Ascending to Porcupine Haven

My nature buddies and I had one more day to enjoy the snowy woods before the rains returned on Friday.  And what better way could we spend that day but by hiking up the mountain at Moreau Lake State Park to see if the Porcupines still claimed a series of caves up there as their denning territory? 

Although the temps rose into the 40s, snow still covered the forest floor (the better to follow the Porkies' trails), and the stream we call Zen Brook was flowing exuberantly down the mountainside. It's quite a steep climb up to Porcupine Haven, a cluster of small grottos carved into marble outcroppings, most likely created by the same flowing waters that fill this brook. This climb was a first test of my injured legs since their bashing in a car crash a month ago, and I was quite delighted to discover I managed it okay.

 

As soon as we entered a dense Hemlock forest near the mountain's summit, we found abundant evidence of Porcupine travels, their low-slung bodies creating troughs through the snow that were pocked with the tracks of their wide flat feet. Unlike many other wild animals that wander the woods in search of food, a Porcupine finds a likely tree to feed on and returns to the same site again and again, eventually packing the trail to the point where the individual footprints can no longer be discerned.

All we had to do to find a den was to follow a well-packed trail to where it disappeared within the dark depths of a cave in the rocky outcroppings.  The trails were also marked by dribbles of yellow urine, shed hairs, and occasional quills, if we needed further evidence that such trails belonged to Porcupines. In this photo, Porkie's comings and goings appeared quite evident.

Nearby was a second cave that obviously was providing shelter to another Porcupine.

At one den site, friends Nancy, Noel, and Tom examine the animal tracks near the mouth of one cave, as well as the plants that cover the rocky outcroppings.  In the foreground, Sue is perusing the various mosses that thrive near a second cave.

A third cave opening reveals a stream coursing through it,  rendering its interior inhospitable for any Porcupine den.  But the watery habitat only made it more welcoming to insects that find winter shelter amid such damp spaces. I could detect a number of tiny flying insects darting around the dark interior.

Since some of these insects were performing an up-and-down bobbing dance in the air, I could assume they were male Winter Craneflies engaged in their distinctive mating behavior, intended to entice the ground-dwelling females to rise up to join the males in mid-air, before returning to the ground to lay their now-fertilized eggs in the leaf litter.

One of the insects did land on the snow, which helped to confirm its identity as a Winter Cranefly (Trichoceridae genus). I also noticed a Porcupine hair sharing the snowy surface.

The calcareous nature of these rocky outcroppings could be deduced from the various plants that thrive on them, since many of these plants would occur only on lime-rich rocks such as limestone or marble. That would be true for the round puffs of Rose Moss (Rhodobryum ontariense) seen here poking up from amid the slender fronds of Walking Fern (Asplenium rhizophyllum), a distinctive fern that travels across its moss-covered rocky habitat by creating new plants wherever the tips of its long skinny fronds touch down.

I never did learn which moss Noel and Nancy were examining here, but it might have been a species of Hedwigia, a moss that can grow on either calcareous or acidic rock.

Sue is here searching amid the flowing water of a nearby stream for a moss known to prefer just such a wet habitat.

And find it, she did! The moss is called Fontinalis antipyretica (or Common Water Moss), a moss that grows underwater with long trailing stems that flow with the current.

A close examination of its leaves revealed that they were folded sharply along a midline, the fold-line forming a prominent keel, which suggested another vernacular name for this aquatic moss,  the Keeled Water Moss.

We were also intrigued by the variety of fungi still evident in the winter woods.  Among the more interesting was this Ceramic Fungus (Xylobolus frustulatus), with small, hard, flat crust-like clusters that resemble broken pieces of ceramic tile.  My Baron's mushroom guide indicates that this distinctive and unusual fungus that grows on old debarked oak logs is "widely distributed but not common."

This large patch of overlapping striped caps had me thinking they must be a species of Stereum fungus, they were so uniformly and vividly colored and thin and tough.

But then, I looked at the underside and discovered a fertile surface covered with tiny pores.  As far as I knew, all Stereum species have a smooth underside with no visible pores.  All these tiny pores indicated I must be looking at the real Turkey Tail Fungus (Trametes versicolor) and not the Stereum species called False Turkey Tail.

We were all stymied by these small patches of rubbery red pustular stuff on a fallen log, especially when Nancy used her cellphone to access iNaturalist, which named it as a species in the order Cantharellales.  That can't be true, I thought at first, since Cantharellales is the order that includes Chanterelle mushrooms, and I could not imagine how that stalked edible fungus could be related to these rubbery gelatinous blobs. Well, it turned out that iNaturalist was right.  The name of this red stuff turned out to be Tulasnella aurantiaca, and it is indeed included in the order Cantharellales. Who would have thought?!

