Osprey, Pandion Haliaetus

Day 212: It is only appropriate that the subject matter of today's post should be a bird, but because it is Global Big Day and I'm in the midst of my own "backyard bird count," the Lake St. Clair Osprey will have to suffice. Lake St. Clair contains half a dozen or so small islands, the largest of which is probably close to an acre. Regardless of their size, most have a house or cabin on them. Having humans around has not deterred a family of Ospreys from nesting on one of them, for their nest is built at least 100' above lake level. It is a magnificent edifice of sticks, probably big enough for me to curl up in, stuck in the very tip-top of a Doug-fir. It's been there for as long as I've been visiting the lake, and sometimes I've been lucky enough to spot the chicks' heads when mom comes back from hunting with a gorge full of trout. I was not so fortunate this week, but I could hear the mewing of the younglings as the parent made repeated trips to feed them, and when she'd emptied her gullet, she would return to her perch in this ancient pine to survey the water. If a fish strayed too close to the surface, she would stoop on it with a great splash, sometimes missing her prey but for the most part, being successful with the grab. Soon, there will be more Ospreys in flight over Lake St. Clair.

Pond Slider

Day 211: Pond Sliders (Trachemys scripta) are an invasive species. Once sold in pet stores, many of them have been released into the wild by owners who became bored with turtle-keeping, and now they are proliferating in many lakes here in the Pacific Northwest. It's been several years since I spotted and identified my first one at Lake St. Clair, and I've watched the population grow. For that matter, I've watched the turtles themselves grow from palm-sized youngesters to foot-long behemoths like this long-clawed male. He was sunning himself on a floating log where I had seen three earlier in the day as I passed by two women kayaking together. They engaged me in conversation, and I mentioned the invasive nature of these turtles, and was shocked to hear one of the women respond, "I'm glad I rescued one I found a few weeks ago." This is the attitude of too many people when it comes to invasives. Plants are "pretty," turtles are "adorable." No thought is given to the damage they are doing to native populations and habitats, and regrettably, education appears to have no effect on the individuals who won't look beyond the visual appeal of cute varmints and showy weeds. Our short-sightedness will be our undoing for, as any turtle will attest, slow and steady wins the race.

Sundews Waking

Day 210: As I approached their log in my kayak, I was beginning to worry about my "kids." I could only see a few blushes of red in the moss and grass, and small ones at that. I wasn't thinking about the persistent cold weather which had carried winter into April until I got close enough to see that the Sundews' little sticky, insect-trapping paddles were still quite small, and in fact some of them were still tightly closed, looking rather like bean sprouts trapped in the moss. Then it occurred to me that they were only now emerging from their long winter's nap, having spent the cold season curled in on themselves to form a structure called a hibernaculum (plural, hibernacula). This is how they survive, husbanding their own warmth, minimizing exposure of delicate tissues to freezing temperatures. At this point, they're barely out of bed and haven't had their first cup of coffee. I have no doubt that the next time I visit, they'll be fully awake and possibly even flowering.

A Perfect Paddle

Day 209: It was an absolutely perfect day for a paddle on Yelm's Lake St. Clair, the first time I've been in the 'yak in two years. I spent about three hours on the water, covered a little over four miles, ate a cookie lunch in Pirate's Cove, saw five turtles, an Osprey and a Bald Eagle, and visited some old friends who will make an appearance in a subsequent post. A light breeze kept glare at a minimum, disturbing the surface of the water only slightly. Not too hot, not too cold...I think Goldilocks would have approved this day. But four miles was my limit, and I'm glad I didn't push for more even though I hated to leave. I'll be back. Those "old friends" I mentioned were only just waking up from hibernation.

