Diamesinae Midges And Empty Owl Nests

IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllllll Aapsspiniiksi Return To Pond (18Feb12)

1431 Sspopiikimi - It's a fairly comfortable seven degrees above zero, with clear skies. But there's a good wind today, making it feel a bit cooler. I haven't been out here in a week, so thought I'd take a counter-sunwise stroll around. I'm not expecting too many surprises though, given how quiet it's been, while we wait for Piitaiki'somm, the eagle moon

1437 Seems I'm just in time to catch the geese shifting over to south pond from the big river island. There are about thirty out by the marsh now, and another thirty or so in two flocks circling for a landing. Across the pond from me, as I walk the west length, I see that there's a small open pool in front of the ksisskstakioyis, right about where their food cache should be. The cache itself, a flotilla at this point, seems already to have drifted up against the shore to the north of the lodge (it must have done so a few weeks back, when there was an open pool there). This is really early for the flotilla to move. Normally it doesn't occur until the aapsspini nests are prepared, about two moon cycles from now

1452 When I come to the end of south-pond, I drop down into the owl wood. The male kakanottsstooki is still here at the usual roost, but no sign yet of the female. There is also a flicker who darts past, uncomfortably hear the owl, a magpie further along the trail, and a chickadee who comes to sing to me. The song is one I'm unfamiliar with, not the usual niipomakii winter calls. I record my own imitation of it, because I know Yellow Kidney (a past Beaver Bundle caretaker) used to pay a lot of attention to the niipomakii song sequence that goes through several changes during the season's shift. He used to be able to time the arrival of migrating waterfowl by it

1505 While I talk to the chickadee, I hear the unmistakable throaty croak of a raven out by the high-level bridge. Making my way there, I find only more geese. I then walk the river cutbank downstream, back toward south pond, stopping off along the way to check the owl nest proper for the female. She's still not here, and nowhere to be seen in the surrounding trees. Given that they shifted their nest location last year, away from this particular site, I wouldn't doubt if the male will be leaving again to join his mate elsewhere, if in fact she's still alive

1512 Just before entering the forest main, I catch a tiny bit of movement on the trail beside me. It's a small, grey running crab spider, the kind with a black diamond on its back (Thanatus formicinus), and it freezes motionless when becoming aware of my notice. I take the opportunity to get some macro photos and, while I'm down on my hands and knees, a large group of aapsspini move back to the river from south-pond. They're accustomed to crossing low over the levee when no humans are around, and since I'm down on the ground they don't notice me until they're flying over my back. If I stood up, I probably could have touched them

1525 Continuing on, I move through the forest, routing near enough to the hawk nest that I can check for the female owl (she's not there), and eventually reach the big bulberry patch on the wet meadows. Last week, my camera trap at this location hadn't registered a single passer-by. This week is different, or back to normal I should say. The recent images on its memory card include one coyote, frequent visits from a magpie, and a couple struts-through by the male ring-necked pheasant

1542 From the bulberries, I pass through a bit more of the forest main and again climb the levee. Up here, on the shale trail, there are two male flickers poking holes in the ground. They're gone before I can see what they're eating, so I take my crowbar to a couple of the holes they made, and come up with nothing. There is, however, a crab spider who comes to perch on a blade of grass beside me as I search one of the flicker holes, as if she were expecting a meal to dash out

1556 I follow the levee and river cutbank to the edge of the north wood. All along the way, there are aapsspiniiksi huddled along thin strip of open water on my side of the big river island. Toward the north wood, I'm also able to see three goldeneyes out on the other side of the river, where most of their fishing seems to take place. The big raft of goldeneyes is no more. Nor is there any sign of the ravens at their poplar borer log. That is my last stop before hiking back around north-pond to my vehicle. Just a quick survey, but worth it if for no other reason than to stay apprised

IIII ) l Diamesinae Midge (24Feb12)

1204 Sspopiikimi - It's a bit colder today than it has been recently, three degrees below zero at noon. The meteorologists have been predicting snow, but we've had none save for a touch that fell two days ago. It's been almost a week since my last visit, and I'm here once again to survey for new phenological events. I can see already that the aapsspiniiksi are still visiting south-pond in groups. Five are coming to land there as my hike begins

1212 Rounding north-pond, I get my first look at one of the changes underway. A lone pair of aapsspini have come to land on the ice here, near the cattail area that the midpond coot couple usually nest in. During my last couple visits, while the goose couples were easily recognizable at south-pond and along the river, they were still staying close to the larger collective. This pair is entirely removed. They are occupying territory that they'll soon be nesting at. I'm going to sit and watch them from a distance

1224 So far, the goose has been picking around in the reed hummocks while her gander stands sentry. Initially, she selected what appears to be a bulrush stem, dragged it out onto the ice and nibbled at its base end for a bit. But since then, I've seen here mouthing and swallowing some much smaller material taken from the hummock mud, perhaps old milfoil. While I watch them, another flock of aapsspiniiksi, with eleven members, come to land at south-pond. Although I haven't been sitting long, I'm getting cold and may have to move soon to warm back up

1234 A few more minutes, and I decide to climb the levee. As soon as I crest the top, I'm met with mamia'tsikimiiksi (magpies), three of them. They've been perched in the near canopy of the north wood, watching me. Now they fly ahead and land in the grass off the side of the levee-walk. Again I stop to watch. I can't see what they're picking at, but when looking through my binoculars I notice there's some kind of heat or gas event going on there. The air above the grass is shimmering like water. It's imperceptible to my naked eye, but I bet the magpies sense it. Soon a fourth bird lands close, scrutinizes me, then flies over to the others and seems to communicate something. All four fly immediately into the north wood, toward the river

1248 I follow the mamia'tsikimiiksi and find them in the forest canopy. Two are simply perched, while the other two investigate the folds of branches for hidden food. Of course they notice my surveillance, and soon all are off to the river. Again I follow, and find them picking around on the ice near their bathing area, where there's a stream of semi-open water (narrow pockets divided by bits of ice over which a little water flows and puddles). From here, I can also see the big river island. On and around it there are seventy-one more aapsspiniiksi and a mi'ksikatsi couple. At least half the geese are separated-off in distinguishable, fairly isolated pairs. The nesting season is indeed approaching

1309 I remain with the magpies. A fifth member has joined them, as well as a male flicker, and they're congregating around a large tree that has sluffed-off from the side of the cutbank, extending out to the open water pools. One of the magpies has been standing in shallow, freezing water for at least ten minutes now. This one is running around in a particular puddle area, eating something that I can't see from my distance. The other magpies are coming down to take samples of the same. Whatever they're eating, it seems to be distributed over a defined area on the ice. It's not goose poop, because I see them pass by a couple obvious droppings. There are a couple yellowish globs of foam that receive special attention, but most of the sources seem to be invisible on the ice

1315 I've just taken a close look through my binoculars, and there appears to be some kind of little insect being washed up onto the ice from the open water pockets. I'm going to have to find a way down off the steep cutbank to learn what it is

