Poison Sumac?   I suppose the young birds would long have fledged before the grapes ripened, but I imagine the large leaves of the grapevine twining among the sumac branches would have provided great cover.

We were able to recognize the shrub as a Poison Sumac because of the clusters of white berries that still dangled from some of the branches.  This variety of sumac, despised by humans but extremely valuable to wild birds,  is not that common this far north, but we do find it now and then in swampy areas such as this.

All along the trail we found the fluffy seed heads of Virgin's Bower, a native clematis that bears clusters of small white flowers in summer.  I love how the sunlight glinted on the silken filaments surrounding the curvaceous wiry structures that remain.