Closing the silence

It's been a while. For that I apologize. The reason is my computer. After 6 years of service my computer has been slowing down, stopping to think for way too long and just being a pain to use. I am waiting for the new one to arrive, and then I would feel like smashing things when I go to post something. To post this, I've had to wait about half an hour for the computer to wake up,and I've also had to close all other programs to write. Using any photo editing has been hair pulling. But 6 years is a good long life for this IMac. I can't say that when I had Windows.

Since the Silence, I've been to Baxter and Acadia and seen a lot, I just haven't talked about it.

I hope everyone has had a very good Thanksgiving.

A little something different.

For those of you who subscribe to my blog either through Google Reader or some other RSS service, I just wanted to tell you that I started a Facebook page for The Wild Edge. You can either go to the blog and click on the badge to the left of the page or click this link to see what's up.  There I will be adding things that don't always fit well in a blog and those things that are news worthy, but I don't want to overfill the blog.

Quiet

There is something about the sound of a flyline cutting through the air, and the murmur of river and the smell of spruce,fir and pine that  makes time slow down. A soothing balm to the day, when even though you don't catch a fish, hell,don't even see one, doesn't matter. When nothing really matters, just being there in the woods, of you being in the woods.

Summer Nights

I used to go out in the dark of a summer night, and sit on the front porch and watch the cars, fewer the later it was, and also to watch the insects at the street light at the end of our drive along the main street. And watching from the dark into those pools of light.  Those nights in New Jersey, the air warm and rich with sounds, it gave depth and meaning to summer. And from my post I would hear the cars and trucks humming along out on the highway, distant dogs barking, and occasional cat fight. Lights flickering in a darkened house, as the people watched television.

And sometimes I would walk down the street, from one pool of light to another, relishing the safety and comfort of the dark. The streetlights casting dappled shadows onto the sidewalks, crickets and cicadas chirping the night along, the heat rising from the ground.  And if you went out to a field, the rabbits darting out of the way, the fog rising just to waist height. Walking into the backyard, into the darkness, following the fireflies.

At the shore,waves crashing on the beach, ghost crabs running , and you just standing there understanding why they earned that name, the appear and disappear like a specter.

Here in Maine, at least where I live a summer night seems much less rich . It's quieter, the crickets and other insects do not have that almost rain forest quality that the Pines Barrens had, there you felt the Jersey Devil. Here it seems more normal, whatever that means. Loons maniacally calling, their tremolos echoing across the water, distant laughter erupts out from vacationers.  It's quiet to some degrees that could lull you into some security, but  you don't or can't. Here you can hear something coming at you. A mouse seems giant. And it's darker, but the darkness is what makes it more richer. You can see the stars, really feel them.

A couple weeks ago deep in the night a porcupine was screaming I got up and followed, walking in the cool of the dark, seeking. The damp grass brushing against my legs, until I came to the tree the porcupine had gone to, its teeth chatting.

Thunderstorms in the night. The stars disappearing, increasingly darker, distant rumble of thunder.  The wind freshens,distant flash, more rumbling. The first drops hitting , tapping, then drumming, faster,harder, a lull, then the rain increases in intensity, more flashing, thunder louder, coming almost immediately with each flash. Dishes and other things clinking with the thunder, the house shakes.

Sometimes you must go out and stand in the dark, watching, listening, smelling. Meteors  or stars, or distant lightning. The quiet draws you out.  Morse code from the fireflies calls you, you slip into a time many years ago, when a warm summer night was magic, and now those years later, the magic comes back.

Paddling along in my canoe, the night closing in, stars on the water, making it look, no, feel like you're paddling through them. The tree line is blacker than black, the twilight lighting the way

Mountain Birdwatch

The forecast for June 20 was looking good. I had picked that day to do my route for Mountain Birdwatch, a citizen science project where volunteers across the Northeast go forth and count birds. But not just any birds. Bicknell's , Swainsons,Hermit thrush, fox, and white throated sparrow. Chickadees, both black capped and boreal. Yellow bellied flycatcher, winter wren,blackpoll warbler and red squirrels. This group tends to nests in he mountains of the Northeast and Canada, places where spruce and balsam fir grow thick, where mosquitos and blackflies are very happy to see you.