1336 It's treacherous, but I manage to get down to the site balancing on a branch of the fallen tree. The birds depart as I approach. I thought that, once down here, I'd find the insects to be isocapnia stoneflies, as they were among the first I observed when the ice began to break last year. But what I come upon is a new species to me entirely. They are minuscule flies, probably stoneflies, about half the size of a female mosquito. Many of them are stuck in the foamy globs previously mentioned, but the vast majority are on the ice, and collected thickly at the site where the one magpie has kept its feet submerged for so long. They are mating, and I take several pictures which I can use at home this evening to (hopefully) identify them

[Note: follow-up with the photos reveal they are not stoneflies at all, but a species of Diamesinae midge]

1402 Ascending the branch back to the top of the cutbank again, I hear and quickly spot a downy woodpecker off the side of the levee trail in the forest main. Just below her, picking through the leaf litter under some chokecherries and saskatoons, are the magpies. I suspect they're finding spiders, and I'd like to confirm it, but first I decide to hustle off to the owl wood, to check on the kakanottsstookiiksi. Unfortunately, the male who'd been here the last few weeks is absent at the moment. He may just be perched elsewhere, or he may have gone to join his wife at a different nest site. I wouldn't doubt the latter, as they nested in another location last year too. I was hoping to return immediately to the magpies and forest main, but my sister-in-law has messaged me, asking if I can pick her up from work, so I will head back and return again in a day or two

1416 I walk hurriedly north along the levee again, and back to the car. Along the way, I cross paths with the magpies again. They're no longer in the leaf litter, but back on the ice, taking advantage of the fly event that's underway. There are now two male flickers there with them. I'll try to get back out here around the same time tomorrow, to see if this continues

IIII ) llllllllll Empty Owl Nest (4Mar12)

1311 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko – Partway into Piitaiki’somm, and yesterday read the first Albertabird confirmation that someone had spotted a great horned owl incubating on a nest. I’ve also observed magpies beginning to build and repair their nests around my neighborhood and the university. So today, I’m heading down to the confluence to see what’s new phenologically, but especially to check on the owl nest above the mid-forest meadow. There are heavy winds, but it’s warm, about fourteen degrees above. No need for a jacket

1316 Moving down the coulee slope now, through the area where I would normally find musineon growing in season. None have shot out yet. A little further along, I’ll keep my eyes open for moss phlox and kippiaapii flowers

1324 Just before reaching the rattlesnake hibernaculum, I come across some coyote droppings comprised of vole hair, vole bones, and a plastic bag. I’m not anti-litter, because I don’t think piling our garbage in huge toxic concentrations is a good idea. But I am frustrated with the thoughtlessness of those who would toss a bag of food out for animals to find. Lucky thing it passed through this one’s system. At the hibernaculum proper, the snakes are still underground, and will probably stay that way for two more moons if all goes as normal. There are, however, lots of seven-spot lady beetles around, as well as blue-bottle flies

1341 When I get to the sagebrush flats, I climb a ridge overlooking the river confluence. Below, I count thirty-one aapsspini, with several distinct couples pulled away from the groups. There’s also about ten mi’ksikatsi, both drakes and ducks, and five male goldeneyes in a wide pool just downstream of where the St Mary’s comes in. There’s a couple magpies pecking around on the ice at the edge of this pool. I suspect they’re responding to the Diamesinae midges, just like at the pond, but I’ll need to get down there to confirm it. There are no kippiaapii or phlox flowers yet. Right now, I’m going to check on my camera trap

1404 During my last visit, I moved the game-cam deeper into the hawthorn brush. As expected, it has caught hundreds of images since. Most of them are of cottontails, but there are also visits from magpies, pheasants, and deer mice

1422 From the hawthorns, I make my way into the forest and out to the meadow to look at the owl nest. The forest is one big swampy mess today, and this is something that always occurs during Piitaiki’somm. Unfortunately, the owl nest remains empty. Like the kakanottsstooki couple at the pond, I’m beginning to suspect this pair may have selected a new nest to occupy. This is a large forest, and there are plenty of old magpie nests they could choose from. I’ll give it another week or so, and if they’re still absent from the old nest I’ll have to go searching. While I scope out the meadow, a large adult bald eagle glides in downriver and swoops over the geese. I’m going to make my way out toward the water to check out what’s happening

1445 When I come within sight of the water, the ducks immediately notice me and take wing. The goldeneyes only go a short distance, landing at the upper end of the open pool, but the mallards follow the Oldman around the next bend and out of sight. There’s still one magpie pecking around on the ice, so I walk out as far as it’s safe to go. Sure enough, there are more of those Diamesinae midges. As I crouch down to take a macro shot of one of them, the eagle returns. There’s nowhere for me to conceal myself, so the eagle spots me and makes a wide arch around the flood plain on the opposite side of the river, and I miss any opportunity I might have had to observe its waterfowl hunting

1523 With the eagle departed, I follow along the ice at the edge of the river, looking for the first isocapnia stone flies. There are none. Soon I’m at the black cliffs, and from here begin my ascent back up the coulee slope. I march up the trail, feeling drained, and almost in trance state, twice losing sense of how far I’d gone before cresting the top of the coulee. Obviously, in this condition, I don’t notice very much of anything around me, nothing new to report

Ravens And Borers

IIII ) llll Ravens And Borers (29Jan12)

1253 Sspopiikimi - Here for a short visit this afternoon. It's a warm ten degrees and cloudy, but we've got hurricane-force wind gusts underway. I expect most of the animals are going to be hunkered down. All the same, I can't resist taking a brief walk

1316 Though there are large puddles on the pond surface, it's still completely frozen over, so I don't bother walking the exposed west length. Instead, I begin by making my way around north-pond, climb the levee and drop down into the north wood. The ground is thawed, soft under my feet. When I reach to the edge of the wood by the river, I come upon a raven couple. It's an unexpected encounter. We don't noticed each other until I'm too close. Even backing away doesn't help, they take wing. But before the ravens depart, I note that one is on the ground and the other perched on a fallen log above. I suspect they have a carcass there, and once they're gone I move in to inspect. Turns out, they weren't scavenging. The log that the one had been perched on has been torn up at a certain point, chunks of its soft wood scattered on the ground below. I pull my little crowbar out of my pack and dig in. I only have to pry once at the log and I find five flat-headed poplar borer pupae. It's borer season again for the birds! A bit earlier than last year, but not surprising given the thaw

1332 While I photograph the pupae, a magpie glides past to check me out. It moves off into the north wood, and I decide to follow. Soon I'm amidst five magpies, moving low through the forest, at ground level, stopping here and there to poke in some leaf litter, or in the poplar bark. The magpies lead me south, eventually following the river cutbank, where they stop in the small canopy branches of a fallen tree. The site is a good windbreak, and they remain there while I pass by, hiking the shale trail

1341 Coming within sight of south-pond, I notice there are geese on the ice of the wide pool. I quickly make my way down through the forest main to the duck blind. There are two groups of aapsspini here, numbering twenty and thirteen members respectively. Individual couples are readily recognizable within these larger groups, and the ganders are acting typically alert. They're not too concerned about my presence. I suspect that most of these are birds who have known me for years. This is exactly the behavior I expect from them in this moon. The families are spending more time back at the nesting grounds. Soon the couples will split off and claim their sites