New Kids' Corner

Day 284: Any time I go out on Lake St. Clair, the first order of business is to visit the Sundews, and of course now I have a second group of "kids" to monitor, so I started with them. They're not easily visible in this photo, and my reason for posting it is to show you just how difficult they are to spot. See that slight red cast at the base of the green vegetation? From fifty feet away, that hue draws me like a magnet. It could just be stems of something else, but it might be Sundews. That was how I found the original Sundew Island (a piece of broken dock similar to this one): a touch of red. There are several hundred Sundews in this photo, believe it or not, but not a one of them had an open flower, which was what I was hoping for on Thursday. The sun had not yet risen above the tree tops, so I paddled around the lake for a few hours before approaching the second group I call Jack's Lot. Nope, no flowers there either. Buds, but no flowers. Still, a day on the water is better than a day at home, and a visit with the "kids" is always good.

Test Pilots

Day 283: While paddling around Lake St. Clair yesterday, I heard the familiar call of an Osprey from their annual nesting site on a small island. Looking up to the broken crown of a tall Doug-fir, I could see what I initially took for a parent bird sitting on the rim of the massive nest. Occasionally, it would stretch its wings or turn its head, and after watching for several minutes, I decided to move on. Coming around on the other side of the tree, I turned the 'yak toward the nest again and thought I could see a second bird. The first raised its wings several times, and then the second began flapping and fluttering. At that point, I realized that these were two juveniles experimenting with the mechanics of flight. The second bird seemed to rise from the nest slightly as it beat its wings, and then suddenly, it lifted clear of the nest and caught three or four feet of air before settling back into the bowl. It only happened once in the ten minutes I watched them, and I was fortunate to be able to capture photos of the best action.

Sundews - The Strip

Day 269: Some years ago, I took a handful of bird photos and captioned them according to what the birds' poses suggested. Birds put a lot more personality in their body language than one might expect, so this was a fairly easy task. On the other hand, plants are fairly static...or are they? Sundews in particular lend themselves to anthropomorphization rather well, what with their wild hairdos and spatulate faces. Even their curled, nodding inflorescences hint at mood and manner. And of course you can never have too many photos of Sundews, so here are a few "characters" from my most recent outing on Lake St. Clair. Regular programming will resume tomorrow.

Strategies

Day 269: If you have ever accidentally come into contact with fly-paper or a sticky trap, you can appreciate an insect's panicked reaction to becoming stuck on a Sundew. The difference is that you were in no danger of being consumed, and only had to find some sort of approved solvent to cleanse the gluey residue from your fingers once you'd pried yourself loose. You did not struggle and further ensnare yourself with each flutter of your wings or thrashing of your limbs; you did not feel enzymes beginning to dissolve your soft tissues like some bizarre form of flesh-eating bacteria. A Round-leaved Sundew is ruthless. Each of the fine hairs surrounding its spatulate disk is tipped with a drop of something far less forgiving than instant glue, creating an ambush which only the strongest can elude. The righthand photo shows a Sundew from which an insect has escaped. Notice that at the 1 o'clock position, the hairs are missing from the disk, wrenched away by a more fortunate bug than most. On the other hand, the predatory strength of Sundew "glue" is clearly indicated in the lefthand image (side view) where a single Drosera paddle has snagged a damselfly dinner. And forgive me, for as curious as those of you who have ever licked a piece of frozen metal may be, it must be stated that I have never prodded a Sundew. Sorry, kids. If you want that experience, you'll have to find your own plants.

They Hunt In Packs

Day 267: Warning: you are going to see several days of Sundew posts. It's been a year and a half since I had a chance to visit my "kids," and if I can put up with your offspring/pet posts, it's only fair that you can endure these. Besides, they are just SO CUTE! Each one displays something unique, its "personality," if you will, but don't be deceived by appearances. These creatures hunt in packs, albeit non-mobile ones.