Yes I know, red squirrels are not birds, but their impact on them does matter. Everything is tied together.

The flank of Sugarloaf

I wasn't my first choice of days, but June in Maine had been a bit dampish, and when it wasn't, I was busy trying to get things done. The days around my my time were going to be hot and humid, with no rain for that period.

But forecasts change. Temps were going up, thunderstorms predicted. I went over to my route in Carrabassett Valley on Monday to see how the road to it had fared. It was rough, but doable and when I got to the end , whoa, "No vehicles beyond this point".  Well, ok,  that's no problem , it just means I walk further. Miles later, I got to Caribou Pond. At least the map shows a pond. Somewhere.

My route, Caribou Pond West, is in a bowl, with mountains surrounding it. Sugarloaf, Spaulding, Redington, Mt Abrahams. It's pretty, quiet and packed with birds. If it was easier to get to, it could easily be a birding hotspot for northern species.  I got to my route, did a quick look around, and walked back, put my shoes back on, oh, did I mention I had streams to cross, and a couple of small pools to boot.

Redington Range

Redington Range.This whole area had been logged about 20 years ago.

Spaulding Mountain

I gathered my gear on Tuesday, and after telling Snyder goodbye, drove back over to Carrabassett Valley, hiked again to my site and set the tent up.  Part of what wee are supposed to do is to count the cones on some trees along our route. It works out better if you do it before the bird count, and since I still had plenty of time, went out with binoculars and GPS. It went quick.Mostly because there was very few cones out. Last year the cone crop was really good, and these things are cyclical , so after a boom year, there will be a bust. Economics and nature follow the same rules. This is also where counting red squirrels comes in. Reds will feast on seeds of many plants. Also fruits, arthropods, mushrooms and when available, meat or eggs. When one food source is low, another fills the space. Since the cone crop here is poor, you can expect , well it's not pretty, but it's part of life.

On my hike in , the clouds were starting to roll in and so did the wind. Being a bowl, the wind spills over the Redington Range, spills down and races along.  My tent up until that point was standing proud. As I lay in the tent that night, I was wondering if the storms predicted would hit. The winds continued to build.  The darker it got, the gustier the winds got. Soon the tent was flapping hard, and even wrapping me like a burrito.  I predicted a long night.

Sometime in the night I woke, and debated if I could continue the count. But sleep doesn't come easy when you're being beat up and having fabric snapping inches  from your face.  I went to bed hearing fox sparrows and Swainson's thrushes singing, and when morning came at 4 am, the white throated sparrows were in full song. And also Bicknell's ! Now that is a good sign, the target species you volunteered to count is there, not far from your tent and singing!  

I got out of my tent to get started and the Bicknells' went quiet. It was still gusty, but the birds were sure singing. The one thing about birds is they will always keep you guessing. The fox sparrows were quiet, the Bicknells, did start singing , but only after they got used to me. Meanwhile the White throats were loudly demanding attention. It seems they wanted to outdo the others. 

The rest of the count seemed to go quickly, the day cleared more, birds sang. Soon the count was over, and camp was packed. On the way out I met a pissed off garter snake and a shy moose.

In an area loaded with moose tracks, he was the only one I saw.

It's now a week since the count  was made. The data was submitted, gear, well most of it, has been put away, blisters are healing, but the moments are not forgotten.  You count birds, swat  mosquitos, curse the blackflies , walk the miles and (around 24 with the recon) and find yourself  looking forward to next year.

Labrador Tea in bloom.

A tree

How about this tree?
 Common in Maine, had/has many uses.