1406 Next, I head back through the forest and up the levee to check on whether there are any geese below the high-level bridge. There aren't, but I would bet these aapsspini are up on the stubble fields, and not among those at the pond. From my position on the levee, I can also see that the south spring is open again. I don't bother with the owl wood, but drop straight back down into the forest main an hike north, eventually cutting over to the wet-meadows to visit my camera trap. It's been seven days since I last downloaded images, and in that time there's only been one pass each by the pheasant rooster and a magpie. It's been a quiet week in the big bulberry brush

1420 It's been an hour since I frightened the ravens away, so I figure it's worth returning to the scene, in case they're back again. I move through the forest, up the levee once more, and out along the river cutbank. When I arrive within sight of the borer logs, there's no ravens. Almost directly across the river though, there is small raft of goldeneyes forming. At first, I count nineteen. But after a few minutes, four more drift in from upstream to join them. It's pretty unusual for me to see more than three or four goldeneyes together on the river this time of year. I thought six or seven was a lot a month ago. Now twenty-three? They must be gearing up for a departure

1430 Feeling as though I'd seen the major phenological events for the day, I decide to walk back to my vehicle. Perhaps tomorrow I'll swing by the confluence to see what's new there

IIII ) llllllllll Large Aapsspini Congregations (4Feb12)

1311 Sspopiikimi - Blue skies, no wind, and a comfortable (if unseasonable) eight degrees above zero. We've arrived to conduct our usual phenological survey, and the first thing to report in this regard is that there are six or seven car-loads of golfers on the neighboring greens, though the course itself is not officially open. We see a few of them climbing over the wire fence as we pull in. There have been other animals returning or awakening early in these coulees. They are all anxious for the breeding season ahead. What are the humans excited about? Hitting balls with sticks

1328 Given the presence of golfers, we decide to forego the shale trail anong west length, and move sunwise instead. As we round north-pond, two flocks of aapsspini numbering thirty-nine members arrive. They appear to be landing at the big river island, so we climb the levee and walk to the tall cutbank overlooking the Oldman to confirm. To our surprise, there are several hundred geese here today, gathered in small flocks along the shorelines both up and downstream, for as far as we can see. Though some of them must be those who've wintered here, I suspect that many are recently returned from the south. Trying not to disturb them, Mahoney and I walk over to check on the logs that the ravens had been feeding from last week. There's no evidence of any further visits or excavations by the couple. We ourselves, on the other hand, dig into the log and extract four more beetle pupae, to bring back for our corvids at home. As we gather these insects, a flicker slides by overhead, swooping into the owl wood. There are a couple magpies near as well

1402 From the borer logs, we hike south along the levee walk following the river. All the way along, there are geese. They seem tired. Most are sleeping with their heads tucked back, a few sentries remaining alert. When we get to south-pond, we stop at the bench over the garter snake hibernaculum. Here, a scout bee comes and lands on the ground by our feet. I stand up and move toward her, only to have her move away. We then continue along to round south pond and walk the edge of the owl wood out toward the base of the high-level bridge. The owl nest itself is empty, and there is no sign of the birds around. Given how close we are now to Piitaiki'somm, I'm pretty sure we won't have any kakanottsstookiiksi breeding here this year

1420 Walking along the river cutbank from the high-level bridge, we can see some people downstream and on the opposite shore. It is a couple, and they have three children who are picking up rocks and throwing them at the geese. If they weren't so far away, I'd yell at them. It's frustrating to watch. The couple stand back, arms around one another, observing the senselessness of their brood as if it were a thing of beauty. The geese, for their part, are prompted by the threat of stone bombs to fly to the big island and out of range. We continue on, eventually reaching the bench again, and here come under the close examination of two more scout honeybees. With the warm weather, they must be expecting flowers. We're still a ways off from that season though

1443 Before leaving the bench, a group of about fourteen goldeneyes pass by. We then make our way down into and through the forest main, eventually crossing over to the wet-meadows to check on RyeCam02. The images on this camera trap show that the bulberry brush here has been increasingly visited by magpies (who I suspect will start building a new nest here soon). There have also been visits during the past week by the male pheasant and one coyote

1505 We move again through the forest and up onto the levee, to make our way back around north-pond and toward the parking lot. As we walk, a couple groups of aapsspini from the river fly over and land somewhere out by the wide south pool. These are the birds who will be nesting here before long. We also see a single niipomakii scouring the canopy of the north wood. It feels like it's been a fairly uneventful visit today. But on the other hand, it's clear we are at the early part of the seasonal transition. Twice along our route we thought we might have heard mourning doves. With how persistently warm it's been, I'm expecting to see more of our returning summer residents any time now

IIII ) lllllllllll Optimistic Scouting (5Feb12)

1302 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - Like the scout bee, I'm here today to search optimistically for the first signs of new flowers and food. We've had such a warm winter. Though I know there are probably not enough hours of sunlight yet to trigger even the earliest plants to new growth, when the shoots do rise I want to be there. It's about ten degrees out here at present, with blue skies and very little wind. My plan is to search for emerging musineon and flowering phlox on my way down to the rattlesnake hibernaculum, stop in to see if any of my slithering friends have awoken, then continue down to the sagebrush flats to check for crocus blooms before entering the forest to learn whether or not the owls are nesting. And of course, along the way, download the most recent images from my camera traps

1322 I have no luck spotting musineon, which usually grows along the trails and ridges higher up. There are still plenty of good kinii (prairie rose hips), so I pick and pocket them as I move along. When I reach the snake den, all is quiet. There is, however, a semi-lethargic seven-spot lady beetle exposed (emerged) on a patch of moss phlox. The phlox is not yet flowering, nor does it have the vibrancy of a plant whose juices are flowing

1351 I follow a ridge-top the rest of the way down to the sagebrush flats, and scout around the area where the kippiaapi grows to no avail. Moving into the hawthorn brush where I keep RyeCam01, I'm surprised to find the camera has died and there are no images on its memory card. This is the second time I've had to replace batteries in this camera in less than a year, which is unusual. Something must be defective

1412 From my position by the hawthorns, I can see a couple hundred aapsspini down at the river confluence, all huddled along the mouth of the St Mary's. I can also hear a woodpecker in the forest just below me, so I follow the sound and soon find its source in a hairy woodpecker who is tapping away, high in the canopy, surrounded by a chickadee entourage. Continuing to the mid-forest meadow, I scare up two whitetail does, and I'm very aware of the loud sounds produced by my movement in comparison to their quiet departure. All is dry and brittle. Coming within view of the owl nest, there does not appear to be any occupants at the moment, and really there shouldn't be until sometime in the next moon. I'm just anxious for the season to turn

1433 Next, I make my way along the oxbow corridor to the site of RyeCam03, which is situated to survey the length of a fallen, but raised tree. The trunk slopes over a path, and in my imaginings I envisioned coyotes, owls, and others might use this vantage for hunting. There are images on the camera, but nothing more exciting than passing deer. The unit has been stationed here for at least a month, and at this point I have to concede that it's time to find a new location for it