Here's a closer look at Tulasnella aurantiaca to better indicate its texture and size. Apparently, this fungus is not that uncommon, but its small size makes it easy to overlook. It should be hard to miss that red color, though.

We never know, each time we venture out to the woods, what new marvels we might find.

Here was one last amazing find: a pair of Porcupine footprints, clearly defined in the soft wet snow and showing the claws as well as the soles of the feet.  Rare indeed is the opportunity to see such clear footprints, since Porkie's habit is to trample its own prints over and over again in its daily travels along the same trail.

For One Brief Shining Moment . . .

"Don't let it be forgot, that there was once a spot, for one brief shining moment that was known as . . . ." Well, not exactly Camelot, but mighty close to it: a perfect winter's day at Moreau Lake State Park.  At least, so far this winter. If the forecasts come true, this gorgeous blue-sky sparkly-snow scene will soon be melted and rained on.  But along with my friends Dana, Sue, and Tom, we made sure to make the most of it yesterday by immersing ourselves in as many of its glories as we could.

Here we are, setting off under a radiant sky and snow-laden towering trees to reach a favorite destination, where a mountain stream we know as Zen Brook flows beneath a bridge along the Red Oak Ridge Trail.

Due to recent rains, water still danced and splashed among snow-covered rocks.  We are still waiting for sub-freezing cold to transform that splashing water into fabulous crystal creations, but the sparkling mounds of soft fluffy snow were lovely enough in their own way.

Our friend Sue is the one who once thought to call this tumbling mountain stream Zen Brook, for it doesn't take many moments of hearing its music before tranquillity overcomes any stress we might be harboring.

As we continued along the Red Oak Ridge Trail, we noticed several young trees that had bent to form graceful arches: perfect frames to showcase us jolly companions. Left to right, here are Dana Stimpson, Tom Callaghan, and Sue Pierce, among the best co-nature explorers I could ever hope for.

And, oh, what a gorgeous day we had to explore such wintry beauty! Here, mounds of fluffy stuff caught in the twigs were rendered translucent by rays of golden sunlight.

This gracefully curvaceous snake of snow appeared to be winding its way among snow-capped baby beech leaves.

This lichenous limb appeared to be trimmed with ermine fur!

The snow was so clean and white and fresh, still cold enough this morning that the flakes still kept their spiky shapes intact.  It was also refreshing to taste, and I picked up dollops of it on my finger to place on my tongue.

There was little wind on this sun-drenched morning, but every so often an overhead branch would shed showers of glittering snow, filling the air with sequin-sparkle and prickling our faces with icy kisses of cold.

Sue must have enjoyed that sensation so much, she found some snow-laden hemlock boughs to create a personal snow-shower beneath!

We continued our explorations until we reached the lake's back bay.  Here, we pondered why this large section of the lake always froze over completely before any ice at all had formed along the shore of the lake's main body. Today, the ice cover was dotted with these mysterious dark "spiders," probably formed by water welling up through weak spots in the opaque ice, spreading out in rays, and then transparently refreezing.  I wonder if this phenomenon has ever been recorded in time-lapse photography.

I enjoyed one last look at the lake, which lay wide open and calm enough to reflect the blue sky.  A beautiful and yet troubling scene.  We are well into January now, when skaters and fishermen ought to be traversing a frozen lake. This "one brief shining moment" of cold and snow we had yesterday had better not be the last we will have all winter.

Forecasters' Hype DID Come True!

Yes, they got it right this time.  We DID have a snowstorm, and just a nice amount: about 6 inches of fluffy stuff. Once the front walk was shoveled (we have only 40 feet to deal with), the car was brushed off, and the birdseed area cleared, there was nothing to do but enjoy the beauty.  Sadly, temps now will rise above freezing the rest of the week, with rain predicted by Thursday. So this wintry wonderland won't last long.

I'm glad I got out in my yard to take a couple of photos:

My Three Graces garden statue acquired a busby-tall snow bonnet. 

The Winterberries looked extra vividly red in contrast with the white snow.

Back Outdoors in Time to Welcome Winter

If the weather forecasts prove true, we should be getting some snow tonight.  All I can say is, it's about time!  I will be happy about that.  It was also about time this past Thursday for me to venture out on my accident-injured legs, now healed enough for me to walk on the level and snow-free shore of Moreau Lake. I was also really happy about that, too.  Especially since my pal Sue Pierce was my inspirer and companion.

When we arrived at the lake about 10am, the water was mostly open and mirror-calm, reflecting a lovely mostly blue sky and sun-dappled mountainsides. The air was cold and calm and perfect for being outdoors in my longjohns, warm scarf, and down coat.

 

As we walked on the sun-bathed, soft-sand beach at the north end of the lake, it felt quite warm for a January outing.  But soon we heard the wind starting to roar from off to the north, and the formerly sunlit mountainsides became veiled by a fine mist of snow. My excitement picked up with the wind velocity and occasional crystals prickling my cheeks.  Snow at last!