Arnie recently sent me an article which described a different species of Drosera and its behaviour: D. makinoi, which is found in Japan. The researchers who studied it ran a statistical analysis to determine if closer-packed communities of plants captured more or less prey species, and the size of the prey they obtained. They found a correlation between plant density and larger captures which, if you think about it, makes perfect sense. They posited that D. makinoi's long, slender leaves helped multiple plants snag a shared meal. On the other hand, though, they found no such correlation with Drosera rotundifolia (Round-leaved Sundew), and that's a point with which I will take firm issue. I have seen too many damselflies captured in the tightly-packed rosettes of Lake St. Clair's Sundew colonies, and will argue that plant density most certainly does work as a hunting strategy, at least there. In fact, I think damselflies are the primary food source for the group I've dubbed "Jack's Lot," shown in the photo above. One damsel may find herself helpless in the clutches of four or five hungry little Droseras at once! And when there has been a hatch of damsels, the Droseras gorge.

In a sidebar, I am pleased to announce that I found a second population of rotundifolia on the lake. It was near where I first discovered the broken, floating remnants of a dock I called "Sundew Island." During the winter several years ago, Sundew Island went adrift. I was able to find pieces of it for a couple of years, but eventually, all traces of it disappeared. The new population occupies another bit of broken dock which may some day go wandering, but I'll be looking for it, wanting to keep an eye on my "kids," wherever they may roam.

Jack's Lot

Day 274: An unseasonably wet June conspired with Park duties and other commitments to keep me from getting out in the kayak until yesterday and naturally, my first priority was to check on my "kids" at Lake St. Clair. The original Sundew Island (a bit of dock gone astray) has long since disappeared, but the colonies on one homeowner's breakwater logs are vigorous and spreading. I call them Jack's Lot, Jack being the homeowner under discussion. True to form, he spotted me taking photos and hollered down from his deck, "How they doin'?" "Fine, Jack!" I shouted back. "They're in bloom. I'm getting some new photos for a talk I'll be giving in the Park next month." After repeated encounters with me, Jack now realizes that he has something very special in his care, so he replied, "Don't tell anybody about them! They're our little secret!" I gave him my assurance, as if he really needed it.

Drosera rotundifolia (Round-leaved Sundew) has disappeared from one location within the boundaries of Mount Rainier National Park, shaded out by the encroachment of young alders. I have never visited the second Park site where this insectivorous plant is known to occur, so cannot speak for the population there. In the longer view, Sundews are relatively rare in Washington overall. A second species (Drosera anglica) has been reported from a tight handful of locations in the state. Some day, I hope to see it as well. That said, the surprise of unexpectedly coming across rotundifolia in the field while on an ordinary kayak trip is one I will never forget: a snap of my head toward a blur of red and an uncontrolled vocal outburst of "Is that Sundews!?" The sudden recognition of a species I had only dreamed of finding was most certainly one of the high points of my botanical career. You can have your birthdays and anniversaries. These are my Life Events.

Sundew Rosette

Day 333: The primary motivation behind any kayaking trip on Lake St. Clair is paying a visit to my "kids," the burgeoning Sundews which have colonized two breakwater logs on either side of Jack's dock. Jack, the homeowner whose last name is unknown to me, sometimes comes down to the shore for a chat, and always assures me that he's taking good care of them (even if he does refer to them as "those Venus Fly-trap things"). Part of his maintenance is to keep the logs free of other growth which might snuff them out. To this end, he goes out on the logs on foot, cutting small alders and rooting out Pseudacorus as well as other weedy species, but unfortunately, this means that there is always a certain amount of attrition in the Sundew population as a trade-off for his diligence. If the Sundews were any less numerous, this would give me cause for concern, but they are doing well, and each year, I see new colonies springing up as they gradually claim more of the logs as their own. They obviously like the habitat, as evidenced by this year's crop of seed capsules.

Paddle Cache

Day 331: I'm of two minds about the two dozen or more "paddle caches" on Lake St. Clair. Although I enjoy getting five stars from the terrain rating (it takes "special equipment," i.e., a water craft), it annoys me that almost every one of the caches was placed by the same cacher under any of several different accounts. Basically, she "owns" the lake, leaving no room for anyone else to place a hide there. Worse, because she uses a couple of different names for herself as well as acting as proxy for a small handful of other cachers, she also gets to claim each cache as a find for one or more of her alternate personas. She's quick to fill in any vacancies. The cache in the photo above was one of the earliest placed on the lake. When it went missing and its owner archived it, the glutton seized the moment and claimed the spot for her own. That said, I've retired from placing caches and only go out to find those which are either rated high for terrain or have some other particular appeal, so I'm reaping the rewards of her hoggishness at the same time I'm disparaging it.