1516 Collecting my gear, I head for the river, passing through forest and then willow thickets on my way. There's still a lot of ice along the slow-moving stretch that surrounds the beaver lodge. But downstream three-hundred meters or so, where the river turns and meets the sandstone cliffs, it is shallow and fast-moving, so that a large open crag is always maintained. Here there is sign that the beavers have continued to come ashore and gather willows through the winter, although none of the cuts look as recent as they did a couple months ago. I kind of wonder whether the beavers might be relying on the food cache at their house now and avoiding the extremely long swim that would be required for them to reach this site now. It is a question suitable for following-up with the game-cam. Probably the best way to confirm would be to set the unit up at one of the slides. But since it will be a week or so before I can get back out here, that positioning might just lend to my camera being stolen by the beavers themselves. Instead, I lash the unit to some willows, looking out over about the first third of the open water crag. In this manner, I hope to see beavers emerging on the surface or, at very least, images of the ducks and geese who are stopping here

1545 Following the oxbow corridor from the beaver slide site, through the willow thickets, and eventually into the forest and up on the sagebrush flats, I march toward and then up the coulee slope. Having nothing left that I want to check on specifically, I take a very direct and steep route. It makes for an arduous, exhausting climb, but soon I'm back at my vehicle. There were no encounters to report along the way. Like the pond, all seems fairly quiet here at the moment

IIII ) llllllllllllllllll Red Spider Mite (12Feb12)

1115 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - Overcast and zero degrees. Though unmotivated, I thought I'd best take a walk, but today I've saved myself the ascent at the end by driving to the river bottom downstream

Yesterday, I visited Sspopiikimi just before dusk and found it exceedingly quiet. Where there had been several hundred aapsspini on the river just last week, now there were none at all. The usual crew of goldeneyes were absent. There were no ravens, or eagles, or chickadees around. I heard a couple of magpies out on the golf greens, and caught a glimpse of a downy woodpecker passing overhead, but even my camera trap had no images of passers-by, not even the male pheasant. The only new phenological events I noted were that a pile of coyote dung showed that they had recently caught a white-tailed jackrabbit, and the male kakanottsstooki had returned to the nesting area of the owl wood. I was also collecting licorice burrs for a seed-sprouting experiment, and while doing so noticed that the sweetclover seeds had all fallen off at some point in the last month or so (they are always full of seeds still when I am on my holiday break)

1126 Right away, it's apparent that the quiet of Sspopiikimi hasn't carried upriver. Here, there are again hundreds of geese. As I walk along the bank, flock after flock rise in concern over my presence. The river is more frozen now that it has been all year. There is no longer an open stream below the sandstone cliffs. The last pool, right where the cliffs begin to rise, holds both geese and goldeneyes, eleven of the latter. They, like the aapsspini, take wing at my approach. I had hoped to gather more licorice burrs along this stretch, but it seems almost every clump have been clipped from their stems. I attribute this to the western jumping mice, as it seems only to occur on plants growing at the base of the cliffs, and my work earlier in the winter established them to be both the primary residents of this domain, and the ones who clip such seed heads to carry them into crags for safe eating

1143 The next bit of open water doesn't occur until I come to the upstream bend, at the mouth of the oxbow, where things open up into a large floodplain. Here again there are geese, an also two female mi'sa'aiksi. The geese depart, just as those downstream had. The mergansers are less skittish, but eventually they leave too, made nervous by the raucous calls and fly-bys of the fleeing geese. RyeCam03 has been tied to some willows, aimed at this water of this bend for a week. It'll be interesting to see who visited

1232 There are far too many photographs on the camera trap to survey on-site. In fact, the download itself eats away almost all the battery and storage space of my little compact viewer. I suspect many of the images are just of moving water. So while the download is underway, I gather the camera and move on. I walk the river's edge to the beaver lodge, then cut through the willow thickets to the forest, where I encounter a female hairy woodpecker and a group of niipomakii. The woodpecker is hammering high on the trunk of a cottonwood, where it turns to snag. The chickadees are surveying the canopy branches nearby. I keep moving, following deer trails until arriving at the mid-forest meadow. The great-horned owl nest is here, and I expect them to start this year's brood soon... but it's not happening today

[Note: When I get home and look at the images from the river, I find there are several beautiful shots of the geese huddled around this open water just before dawn. Most of the images are night shots, black... the camera registering those flocks who roost here

1255 I need to check on RyeCam01, at the far end of the floodplain. It's been having some problems maintaining a power supply. And sure enough, when I climb into the hawthorn brush today, I find it only took a few pictures before apparently running out of juice, though I refreshed the batteries last week. RyeCam01 is shot. I'll have to send it back to the manufacturer and see if they honor their products enough to repair or replace it. In the meantime, I've set up the third unit (the one I took from the river on my way in) a bit further into the brush. Here, I see that a coyote, or perhaps even an owl, has recently plucked a goose. It will be exciting to see the difference between what goes on deeper in the brush, and what the camera has caught along the relatively open deer trail a few meters away over the past nine months

1323 I have only an hour to get back to the vehicle, though it's taken me nearly two to hike in. Mahoney and Sheen are expecting me to pick them up downtown soon. Given this, I take the swiftest route downstream, which happens to be along the oxbow corridor, through the forest. I have no doubt there are many animals who watch me march past oblivious. All I see before reaching the end of the trees, and the beginning of the sandstone cliffs, is a fat, mature porcupine nestled high in the canopy. Almost directly below it, hugging the ground beneath the limbs of a diamond willow that has turned on end at the edge of the corridor cutbank, is a second porcupine. This one is a baby, smaller than any I've ever seen, with the exception of the fairly newborn at summer's close. It pushes itself tighter under the limbs when it knows I've noticed it. I am quick to make my leave

1343 My return hike along the base of the sandstone cliffs is similarly rushed. I stop only once, at a large boulder that seems to bear fossil material. While I'm trying to make sense of the imprints, a red spider mite scurries across my field of vision, the only insect I've seen today. Nearby, there is a narrow crag in the rock. I shine my flashlight into it, but find only abandoned spider webs. On a bit of sandstone overhang beside the crag, there are the ghostly exoskeletal remains of stoneflies. I hike on, and am soon back at my vehicle

Scout Bee And Magpie Bath

IIII ) llllllllllllll Ksikkihkini (8Jan12)

0847 Coffee and Corvids, where I see that one of the "wild" magpies has somehow managed to break off all its tailfeathers. This happens to Derrick during the winter, as a result of repeated crash-landings sourced to his clipped wings. I've never seen it happen with any of the other magpies though, but here it is. The wind gusts are extremely strong this morning, and yet the magpie with the missing tail (who I'll try to photograph tomorrow) seems to have no problem at all navigating by wing, and landing perfectly on target at the rock where I've offered them food

I've often wondered about the long tail of the magpies, what its functions might be. I've seen it used in social displays of three different sorts: 1) when a bird is coming to land among others at a food source and wants to frighten them, it fans its wings and tail wide at the last moment; 2) when a bird is approaching another on certain occasions, which I do not completely understand but that seem assertive, there is a most complex song used, which produces a sound of two or more birds, and the tail is held horizontally at a ninety-degree angle, forming a V of body and tail, the open end of which is brought toward the recipient, perhaps in a manner of making him/her feel surrounded; and 3) when a bird is making a certain display, the purpose of which I do not fully understand, but that has something to do with calling attention to itself, it will perch, hold the tail straight up, and flick it in time to a particular chirp. Of the three, this last social display may be the most primal, because Derrick does it, though I doubt he learned it from the others. He always uses it when he wants to get someone's attention, and usually right before he launches into a related (but separate) display of toughness by attacking some non-living object with his beak [note: this tail-up display exposes the genital region, and I suspect, but have never confirmed, that it may be put to use in a mating dance]

