Two Days, Two Walks

Except for a break of sunshine now and then, Saturday was sort of gloomy, cold and gray.  Which suited me just fine, since I was feeling a little gloomy myself,  following the fiasco of Sue's and my photo presentation the night before.  We were barely half way into our show and just getting to a really good part, when an audience member in the front row passed out and needed emergency medical attention, which ended the evening abruptly. We're happy to report that the patient turned out to be okay, just a passing spell, she would see her own doctor, etc., but the work that the two of us (Sue especially) had spent many hours preparing went mostly unseen.  And yeah, I felt kind of glum about that.  So on Saturday I went looking for a landscape to match my mood, a Wuthering Heightsish kind of place to wander about while sulking, and I found it on the powerline access road that climbs the hills along Spier Falls Road at Moreau.  Here, a cold wind moved in waves through the tall dead grass, and a leaden river could just be spied through the bare leafless trees lining the road below.

Funny thing about being outdoors, though, is that it always lifts my mood, and my sulk soon turned to delight as I stopped to explore the fascinating boulders that line the road up there on the mountainside.

I'm not sure what kind of rocks make up these boulders, I'm guessing some must be quartzite, since they have a glassy translucent look.  Some are a pretty patchwork of rose and blue.

Others are a clearer white, like this one with some pretty green foliose lichens finding a foothold in the cracks.

There were also fruticose lichens sharing the same boulder, tiny trumpets of dusty green.

This bright green velvety moss seemed happy to be there, too, sending out an exuberant growth of vivid red spore stalks.  Such perky little patches of beauty reminded me not to waste my time in a funk when the world was so full of delights.

*  *  *

Sunday dawned clear and cold, with a sharp wind that quickly whipped away any warmth that a bright sun struggled to provide.  Sue and I had planned to go out together today, but we decided a drive might be much more comfortable than a walk.  And what better place to go for a drive than the road that hugs the Hudson River at Fort Miller in Washington County?   We'd heard many reports of wonderful birds to be seen along this stretch, including a Golden Eagle.  We would drive for a bit, then park and wander the banks for a while, searching the water, the treeline, and the sky, until our nearly frozen cheeks could no longer bear the touch of our ice-cold binoculars, and our numb fingertips could hardly manipulate our cameras' buttons.

The river was a sight to see in itself, its radiant blue taking on the same color as the sapphire sky.  There were thousands of geese on the open water, setting up a loud cacophony each time we approached the shore.  Large groups of Snow Geese intermingled with enormous flocks of Canada Geese.  As we stood trying to photograph the geese, we were joined by other bird enthusiasts who had driven up from the Albany area just to espy those Snow Geese, considered something of a rarity in this part of the country, although they are frequent visitors to these parts of the Hudson River.

At times, the wind quieted down, allowing us to enjoy the mellow light of the afternoon along with the shimmering radiance of the river.  The geese, too, seemed to grow less frenzied, basking in the sunlight along the shore before floating serenely away.

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.

Riverscape Up North

Monday was a sweet balmy day with a clear blue sky, but I couldn't get out until mid-afternoon, too late for a long hike, but early enough for a drive up north to Lake Luzerne and an easy walk along an ice-filled Hudson.  I'd heard reports of eagles feeding up here, but I didn't see any that day.  Yes, it would have added a note of excitement to see eagles, but the beauty of the riverscape was enough to fill me with joy.

There's a long stretch of road that closely follows the Hudson going north out of the village of Lake Luzerne, eventually reaching a dead end at a state forest recreation area.   I had hoped to reach this state forest area and its many trails along the river, but the road turned to soft mud where the pavement ended, still miles from my destination.  I feared my car might mire down, so I turned back toward Lake Luzerne, happy enough to enjoy the view from my car, with occasional forays on foot where I found open fields.

Hidden Treasure in a Mountain Swamp

Who would have known they were there, hidden away for ages, those big old Black Tupelos in a swamp on the top of a mountain?  Only someone who knows the Palmertown Mountains of Moreau Lake State Park like the back of her hand, that's who.  Someone like my friend Laurie, who led me up into the mountains yesterday so that I could lay my eyes on these trees myself.

Laurie counts these mountains and woods as her own backyard and has been hiking, skiing, and snowshoeing here for years and years, both on and off the trails.  But even she was surprised when she came upon these towering trees in a hidden swamp, recognizing right away they were something special.  She also knows that I have a special fondness for Black Tupelos and was quick to report her find to me and offer to take me to see them.  So off we went together, along with Laurie's teenaged daughter Johanna, on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon.  We followed a well-marked trail for a mile or so, until we came to the spot where Laurie knew we should leave the trail and follow a ridge downhill to a swamp that lies in a hollow of the mountain.

Laurie and Johanna led the way, assuring me that I wouldn't get lost if I just followed the ridge.

We soon came to a swampy area, which, lucky for us, was sufficiently frozen over to allow for easy exploring.

Mats of sphagnum moss lay thick around the edges of ice-covered pools.

In many of these pools, the ice had formed lovely patterns as it froze.  And refroze and refroze and refroze.

We found a number of baby Black Spruces, typical occupants, along with the sphagnum, of boggy sites.