As more and more of the mountainside disappeared from view, the air became flecked with visible flakes of snow.

Soon the lake appeared to be covered with fog, the snow was so thick in the air.

At first the flakes came gently down, transforming the woods to Christmas-card loveliness.

But soon the wind grew more exciting as it began to drive the snow sideways and whip the tall canes of Phragmites into a mad dance.

Did we rush to our nearby cars to get out of this driving snow?  Are you kidding?! Both Sue and I felt like kids in a candy store, thrilled that genuine winter appeared to be arriving at last.  If you want to see evidence of why we love winter so, you can look back over 15 years of my January blog posts and view many, many photos of how beautiful and exciting winter can be in these woods and along these waterways.

When Sue shared photos of this happy day on her Facebook page, she included this photo of me, looking ecstatic to be out in this beautiful place, and especially to be with her. Thanks, Sue, for taking one of the most cheerful photos of me I have ever seen. I feel so blessed to have such a friend as Sue.

Photo by Sue Pierce

That snow shower did not last long as the clouds moved off to the northeast and a bluer sky edged in, the air now dotted with only a few scattered flakes that twinkled in the emerging sunlight.

Now we shall see if the forecasters' hype about the coming snow comes true. If so, I may have to spend my still-limited energies digging out my car and shoveling my walk, but I certainly hope to be back on this blog to report on winter's wonders very soon.

Couple of Breakdowns, and I'm Taking a Break

 

I guess I won't be driving for a while -- not this car or any.  On December 8, I got slammed hard while turning left right into the path of an oncoming car going full speed, and it was my fault.  I just did not see it coming, and that error will haunt me for a very long time.  Luckily, it appeared that no one in the other car was injured (at least not visibly).  But I was, although not in any life-threatening way, thank God.  I don't know how both legs got bashed, but now I can barely walk, and five days after the accident, I still can't bend my left leg more than a few degrees without severe pain, and the leg certainly can't lift my weight, although, thankfully, it can bear it. So I can hobble. That knee was already damaged from a previous injury, so maybe it's time to do what my orthopedist had been recommending and have a knee replacement.  Maybe after Christmas.

At any rate, the woods and waters and winter wonderlands will not have me wandering them for quite a while, so I won't have anything new to report here on this blog for some time.  And then my old iMac crashed as well, with my harddrive still accessible but with no connection to the internet. I'm composing this post on a new computer, but I cannot access 15 years' worth of photos still on my old drive until I have a friend's help to load them onto this one. But before that, I'm going through thousands of old photos to eliminate duds and duplicates in the meantime, in case my new computer doesn't have room to store them accessibly.

What I'm saying is that I'm taking a break from blogging for a while, although with every intention of returning when I am more able-bodied.  But after nearly 15 years of keeping this blog (first post was on January 2, 2009), there's lots of material here to be perused, and if I say so myself, some of it's still pretty interesting and informative.  There's an archive in the right-side sidebar that will carry a reader back to all posts from all times of year, and a search bar at the top left that can lead a reader to all mentions I've posted on hundreds of plants and dozens of places. I hope some of my dear followers will find something to interest them among past posts, and also check back here from time to time to see if I'm posting anew. This project has been the focus of my life for so long, I cannot imagine I will abandon it for long.

Meanwhile, I want to express my gratitude for the blessings that I experienced in the middle of my distress. With all the evidence of human wickedness in the news these days, I cling to any and all evidence of human kindness I encounter.  And oh my, did I encounter human kindness after my car crash. I had not realized how battered I was when I crawled out of my smashed vehicle and limped, stunned, to a nearby bench. But a kind young man from the Malta Emergency Services quickly appeared and invited me to come out of the damp cold and enter the emergency vehicle standing by. At first I declined, just hoping my husband would soon arrive to take me home, but the young man's gentle prodding convinced me I should let the EMTs take my vital signs and check me for injuries and so I accepted the invitation to climb onto the gurney.  As it happened, I was experiencing cardiac and blood pressure abnormalities that indicated I should go to the hospital for further examination. Which I did, and there underwent scans from my head to my toes, which revealed no life-threatening conditions or injuries, thank God. I don't know how my legs got so battered and bruised, but at least I won't die from not being able to walk for a while.  And I have no-fault insurance that will cover many of my material losses as well as my medical bills. All will be well, eventually, so now my fear has given way to enormous gratitude to all those kind people who looked after me in my distress. I especially want to thank Justin and Scott, the two EMTs who cared for me so solicitously and helped me to feel I'd be OK.  How wonderful that such good people feel called to this caring and life-saving work. And that goes for all the good people who cared for me at the Saratoga Hospital Emergency Room, who treated me with such competence, respect and gentleness.  Of course, I must thank my husband Denis, who now must  drive me around to all errands and appointments that I once drove myself to. And many friends who have reached out in love and/or with foodstuffs and other offers.  I thank God for all such caring people around the world, wherever there is disaster and distress. I have been so disheartened by news of wars and natural disasters, but I am grateful to be reminded that still there are those good people who rush to give hope and healing to people in need.