I have also noticed that the long tail can be used in landing more generally, as a kind of cushion against the impact. But seeing this magpie today with no tail, yet still very coordinated of flight, invites speculation for yet another function... that the long tailfeathers can serve in defense against predators in a manner similar to the long detachable tails of some other animals. The longer the tail-to-body ratio, the more likely a predator will grab/attack the tail, and this may afford the magpie just what it needs to escape relatively unharmed

1346 Sspopiikimi - It's another warm winter day on the high plains, two degrees above with heavy winds and of course no snow cover. Focused as I've been recently at the river confluence, this is my first visit to the pond in over two weeks

1353 Because it's Sunday, I'm able to easily maneuver around the ongoing pipeline project in the absinthe field. When midpond comes into view, I can see there's open water near the ksisskstakioyis, and a family of seven aapsspini occupying it. I hike sunwise around north-pond, where there is another patch of open water derived from the construction flooding that continues to pour in. How the pond has not risen significantly after months of this continuous flow, I have no idea

1412 Climbing the levee, I can see down into the north wood, and there - poking around on the forest floor - is a male ring-necked pheasant. I can't imagine what he might be eating, unless he's after insects in the leaf litter. My understanding is that the pheasants eat mostly grains and berries, but this north wood is regularly flooded at the beginning of summer and really doesn't have many plants at ground level, save for some thin patches of brome. Even without the cover of brush though, I have only to take my eyes away long enough to fetch my binoculars and the pheasant disappears. He is a master of camouflage and stealth. I glass the forest floor and fail to find him again. Then I walk slowly down the levee and through the wood in attempt to track him, and only manage to catch sight of the pheasant again when I'm almost to the river, and a jogger with a large dog runs up along the cutbank and flushes the bird

1416 The jogger, seeing me, stops to ask whether I am taking pictures. When I explain that I was tracking the pheasant he just flushed, the man dismisses it and points me instead upstream, where there is an adult bald eagle perched on a limb overhanging our side of the river. He doesn't consider that the pheasant might be just as interesting to me as the eagle, and I head that way in any case, because trying to relocate the pheasant again would probably be futile now. The river is wide open, just a little bit of ice here and there, and the eagle is perched above the steepest cutbank, where the river is deep. I figure it's there to catch fish, but the eagle's presence also might explain why the aapsspini family is hanging out at the pond rather than here. Of course the eagle spots my approach right away, and though it had allowed the jogger to pass right by it along the levee trail, it takes wing when I make eye contact from a wide distance, and flies off into the forest on the other side of the river

1436 Continuing on, I drop down into the forest main and make my way out to the bulberry patch in the wet meadows, where I keep RyeCam02. Surprisingly, given my two week absence, there are relatively few images on the camera. I download them quickly and move back into the forest in search of a good log to sit on while I view them. I want to sit in the forest cathedral, but the log we usually use there has, almost directly above it, a heavy cottonwood branch that is in the process of breaking off where it meets the tree trunk, and seeing it sway in the heavy winds I decide to look elsewhere. I find an appropriate seat not far away, and there check out the images on a portable viewer I carry. While there weren't many pictures, the ones that had been captured showed me that the bulrush patch has been regularly visited by magpies, coyotes, male pheasants, and whitetail deer. Among the latter, there is at least one doe and two bucks. The younger buck has been injured, perhaps in a fight with the older one. His left antler is broken off near the base, and that side of his face is swollen

1448 I hike through the rest of the forest main toward south-pond fairly quickly and, as a result, with little to note. When I come to the duck blind, I see that the wide south pool is still entirely iced-over, but not with anything thick enough to walk on. In fact, there are large puddles on top of the ice again, being blown across the surface by the wind. The spring at the extreme southeast end of the pond is finally open again to its normal state. I wonder if this means that the river, which feeds it, has risen

1458 I next make a quick round of the owl wood to see if either the kakanottsstookiiksi or raccoons are in their normal winter haunts. Neither are, and soon I'm out by the high-level bridge, following the cutbank north again. Out on the gravel island by the bridge, there is a second aapsspini family with eight members. A bit further downstream, there are two male common mergansers hunting together. When they see me looking at them, they fly away upstream

1508 I'm back on the levee again and just starting to think about how odd it is that I haven't come across any magpies yet, when I begin to hear calls from my favorite corvids a little ways ahead. A few more paces along the trail, and I understand why they've been so scarce... the eagle is back again, and the attention of the magpies is consumed by it. This time, I pretend not to notice the huge bird perched above the river. I look at it only through my peripheral vision and keep moving along the trail. As I close the gap between us, the eagle leans over to keep an eye on me from between the branches. Just like the jogger from earlier, I am able to pass right by it, even snap a few pictures, and it doesn't fly away. All I can think is that the eagle has become accustomed to having mostly oblivious humans pass along this trail, and while it watches with caution it isn't prompted to retreat unless the human demonstrates more awareness

1516 One of the magpies stationed around the eagle follows me to north-pond, and there sets to singing a song for me that I've never heard before (and I know my magpie calls). Though impossible to render in writing, it sounds a bit like, "Wee-Wakee, Wee-Wakee, Wee-Wee-Wakee... Wee-Wakee, Wee-Wakee, Wee-Wee-Wakee." While listening to the song, my mind lingers partially back with the eagle. And by the time the singing is concluded, and the magpie flies off again, I decide not to let the opportunity pass, that I must return to the eagle to try to watch it hunt

1530 The idea is short-lived. I follow the trail again, the one that the eagle's used to seeing humans travel on. There's a bench not far from the perch, and I reason that perhaps the eagle has witnessed some of us sitting there too. So I go to the bench and take a seat, never looking directly at the bird. But I'm only at the bench for thirty seconds before it's had enough, and wings away again across the river. I then re-shoulder my pack and hike back to my vehicle, without another encounter to report

IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllllll Thoughts On Forest (18Jan12)

1058 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - Over the last couple of days, we've finally received a touch of winter, a bit of snowfall and a sharp drop in temperature. This morning it is thirty-four below. I struggled to decide whether to come here, to the confluence, or to visit Sspopiikimi. I've been waiting for snow at the pond, so that I could trail the raccoons and find out where they're sleeping this year. The decision was made when I reminded myself that the coons don't come out in this kind of cold anyway, so best direct my attention elsewhere

1105 Worried that my car won't be able to climb back out if I drive into the floodplain downstream, I begin my hike at the coulee rim. Right away, there are tracks crossing and following the trail: a coyote, several white-tailed jackrabbits, and what I'm pretty sure is a deer mouse (though the field guides to mammal tracks that I own are worthless for settling the matter). The latter tracks lead in good distance, following an open trail, from beneath a concrete slab near the parking area, out about fifty meters to some entrances into the subnivian zone, and back again. I do not see anywhere that the mouse has stopped to access food

1121 I'm tempted to follow the coyote tracks, as I have every winter, but I'm very curious about what the western jumping mouse tracks will look like, down on the cliffs above the oxbow willows. So I hike the most direct route straight to the floodplain, my fingers absolutely freezing despite the fact that I'm wearing fishing gloves inside of ski gloves. On my way down, I pass the mule deer, eleven of them grazing low on the coulee slope. They are all does (or does and first-years), thirteen of them divided into families of four, four, and five. This is far fewer issikotoyi than I'm accustomed to seeing along this stretch in the cold season