Evil Weeds - Jewelweed

Day 330: Native in some parts of the United States, Jewelweed (Impatiens capensis) is considered invasive in the Pacific Northwest, and rightfully so. Just in the years I've been working with the Invasive Plant Council, I have seen it take over acres of wetland within two or three years from the time of the first observation. It is often found along lakeshores and river banks, factors which contribute to the dissemination of the seed. Where it is accessible, it is easy to remove by pulling, but locations where it occurs should be monitored closely for several years in order to eliminate any latent sprouts.

With A Teaspoon

Day 329: My day had only just begun when I took this photo, and by the time it ended, I had packed the bow of the kayak so full of Lake St. Clair's Jewelweed that I barely had room for my feet and gear. Given that in one small corner of the lake the infestation covers more than an acre of shoreline, I feel like I'm dipping the ocean dry with a teaspoon. That said, I'm winning in a couple of spots, doing a "maintenance run" on them whenever I go out, pulling any stragglers or new growth. I've singlehandedly rescued one log from the evil weed, and have a fifty-foot stretch of shoreline almost free of the nasty stuff. Do I have enough years left to me to clean the lake? I sincerely doubt it, not even if I worked 365 days a year. Call it a "permanent job," if you will.

What to do today was a toss between kayaking and chanterelling, having had a report of "mountain gold" from Arnie. Wildfire smoke kept me housebound for most of August, and there was still too much in the air today for me to think about hiking up one lesser-known and very steep trail after mushrooms, so I loaded the 'yak on the car and took off for Lake St. Clair, honestly only intending to paddle a bit, visit the Sundews and come home. Consequently, I forgot to put a weed bag in the 'yak, an omission which left me prime prey for ants and spiders by the hundred. They like Jewelweed. And I won't say the evil weed is without purpose. An inadvertent encounter with a patch of nettles provided an opportunity for scientific study. Jewelweed is purported to be good against poison oak/ivy, and a previous nettling during a weed patrol had made me wonder if I hadn't reacted as strongly because I was already covered with the sap. When I got my arm in the nettle patch today, I immediately rubbed the spot with a crushed Jewelweed leaf. Voila! Instant relief! Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to work against ant and spider bites.

The Jewelweed From Hell

Day 268: Honestly, this is not a huge jewelweed stem as adult plants go, but what makes it exceptional is the fact that it was growing in my lakeside friend Jim's well-kept yard, and fairly near the water's edge. As many times as I've sat with him at the base of his rockery, I don't know how I could have missed it. In any event, he invited me up for lemonade (his house sits about 40' above his dock), and as he walked me back down to my kayak, I spotted the plant. The killing instinct is strong when it comes to a few species, and I stooped on it like a hawk on a mouse, screaming "Aaaaaaagggggh! Jewelweed!" as I did so. Poor Jim must not have known what to think as I took hold of its 1" stem and began pulling, hoping to get the roots from under an overturned boat. I wasn't entirely successful, but deprived of its leaves and its remaining roots under cover, it's possible the plant will die. Jim's puzzled, "What is it?" gave me the opportunity to educate, and with any luck at all, he'll make his neighbours aware of this rapidly spreading invasive. I'll need all the help I can get.

Sundew Triptych

Day 267: Between weather and schedule, it had been a while since I got out and about in a boat (kayak), so my choice of destination was a given: visit the Sundews on Lake St. Clair. I thought I might have missed their blooming period, and when I arrived at Jack's dock at 10 AM, it seemed my suspicions had been correct. But wait...those look like buds, not pods. Could it be that I just need to wait until later in the day for them to open up? I took photos of the foliage and then paddled off to pull Jewelweed from one of the few pieces of shoreline I can access from the 'yak. Jewelweed is a nasty invasive. I'm winning the war on a 2000' stretch, but the lake is heavily infested, and I'm essentially trying to dip the ocean dry with a teaspoon.