And there they were,  the Black Tupelos, tall and straight, towering over their neighboring trees in the swamp.  Not as monumental as some 800-year-old tupelos I have visited in a lowland swamp nearby, but much larger than the tupelos I have seen growing along the Hudson River at Moreau.  We measured the trunks of two of them at shoulder height and determined that they were about six feet around. To determine their age, they would have to be core-sampled.  It sure would be interesting to know how old they really are.

Here's a view looking up toward the crown, revealing the horizontal branching and distinctive twigginess so typical of this species.

Also typical of tupelos of this size is the way the bark grows:  deeply furrowed on one side, but relatively smooth on the other.

We even found some leaves and seeds, which provide further evidence for this tree's identification.

So, what is it about this tree (Nyssa sylvatica is its Latin name) that I would consider it a treasure?  Certainly, lumbermen have no use for it, with its interlacing fibers that make it impossible to split and prone to warping.  For this very reason, no doubt, this tree was allowed to stand through the centuries while all others around it were lumbered again and again, so that by now the oldest stands of living timber in the northeast are likely to be Black Tupelo.  And that's very interesting.  It's also a beautiful tree, with glossy green leaves that turn a spectacular cranberry red each autumn, as well as a rather uncommon tree for this part of the world.  Considered more of a coastal species, Black Tupelos survive in the Hudson/Champlain Valley because of a moderating effect those bodies of water have on the regional climate.  So this tree is not seen around here all that often.  I had never seen its like when I first encountered it while paddling the Hudson some 15-20 years ago, and my desire to discover its identity inspired my desire to then learn the name of everything that grows along the river.  And then, everything that grows, everywhere!

So that's why I felt it was worth the effort to climb up a mountain and push through a swamp to see another stand of these amazing trees -- especially ones as old and large as those we found up there.  Thanks, Laurie, for sharing your find with me.  What a treasure!

Chasing Upstream After Eagles

When my friend Sue and I agreed to meet today at Moreau Lake State Park, we didn't know where we might hike.  All we knew was that it was a gorgeous day and we wanted to be outside under that perfectly clear, radiant blue sky, preferably on a trail in the park.  But after we got talking with park staffers and heard reports of eagles feeding on a deer carcass up near Hadley on Stewart's Pond, that's where we headed instead. 

We hadn't even left the park, though, speeding along the Hudson River on Spiers Falls Road, when Sue called out, "There's an eagle on that island!"   Of course, we pulled over to get a good look.  Can you see it, perched in a tree out there?

Here's a little closer look, thanks to my camera's zoom.  Not a very clear shot, but at least you can tell it's an eagle.  We tried to sneak a little closer, but the eagle took flight and disappeared downstream.

So we continued on our way north, finding the Hudson again at Corinth and following the river upstream to Hadley, where the Hudson meets the Sacandaga River.  We then followed the Sacandaga upstream to Stewart's Pond, where, sure enough, we saw that deer carcass out on the ice.  No eagles were feasting on it, though.  Breakfast must have been over.

We got out of the car and walked the length of the Stewart's Pond Dam, a massive earthen dam set among truly stunning scenery of river, forest,  and mountains.  We were hoping to catch another glimpse of the rollicking cloud of Snow Buntings our passing had scared up from the grass, but somehow they'd managed to disappear completely.  We couldn't miss the large raven that flew right over our heads, fanning its wedge-shaped tail and croaking its greeting, and then Sue's eagle eyes saw another large dark bird soaring above the distant tree line -- a large dark bird with snow-white head and tail, our second eagle sighting of the morning!

Our next stop was a few miles further upstream to another large dam at Conklinville, above which the vast Sacandaga Reservoir extends for miles, rimmed by conifer forests and rugged mountains.   We never saw any more eagles here, but that didn't stop our spirits from soaring.  Who wouldn't feel uplifted, surrounded by such natural splendor?

Sue works afternoons, so as midday approached we headed home, stopping in Lake Luzerne to have lunch at the Waterhouse Restaurant. (Very good!)  We got chatting with the restaurant owner, who, when he learned what we'd been up to, told us of many eagle sightings along the Hudson north of Lake Luzerne.  Sue and I looked at each other and grinned.  We didn't even need to say it:  There was our next adventure!

Balmy Air, Icy Trails

Nearly 60 degrees today.  Bright blue sky.  Nice day for a hike, right?  Yeah, but only with Yaktrax or microspikes on your boots.  I thought a walk around Mud Pond at Moreau Lake State Park would be a nice easy way to get my hiking legs back, after a week away from my home woods and mountains.  But just a few steps from my car had me grabbing at tree trunks to keep myself upright.  So back I teetered to get myYaktrax out of the trunk.  Then, the walking was easy, even on the packed icy trail that circles the pond.  

 Mud Pond was still frozen, despite many days of warm temperatures, but a layer of water turned its surface into a mirror, reflecting the sun-warmed, tree-lined shore and a lovely, puffy-cloud azure sky.