1136 Once down at the sagebrush flats, I follow the treeline of the forest downstream, passing a porcupine who's eating bark high in a cottonwood tree, and a mountain cottontail sitting still atop a log pile in the chokecherries. Now my hands are warming up, and I'm able to move all of my fingers again. Eventually, I arrive at the cliff area where I had RyeCam03 set-up over the holiday. But to my surprise, there are no small rodent tracks around that I can find. None at the boulder feeding station where I know the jumping mouse to live, and none elsewhere on the cliff that I discover. Perhaps like the raccoons, they too have their limit for cold tolerance. I do, however, spot another cottontail. This one is sitting next to the entrance of a crag between two boulders that I know to be a regularly used shelter. Between this rabbit and the last, it seems clear the sikaaatsisttaa are compelled to be out during daylight in these conditions, feeding just around the entrances of their shelters to keep up their energy

1153 I move off the cliffs and follow the oxbow corridor into the forest, where the only sounds are those of the trees, some of whose branches are cracking explosively in the freeze. There are only deer tracks here, no others, and yet I'm very much immersed in a diverse pool of life. I'm conscious of the very different reality of the plants, large and small, surrounding me. Despite what poets might attempt, there is no analogy to draw between our animal familiarities and theirs, though my mind struggles to do so. The closest I can come is to say that what I see and recognize as "trees" are, crackling around me, are like a cross between the flowery antenna of a nymph and our arms, stripped of all muscle, tendon, and bone. They are circulatory in season, feelers sent toward the light and heat, in part to capture radiance, in part to shed waste. Wood is the shit of the living organism that is a tree. And the true forest is that which fills the earth beneath my feet

1213 A couple weeks ago, I positioned RyeCam03 looking out over a cottonwood that had split at its base and arched softly over a deer path. My hope was to learn what animals might make use of this scenario. I envisioned owls perched on the fallen trunk, awaiting rodents who might follow the clearing of the trail. As I arrive at this site today, a magpie passes above the forest canopy, and I can see no prints in the snow that would indicate anyone had walked or perched here. Aware that I myself am within the camera's range, I quickly shed my backpack and walk out along the tree trunk to download images off the camera trap. It has caught several over the past couple weeks, but because of the cold I'm unable to review them on-site. In these conditions, my portable viewer will download off the SD card, but doesn't have enough battery power to actually pull the images up on its screen

Note: The camera caught several night images of subjects that were out of range. The only animal to use the bent-over tree was the singular indigenous primate to this region... a human being, myself

1232 Continuing my way through the trees upstream, I arrive at the mid-forest meadow. Here, there is bit of activity. First, I roust two whitetail does, who run across the meadow toward the river. Then I hear and see a hairy woodpecker. Her chirps and movements are frantic, as she searches for morsels in the bark of the canopy. There are also two more porcupines here, one of them older and large, spaced far apart, high in cottonwood trees edging the meadow. Both porcupines are sitting upright and very still on their respective branches. I take out my camera to photograph the younger one, and when my nose, which is slowly seeping, touches the camera frame, it immediately freezes and must be torn free. It is certainly cold outside today, I can feel frost on my cheeks. But the human body, large as it is, can easily tolerate these temperatures (given the proper attire). One must either remain in a warmed shelter, or one must move. Once moving, it is not necessary or safe to build up a sweating heat. All it takes is to keep the heart pumping a bit faster than its standing rate

1259 Before leaving the forest, I hear the muted calls of aapsspini, who sound as though they're just passing by, but I check the river just in case. Sure enough, there are at least fifty geese here, just downstream from the confluence itself, lined up along both ice shelves. The river is far more frozen-over today than it has been all winter, but there's still a pretty much unbroken center stream. Before my presence disturbs the geese too much, I climb out onto the sagebrush flats, and enter the hawthorn brush where I keep RyeCam01. Again, I'm able to download, but viewing is out of the question. All I see in the snow around the camera are the tracks of cottontails and pheasants

Note: RyeCam01 caught images of cottontails, female pheasants, magpies, and a raccoon. This is the first passing of a raccoon by this camera in almost a year

1335 I hike up the coulee slope at a shallow grade, following an old service road that is now impassible, washed out in several locations. Usually in winter snow conditions, I would find lots of rodent trails along this route. Today, there are none. My suspicion is that the cold has come so suddenly and severely that they aren't chancing it, but staying warm in their burrows and waiting for the return of relative warmth that is not long to come

IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllllllllll Last Of Misamiko’komiaato’s (21Jan12)

1139 Sspopiikimi - It is the last day of Misamiko'komiaato's, and it seems our serious (and brief) freeze is over, at least for the next while. The temperature today is six degrees above zero, without significant wind. Mahoney and I starting along the west, passing deer, coyote, and vole tracks in the snow along the shale trail, making our way south so that we can have the Sun at our backs when we enter the forested areas

1153 The pond is frozen over solid, without a single open pocket, for perhaps the first time this winter. As usual, there are many coyote tracks moving across the surface, particularly around the impenetrable ksisskstakioyis (can't blame them for trying). All of the vole tracks we see along the trail are leading between one entrance and another of the subnivian zone, with no apparent stops at food sources between. Now at the south bench, we can see lots of cottontail runs in the currant and bulberry thickets above the peninsula. We've heard (but not seen) a single raven and a few magpies, all rather distant, somewhere upstream and near the coulee rim

1213 We loop down through the owl wood on our way to the river. This bit of forest is particularly quiet today, even the resident downy woodpecker couple seem absent. On the ground, we continue to see coyote and deer tracks in the snow. But we find no evidence of raccoons or rodents, and not surprisingly (given this) the owls remain elsewhere. When we do eventually reach sight of the river, we find it too is more frozen than it has been all season, though there's still a narrow open stream running almost the entire visible length. There are no goldeneyes in this open stream, and no mergansers. I'm very curious as to whether we'll continue to see goldeneyes on the river this winter, after I observed them gathering in larger groups a week or so ago. As we conduct this quick river survey, a flock of ten geese arrive from the stubble field feeding grounds. They land at their usual protective site below the high-level bridge. There is also a single goose couple standing together at the edge of the river stream by the big nesting island. This is the first individual couple we've seen, and as we're moving into the Ka'toyi moon their timing of this behavior is right on schedule. No eagles that we can see today

1241 From there, we drop into the forest main and begin hiking north. The spring is closed over completely again, due to the recent freeze. A little ways into the forest, we begin to encounter chickadees. They are hunting along the cottonwood branches high up in the canopy. Interestingly, they are spaced at fair distances from one another, where usually we find them working in fairly tight groups. Here in the forest main, we are again seeing rodent trails leading between subnivian access points, but still no sign of raccoons or even porcupines. This is not too surprising, I suppose, given the failure of almost all the berries here last summer. The absence of this fruit has meant that several species we're accustomed to finding here in winter are also gone