Rare Plant Remnants Along the Shore

Due to a recent painful bout of ocular rosacea, I've neglected both cold-weather outdoor walks and extended computer use for a while. And my blogging has been on hold.  But one rather dark and not-too-cold day last week, I did venture up to Moreau Lake State Park. I had not been able to explore the shore of the lake all summer, because of high water levels, but now the sandy and pebbly sections of shore have emerged and are beckoning my return. I particularly wanted to walk the shore of a cove that is home to some of our state's rarest plants.  How had these plants fared from being flooded all summer?

At first glance, the vegetation appeared to be shriveled beyond recognition, but I knew very well that certain plant remnants do persist in a recognizable state all year.  And I also knew that many of them clustered about the base of a certain shoreline Cottonwood tree.

Sure enough, these puffy gray balls that once held the seeds of Whorled Mountain Mint (Pycnanthemum verticillatum var. verticillatum) were easily seen, still standing on stems that held them above the surrounding brown vegetation.  And because the summer's high water had not reached this far up the shore, a healthy population of a dozen or so plants remained intact.  This plant is one of New York's rarest species, rated as Endangered, so I always feel reassured to find it still surviving here on the shore of Moreau Lake.

 Sadly, though, the population of Whorled Mountain Mint has declined substantially since I first discovered it here 10 years ago, and a state rare-plant monitor later assessed its numbers along this cove's shoreline to be more than 270 healthy specimens.  Because Moreau Lake is a kettle lake, dependent for its water mainly on rainfall and snowmelt, its water levels rise and fall substantially from year to year.  Recent years of high water have eliminated much of this rare plant's growing space, but at least enough plants remain intact to provide a seedbank for continued survival along this particular cove's shoreline. We have not found other populations of Whorled Mountain Mint anywhere else around the lake, or anywhere else in Saratoga County. 

A second rare plant that shares this same shoreline is the Mustard-family plant called Green Rockcress (Borodinia missouriensis).  Because this plant possesses distinctive arching seedpods that persist through the winter, it is easy to spot this time of year, and indeed, I saw dozens of persisting plants along this cove, both out on the sand and also higher up on the forested banks. Although Green Rockcress is rated as a Threatened species in New York,  several hundred specimens have been recorded at Moreau Lake State Park, at several locations around the park as well as out here on the cove. We have no reason to think that this species is threatened within this park.

As I continued my walk around the cove, it became evident to me that the last few years of high water had diminished the shoreline habitat for the Whorled Mountain Mint significantly for other reasons than simply water covering the sand on the shore.  During the first couple of years I had personally monitored this habitat, there existed a walkable clear area between the shoreline Buttonbush shrubs and a steep forested bank, and this is the area where I first found the most abundant population of this Endangered species, with specimens numbering into the hundreds.  High lake levels over the past few years have apparently pushed the Buttonbush shrubs closer to the steep forested banks, and the shrubs now occupy the space where the Whorled Mountain Mint once thrived abundantly.  On this visit,  I found fewer than a dozen.  I guess this kind of naturally occurring habitat loss may be one of the reasons this species is Endangered.

When I reached the point where I met the main lake, I decided to continue along the lakeshore.  A couple of years ago,  a state rare-plant monitor and I found another truly rare plant, the Endangered species called Small-flowered Dwarf Bulrush (Cyperus subsquarrosus), on the shore of Moreau Lake.  And we found this tiny plant growing by the thousands all around the lake, on both sandy and pebbly habitat. Including this very stretch of shore.  Unfortunately, its recognizable remnants tend to disappear after hard frost.  Would I find any trace of them now?

I searched and searched among the pebbles and found no recognizable remnants of Small-flowered Dwarf Bulrush. I suppose these wispy brown threads could have been what I was looking for, but I definitely was not certain.

Here's what Small-flowered Dwarf Bulrush looked like in September, before a hard frost, with its curving gray-green leaves and stubby little cone-like spikelets. Nothing I found today looked enough like this to convince me I had found the plant I was looking for.  But I knew it was there, and it would be back again.

Despite not finding any recognizable remnants of Cyperus subsquarrosus today, I saw lots of other tiny green plants snuggled in among the stones.  And I loved looking at the colorful mix of pebbles that cover this shore.  

And as lovely as those pebbles looked when dry,  just see how gorgeous some others were when covered by an inch or so of clear water, with golden ribbons of sunlight rippling across them. I was grateful that a break in the clouds brought not only some shoulder-warming rays on this otherwise cold day, but also this transforming brilliance to the shore of Moreau Lake.