These ruffly tree fungi reiterated the blue color-theme today.   With a minutely pored undersurface and alternating hairy and smooth multicolored stripes, this fungus resembles the bracket fungus called Turkey Tail (Trametes versicolor), but I have never seen any Turkey Tail colored this blue.  Pretty!
 

Even the moon looked translucently blue today, as if that deep-blue sky were showing through.

Westchester Wanderings

It's only been a week since I last sat down to post a blog, but somehow it seems much longer than that, since I spent very little of the last week in the woods.  I was down in Mt. Kisco in Westchester County looking after my granddaughters while their folks were away.  The girls are no trouble at all to care for and lots of fun to be with, but their interests sure don't lie in accompanying Grandma on nature adventures.  I did manage to get out one day by myself to visit the wonderful Teatown Reservation, a nature preserve and education center in nearby Ossining.  I love to take the trail that circles the lake that lies at the heart of the preserve, and I had a beautiful blue-sky day to do it in.

At one point, the trail passes over a very long footbridge that provides beautiful views of the lake, which was mostly covered with a thin sheet of ice.   I walked this trail just a year ago, when several feet of snow covered the woods, and the ice was thick enough to support the wanderings of deer across its surface.  They would not have been able to do that today.  (To compare the amount of snow this year to last at Teatown, click here.)

The terrain surrounding the lake is rugged and rocky, with many outcroppings studded with glassy patches of quartzite.

Wherever the lake lay unfrozen, various waterfowl swam about in the open water, including this pair of elegant swans.

Because of an overabundance of deer in Westchester County, most of the woods, although lush and green, are bereft of native species of plants, supporting only those invasive plants that deer avoid.  A number of nature preserves in the county are fencing off portions of their acreage to keep out the deer,  allowing the native plants to be reestablished.  At Teatown, this process is being actively managed, with removal of alien species and the planting of native shrubs and trees and wildflowers.  This rustic gate marks one entry into such a fenced-off exclosure.  I look forward to revisiting this area during the growing season to see what native plants have come into flower.

One of my favorite features of Teatown is the exhibits of native birds and mammals, especially the enclosures containing raptors and owls and other birds of prey, all of them having been rehabilitated following serious injury but too permanently damaged to be returned to the wild.  Here, one of the caregivers, Lisa, enters the enclosure of an American Kestrel to offer it shreds of meat.

 

Which the kestrel eagerly devours.  I think I would enjoy this job!

In a nearby enclosure, a Red-tailed Hawk hunches over to enjoy its lunch of rat.  How lovely to get such a good view of the ruddy tail that gives this large raptor its name.  We usually can only see this bird from underneath, as it soars above us, high in the sky.

Inside the nature center are tanks and terraria housing a number of amphibians, snakes, and turtles, including this rare Blandings Turtle that came close enough to let me see its yellow chin and throat, and the distinctive black and white mottling of its shell. 

An informative sign near the turtle's pool stated that this turtle is found in New York only in Dutchess County, but I was able to leave a message for Teatown naturalists, informing them that this rare turtle has also been found at the Wilton Wildlife Preserve and Park, right here in Saratoga County.  Where I am again very happily at home, eager to get back to my own Saratoga County woods and waters.

Beautiful Barks Along Bog Meadow

 Well, so much for our soft white snow.  Yesterday's all-day rain and today's high temperatures have destroyed all the snow and turned all the trails to wet mud by this afternoon.  Luckily, I did get out for a walk yesterday, despite a constant drizzle, choosing the Bog Meadow Nature Trail just outside Saratoga.  As this photo shows, Bog Meadow Trail is long and straight, and if one wants to walk quickly for exercise, this is a good place to do it -- especially when the trail's underlying railroad ties are thickly padded with a blanket of snow.  Even soggy wet snow.  I wore my waterproof boots.

I expected I would swing briskly along, work up a little healthy sweat, since there's not much to see in the woods this time of year, right?   Ah well, best laid plans and all that.  As it happened, the steady drizzle had dampened the tree trunks and darkened the bark, so that all the marvelous colors and patterns of lichenous growths on those trunks were more evident than usual.  Of course, I had to stop and admire the many variations. 


Some growths were a soft velvety green, with patches outlined in baby blue.

Others were speckled like the sides of a trout, with varying shades of pale green.

Or shades of blue.

Or bright emerald green traced with squiggles of rich brown.

This pale-blue patch was adorned with tiny black wormy shapes.

The base of one tree was speckled with large blue flakes.

This branch was covered with circles of both blue and green.

 During my walk, I focused my attention on only the flat crustose lichens, for the moment ignoring the frilly foliose lichens, as well as the many mosses that decorated the trees.  This abundant fluffy growth at the base of a tree did cause me to pause, however, and take a closer look.  Is this a moss, I wondered, or could it be a liverwort?

My eyesight is too compromised to distinguish moss from liverwort with my naked eyes, but a macro shot with my camera revealed the overlapping leaves of one of the liverworts in the genus Porella.

Stopping and starting along the trail as I did, I did not work up much of a sweat.  But I was out there long enough to get drenched by the constant drizzle that, after a while, set all the twigs to dripping.  Not wanting to risk wetting my camera, I packed it away and headed home, wondering how many exquisite variations on a theme of lichens I had missed.