1300 A couple of magpies fly west over the forest canopy and, as we near the wet-meadows, we hear a pheasant erupt in clucks. It sounds like the pheasant might be in the big bulberry patch where I keep RyeCam02, but when I climb in it's nowhere to be seen. The camera, however, confirms that a male pheasant has been frequenting this brush, passing by almost daily. There is also record of regular visits by magpies, a single pass by a whitetail deer, and a coyote who came on one of the coldest nights. Outside of the brush, on the wet-meadow proper, I find places where coyotes have dug through the snow and moss to expose rodent tunnels, which they no doubt fed from

1320 Between the wet-meadows and our vehicle, we see that the flooding has ceased at north-pond, and we discuss wanting to collect the balsam buds off the large tree that was uprooted by these floods, before the city moves in with their chainsaws to clear it off the path. It sounds as though the magpies we'd seen flying above the forest were in route to something out on the golf course, though we can't see what it is. Perhaps we'll return tomorrow to have another look around

I Scout Bee And Magpie Bath (22Jan12)

1354 Sspopiikimi - It is the first day of the moon cycle Ka'toyi, so Mahoney and I are back at the pond again, excited to walk another round, to look for things we may have missed yesterday, or that have changed since. It's a few degrees colder this afternoon, and the wind has picked up. We're at three degrees above zero, but it feels like maybe ten below

1409 The most immediate and obvious change to note is the degree of snow melt that has occurred. Where we were able to observe all kinds of animal tracks yesterday, the shale trail and most of the grass on either side of it is now completely exposed. The snow has melted off the surface of north-pond to, where there's less hours of shade from the shadow of the coulee. But from the ksisskstakioyis on, the pond remains covered. Some melting has occurred here all the same, so that the coyote and deer tracks observable yesterday are now less defined, round hollows. It appears the coyotes visited overnight too, because there are a couple sets of tracks that are fresh and well-defined. As we near the wide south pool, a magpie in one of the cottonwoods on the golf greens chats back and forth with Mahoney. When it departs, we walk down the peninsula to have a closer look at the fresh coyote tracks, and are currently following them across the pond surface, below the cutbank of the currant and bulberry thickets

1417 Still walking on the pond, winding around the south pool toward the marsh, Mahoney makes a great discovery... there's a honey bee frozen on top of the snow. Since the snow only fell a few days ago, when out temperatures were around thirty below, this bee could have only come out from the hive in the relative (six degree) heat of yesterday. She was probably scouting the bulberry brush to ascertain whether there were flowers yet, but we are still three moons away from that happening. It definitely says something for the kind of winter we're having that the bees would already be sacrificing scouts on the off chance of learning that there are already flowers

[Note: We picked up the bee and brought her home on the off chance that she might not be frozen dead, but had no luck in reviving her]

1431 Passing the spring, which is still frozen over, we climb the levee to look out on the river. There are twelve aapsspini in their usual spot below the high-level bridge. No sign today of any lone couples, nor any eagles or ravens

1457 Our hike north through the forest main is uneventful today, no chickadees, woodpeckers, flickers, or anyone else. Mahoney is curious to learn whether there are any new pictures on the game-cam in the wet-meadows, so I head out that way while she waits on a log back by the forest edge. As I approach the big bulberry patch, a magpie calls out from within. The bird retreats as soon as I enter the brush, but not before calling again, revealing its more precise location at the nest they've used during the past couple seasons. The camera has just one image, that of the magpie taken earlier today. When I crawl through to the nest location, I find that the bulberry bush it's built in has split near the base of heart-rot, and is now bent over at such an angle that the nest itself (though still rather inaccessible due to the thorny branches) is only about three feet off the ground. This will not due. The couple will have to invest the six weeks or more of work to build a new home this year

1511 I rendezvous with Mahoney at the log to share the news about the magpie nest, and from there we walk out of the forest and up on the levee, to the cutbank overlooking the big river island. Out in the open stream on the other side of the island, there are three goldeneyes diving for minnows, two males and one female. While we watch them through binoculars, the kingfisher arrives, flying in chattering from across the river to land on a perch overlooking the very small open crag under the cutbank where they normally nest

1530 I approach the kingfisher with my camera, hoping to settle the matter of it's gender. It is not the same bird as last winter, this one's a male. He doesn't let me anywhere near though. The closer I come toward him, the further he moves away, until finally he flies up over the levee and into the forest main. I figure the game is up, so I turn to start walking away. As I do, the kingfisher flies right up to me, landing on the nearest branch, and scolds me harshly, then repositions himself above the open crag again. Now a second bird soars in from the forest main, and at first I think it might be another kingfisher, but it is a magpie, and it promptly chases the fisher back across the river. Now I think there's nothing left to see, and so I rejoin Mahoney a little ways downriver (where we first spotted the kingfisher in flight), and together we head toward the north wood. But no sooner do we reach the edge of the treeline than we hear the magpie back at the crag start calling, and this prompts three other magpies to fly immediately out of the north wood to meet it. The call is also responded to by two magpies across the river, who glide over to join the aggregation, and all six of them sound off with stuccato calls. They're not alarms, we're fluent enough in magpie to know that, but they do register excitement. Mahoney and I suspect we must have missed some other animal hidden over there, so we turn around and rush back. To our surprise, we arrive at the cutbank directly above the birds just in time to witness their communal bath. The magpies have selected a spot on the downriver end of the open crag which affords them an ice foothold under a few inches of river water. One by one, they take turns hopping in for a splash. For us, it's a beautiful sight, and it makes so much sense. Our magpie Derrick at home, who is consanguineally related to these birds, also likes to bathe in the evening, and demands our company to do so. What better time to cleanse than after a day of rummaging around for food, especially if you've been ripping and tearing at a carcass somewhere

1544 When the magpies finish their bath and disperse again in different directions, we head off toward our vehicle. As we walk, a family of coyotes erupts in yelps and howls up on the coulee rim. Between the scout honeybee and the communally bathing corvids, this has been the most interesting and satisfying visit to the pond this winter. I'm very glad we came

Jumping Mice, Chickadee Food, And Two-Winged Flies

III Western Jumping Mouse (24Dec11)

1046 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - We've had several consecutive days of heavy winds, continuing at present, and the temperature is six degrees above. Obviously, there's no snow on the ground except in the most shadowed cold spots. I'm heading toward the confluence to check my camera traps and, hopefully, to make some progress on my study of winter leaf litter insects

1106 There's no geese here on the river this morning, and the ice shelf that had been building along the banks has receded significantly. On the downstream stretch, the river is almost entirely open. Only when I'm half-way to the oxbox willow grove, marking the start of the confluence floodplain, does the ice on the water reach out toward midstream. Right where it does so is one of the boulders that I tried unsuccessfully to fish from the other week. I'd reminded myself to bring along a small plastic container today, so I could gather up and store the three fishing kits I'd concealed under rocks. Even in the short time that's elapsed since my last visit, I've forgotten which rock I hid this first kit under, and so I conduct a brief search. I turn ten or twelve rocks. Under one of them, I find a vivid metallic ground beetle frozen beside an apparently deceased sow bug, lying on its back, legs up. When I eventually do find the rock with the fishing kit under it, and observing that the river continues to remain fairly open, I decide to just leave the it where it is. If the warm weather keeps up, I may try throwing the lines in again one of these days soon. Best that I stop relocate all three kits this afternoon though, so I can at least be reminded of which rocks they're cached under