So, bow full of jewelweed, I returned to Jack's dock about an hour and a half later. Sure enough, some of the Sundews' cute little shepherd's-crook stems had open flowers. Now that I understand the daily phenology a little better, I can plan subsequent trips accordingly. Currently, Jack's dock represents the only population of Sundews on the lake, but they are amazingly healthy. In fact, when I spoke with Jack and said I was checking on "my kids," he replied, "I babysit them every day!" Despite the fact that he calls them "those Venus fly-trap things," he realizes he has something special.

It was a rather social outing for me. My other lakeshore friend Jim invited me up for lemonade. We sat for half an hour, looking out over the lake from his porch, skirting any mention of the woes of the world the better to enjoy the peace of the moment.

Seussian Sundew

Day 223: I encountered a Seussian Sundew in my patrol of Lake St. Clair today, or maybe it's the child in the poem:
There was a little girl who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good, she was very, very good,
But when she was bad, she was horrid.

Yes, I made my first trip out in the 'yak for the year, and of course my priority was visiting my kids. They are exceptionally lush this year along Jack's logs, but I still haven't been able to locate the errant Sundew Island which went adrift a couple of years ago. Some of Jack's mob were just starting to unfurl and looked very much like bean sprouts. Others were fully open and already digesting a wide variety of insects. It's too early yet for the flowering stalks to emerge, but you can bet I'll be checking on them every couple of weeks.

Drosera Rotundifolia

Day 351: I've still had no luck finding the remains of the original Sundew Island at Lake St. Clair, nor have I turned up any new locations for them in any of the lake's four arms. Their last remaining sanctuary is homeowner Jack's log breakwater, but oh, they are happy there! Two logs, one on either side of Jack's dock, help prevent the shoreline erosion caused by boat wake. There are clearly posted speed limits (variable depending on water level) but some boat owners ignore them or pilot ungainly craft which generate a wake at any speed, and many homes along the shoreline have some form of wake mitigation. Jack keeps his logs clear of young alders and invasive pseudacorus, creating a perfect maintained habitat for these insectivorous plants. While I was checking on them a few weeks ago, he stepped down to the dock and hallooed at me, "How are they doing?" "Just fine, Jack," I replied. "You're keeping them very happy. Thank you!" Never mind that he refers to them as "those Venus fly-trap things." His heart's in the right place, even if he doesn't fully understand what a rarity he has.

Pond Sliders

Day 350: My last several visits to Lake St. Clair have generated invasive-species reports, and not solely of plants. The Pond Slider population is growing. Trachemys scripta is a non-native species, probably introduced into the lake when someone decided to release their pets into the wild. After spotting adults a couple of years ago, I got in touch with the Washington Dept. of Fish and Wildlife and was asked to monitor them for any evidence of reproduction. Normally, these turtles have a high mortality rate in our climate and die off before they can breed. However, this year I noticed several young Sliders near one island, and one adult in another arm of the lake. Day before yesterday, I counted four young and one adult in the two eastern arms. I suspect that warmer water temperatures are giving these turtles a leg up toward becoming a problem in western Washington.

Stranger Things

Day 350: The Odd Onion has not made an appearance for quite some time, but I haven't forgotten this "100 Possibilities" photo project. I always select my onions with an eye toward their photographic merits, but as you can see, this one was a little long in the tooth by the time I got around to making its portrait. Many of its predecessors have gone straight into the soup/stew without achieving the slightest fame. This one spoke to me while I was packing up my kayak gear for a fall survey of Lake St. Clair. "Take me with you," it said. I could hardly object. It had been patiently sitting on top of the dryer for over a month without being called to duty. Now I suppose you'll think it rather odd that someone would take an onion kayaking, but I can assure you there are stranger things going on in today's world. The Onion hopes we have made your day a little brighter, if no less surreal.