Shrub Quiz

Two shrubs, they can be mistaken for each other. One hint, they like to be near water.

Rain

Maine is currently experiencing some rain.

More Spring randomness

Canadian Tiger Swallowtail
(Papilio canadensis)

Canada Goose with young
(Branta canadensis)

Bunch Berry
(Cornus canadensis)

Cherry Gall Azure
(Celastrina serotina)

Blueberry flowers
(Vaccinium spp.)

Bunch Berry
(Cornus canadensis)

Red Maple
(Acer  rubrum)

Tamarack
(Larix larchina)

Serviceberry
(Amelanchier spp.)

Rhodora
(Rhododendron canadense)

Nashville in the Trees

Everyday for the past week, a Nashville Warbler has been calling . It started first in the evening, now he's singing in the morning. I go out, trying to figure out who is singing. Scanning the treetops, moving from here to there. Looking skyward, always hearing, never seeing.  He's there, I know it. but when he started I didn't know who was the singer. He kept it up, always moving just ahead of me, always just out of sight.

The mosquitoes and blackflies would dance around me, moving in for a blood drink, around the eyes, the nose, in my ears. Any exposed place, drilling down for blood. And still me and this bird would do our dance around the birches. He just out of sight up in the treetops, me around the tree bases, my head craned upwards, slowly spiraling around.

Later, with the song still fresh in my mind, I try tracking down who was making this song that was driving me in this slow dance around the trees, always looking up. It sounded warbler-like, that I was sure. Slowly , the parts came together. The Nashville Warbler.

Then later that evening, he called again. I raced out, started the dance again. Still I don't see him. I don't even know if he exists. I hear, but do not see. But still I dance around looking , head tilted back, binoculars to my eyes, feeding the mosquitoes. It would be better if the song was more musical, but it's not, it just feeds this obsession to see him.

Randomness

Spotted Salamander (Ambystoma maculatum)

White-throated sparrow (Zonotrichia albicollis)

Snowshoe Hare (Lepus americanus)

Chipping sparrow (Spizella passerina)

Red Admiral (Vanessa atalanta)

Flagstaff Lake from Little Bigelow

Bigelow Mt from Little Bigelow

White-throated sparrow (Zonotrichia albicollis)

Black-throated Green Warbler

male

female

Broad-winged Hawk

Spruce Grouse

Shyly tame.

Hummingbirds

A lazy Sunday. Spring really sounds like, and feels like spring. The days are warming slowly, or at least the bounce between way too cool and it's a little warmer than we are used to, has moderated. Nights give way to spring peepers, the woodcock are still peenting. It's an odd way to describe the call, but it fits exactly the way they sound. A rising trill late in the night means the toads are starting up.

The rest of the state is greening up, and Rangeley is slowly,painfully slowly, almost unbearable in the speed it comes creeping up the mountain. It will come, and it will bowl us over with a speed we can't quite comprehend, then summer is here and it seems before we can settle down into the good life of a warm summer evening, autumn is here and then...  Our spring and summer are to be savored, it doesn't matter how you do it, as long as being outside is where you spend your time. Let the insects feast.

So I was sitting on the deck, it's warmish,muggy even, just sitting with a friend, watching the hummingbirds. It's too tempting to pass up, I run inside, grab the camera and they pose.

Spring thus far.

The following is the phenology of spring. It's the poetry of spring.


March 20- red-winged blackbird. The Infant.
March 22- Eastern Comma, mourning cloaks. Kennebago River ice is out.
March 23- Turkey vulture. Alders and aspens beginning to flower.
March 28- after a week of above average temps, we have 2 inches of snow. Starting around 3/12 to 3/24 temps were above average, reaching up to the mid 70’s. Majority of snow has melted. Now it’s more like average

April 1- Winter wren
April 3 - kestrel at golf course
April 7- Turkeys gobbling, first time since 3/18. Snowshoe hare at home are still all white, at the BSC, mostly changed.
April 8- rusty blackbird ,BSC.
April 10- Saw a woodchuck in Oquossoc
April 11- Tree swallows.
April 13- Eastern Phoebe
April 14- Ruby crowned kinglet. Northern Harrier.
April 15- Coltsfoot in bloom. Red-tailed hawk,loon. Possible cherry gall azure, solitary bees. Wood frogs.  A bumblebee.
April 16- Not FOY, but porcupine, bald eagle, turkeys.  Spring peepers. First dandelion
April 17- common snipe, savannah sparrows. Ice out Rangeley. FOY tiger beetles, meloe sp. blister beetles. American toad early am. Yellow rumped warbler, chipping sparrow.  Flickers.
April 18- Wood turtle tracks at BSC. Found in morning, more than likely made yesterday.
April 19- Trip to Farmington. Aspens are beginning to leaf from Madrid, on.




I was going back to compare how this year has been to previous years. About 2 weeks to a month ahead for some things.

Northern Lights

Last night we had a storm. I didn't know, I only know that I woke at 11:30 last night, looked out the window and the sky was glowing. Just a faint green glow, if you stared at it, you thought you might see a curtain, but the camera showed more. 

And so I braced my camera on the windowsill, clicked the shutter and hoped for the best.

I'm not a tourist, I live here.

In all endeavors of life, it does help to keep a little bit of humor  with you.

I notice when people from away come for a weekend or a week, the outside light usually stays on all night. Why? For the raccoons and skunks? To annoy the neighbors? Are you people scared if the dark?
Once, some people left their light on for an extended period of time. Said light shone into my normally very dark room for that time. It was annoying. It went out. Enough said.

As I look up at my calendar, I see it is now April. The town is and has been very quiet for about 2 weeks. The snowmobilers and most of the skiers have gone, and the summer complaints still have a few months before they start to harass us. Or entertain us. You see, it's all a matter of how you look at it.

With spring I'll be getting out more and hopefully reviving this blog. I have some ideas for some projects and well  we will have to see just how much fun I get get into, so hang in there.

A summer evening

It's snowing out.  But this time we are supposed to have more snow than our daily dustings of late. We shall see.  As I haven't been out other than to walk the dog due to a cold, my mind was wandering back to  several years ago. The summer.  It had been a hot day, and I had wanted to float down a river. Needed to. It's as simple as that.  Now I don't always do the easiest things, some of what I do can quietly be called a sufferfest. I have a few friends that can back me up on that. They can also question my sanity, but hey, we have fun.

So early evening  I took a small raft, walked it up 2 miles of dirt roads, to the Kennebago River. I had in mind a float down the section from the bridge on  Grant's Camp Rd to Steep Bank Pool. It was mid-summer and the water level low. Remember that, it comes back to bit me.   I put the raft in the river, hopped in and didn't move. I didn't move a lot.  The rocks bumping my butt was not reassuring. I walked.

It's not hard to walk down a river. It's probably one of the more enjoyable things in life, but with time beginning to fly, the earth rapidly turning towards night, it becomes more of a concern. I thought floating I could cover the 2 miles (probably more due to the turns) before sunset.  Those rocks bumping along my backside every time I hopped back in the raft  was getting real old.

The sun set, and the northern summer twilight did it's magic.  I floated and walked on down the river. The water murmurings, it's language,  makes you think, relax.   I kept trying to judge my location , kept going back to my mental map, always trying to gauge my speed with where I needed to be before it got too dark.  The dark was winning.

Coyotes started howling about 100 yards downstream from me.  By this time you wouldn't have been able to read a paper. I still had a half mile to go.  Not a soul was on the river, the sandbars I stopped only showed moose tracks. It was quiet.

And before I know it, I'm back at my jeep, dripping wet,waving some mosquitoes away, and packing up. I look up and about 100 feet away is a bull moose watching me. It was dark.  I can't wait to do it again.