1139 A bit further upstream, it takes even more effort to relocate the second of my fishing kits. This time I lift closer to twenty rocks, none of which had any insects under them, before finding the cache. Then, moving on from there, I make my way along the willow patch and climb the nearby sandstone cliff to where RyeCam03 was set to capture images of what I suspected would be bushy-tailed woodrats. Instead, the reward was a series of nocturnal images of what I'm pretty sure are western jumping mice and a few passing cottontails. So the jumping mice are the ones collecting gumweed, while the cottontails are probably responsible for the larger size droppings I had attributed hypothetically to woodrats

1211 I pack up the camera trap, figuring it best to take it along on my walk through the forest today, in case any new mysteries arise. Back down in the willow patch, I set a couple of rabbit snares, just in case I might catch one while down here today. I also move my box trap up onto the meadow in the willow round, where I figure there'll be a better chance of it being visited by pheasants and partridges, and not inadvertently catching beavers. Even though it's Christmas Eve, and I know it's unlikely I'll be back tomorrow, I go ahead and set the mechanism for the box trap, but leave it unbaited. At latest, I'll be coming around again in two nights

1232 With my snares all ready, I move off into the forest do a bit of sampling in the leaf litter while making my way to the other side of the floodplain, where I keep RyeCam01. As it turns out though, the potential for me to carry out the intended insect study here is unlikely. The owl wood and north wood of Sspopiikimi are far more conducive to it. Here at the confluence, there is a lot of brome and buckbrush growing on the forest flood. And while there are plenty of leaves, to be sure, they do not form the same kind of thick mats that they do in those areas where heavy flooding is more routine. So relenting from that part of my agenda, I begin instead to simply look around for the next interesting opportunity. There is a small family of mule deer here this afternoon, including a decent sized buck. Unfortunately, the crunching sound of my footsteps as I approach is enough to send them running out of the forest and off toward the coulee slope. Just beyond where these deer had been when I roused them, I came to a tree with an interesting, elongated hollow. This cavity had several old mushrooms growing out of it's walls, as well as two bird nests. One of the nests is little more than a platform of grass, and probably belonged to mourning doves. The other is a classic little grass bowl, and it is filled to the rim with some unidentified, brownish, granular substance. I pull this nest out to have a better look at the contents. But aside from several bits of insect exoskeleton, I can't make sense of what the bulk of this rodent nest or larder. The material appears to be vegetable, but I can't be sure. Ultimately, I decide to just put the bird nest back in the cavity and keep my eyes open for others of its type that are similarly filled

1311 I must not be very alert today, probably owing to the very few hours of sleep I got last night. All the way through the rest of the forest to the black cliffs upstream at the confluence proper, I find not a single thing worth stopping to look at. I do drop by my little shelter and position four more logs along the walls. In a small poplar near the shelter, a hornet nest has been revealed. It's remained surprisingly in-tact. Soon I am up in the coulee draw amidst the hawthorns, where I keep RyeCam01. It's been a couple weeks since I last checked on this camera, and it turns out to be filled with images. Almost all of them are nocturnal shots of mountain cottontails, with a few deer passings, one coyote, one porcupine, and about five daylight visits by magpies. I'm surprised that, in almost a year now, I've not caught pictures of any weasels, or for that matter even jackrabbits. But I suppose that's what this experiment is about, to show what's actually coming round. And in the hawthorns, who's here is predominantly mountain cottontails

1338 For the route back downstream, I opt to follow the riverbank. Partway along, I hear a rustle of leaves near a big pile of old drift-logs, and follow the sound to its cottontail source. No shortage of rabbits in this floodplain. Past that, I come to the ksisskstakioyis. Here, where the water is deep and slow-moving, all is iced over, from shore to shore. But it's not a long swim, for a beaver anyway, to arrive again at open water out toward the willow round. Indeed, there is a lot of evidence that the ksisskstaki are still coming ashore at night to gather willows. Not too tough a winter for the river beaver

1356 Since I found no inspiration for intrigue in the forest during my hike, when I arrive back at the oxbow willow patch, I again climb the sandstone cliff and place RyeCam03 at the same boulder overhang where it's been during the last week or so. As I do this, there is magpie chatter close by, at the edge of the forest. I should probably go see what they're excited about, but I'm too tired and I know my family would appreciate for me to come home

1437 The last thing I do before hiking back to my vehicle is check and disassemble the snares. Nothing has been caught, but I will set up perhaps a dozen more after Christmas and get us stocked on rabbit meat. The return hike along the cliffs is entirely uneventful. There are still no geese on the river, which means no coyotes or eagles as well. Must be up on the stubble-fields above the coulee rim. I really wish we'd get some serious snow

IIII ) l Search For Chickadee Food (26Dec11)

1344 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - the winds continue, a few degrees colder now at just four above, but still comfortable enough for the acclimatized. No thermals necessary in the middle of this abnormal winter. I'm just out for a brief walk today, making sure there's nobody stuck in my box trap. But one of the Christmas gifts I received yesterday is a powerful little flashlight, and I do want to take this earliest opportunity to give it a test run

1411 As with my last visit, which was also during a relatively warm but windy afternoon, there are no geese down here and the river is open. While I hike along the base of the cliffs, I stop at each easily accessible crag, rock overhang, or burrow I see. At first, I'm counting the stops. But soon I give up on that, and by the time I reach the oxbow willow grove, I've checked probably two dozen nooks frequented by rodents. All of them contain plant materials, usually comprised of just a single species. There are three plants the rodents have been gathering: wild licorice, gumweed, and russian thistle. Which plant is stored in which nook seems to me determined by proximity. In all cases, it is the seed the rodents are after, and so only the once-flowered tip of the plant is gathered. For several weeks, I have been referring to these collections as larders or caches, but looking more closely now I can see that all of the seeds have already been removed. In other words, these nooks are not being used for storage at all, but merely as protected areas that the rodents can retreat to while working out the seed extraction. Since my camera trap (RyeCam03) already confirmed that the gumweed eater is most likely the western jumping mouse, and as all of these eating stations follow a similar pattern, I'd conjecture the same species is involved. There is just one oddball nook, containing both russian thistle and long-leaved sage. There is sage in proximity of some of the other nooks, but no similar evidence of collection. Perhaps in this case, a sagebrush vole is also involved, as the camera trap caught images of one of them at its earlier cliffside location. Whatever the case, it's clearly very helpful to have a little flashlight on hand, something I haven't enjoyed since discovering hibernating drone flies in the bank swallow cavities last winter

1430 I'm glad to find there are no animals in my box trap, given that I'd left if for two nights unattended. Since I plan to be back again by morning, I go ahead and reset my two rabbit snares. I'd like to get away from snaring though, because even with frequent checks it's often the case that coyotes will get called to the scene (probably by magpies) before I do. Instead, I have in mind building a few more live traps, much like the box I already have, but using the deadwood that's already out here, lashed together, rather than hauling in another alien-looking chicken wire monstrosity

1444 I've now made my way, along the oxbow corridor, into the floodplain forest in search of rose hips to bait my box trap with. There are three magpies calling excitedly nearby, and when I follow their calls it leads me to the same small family of mule deer I encountered during my last visit. Today they are bedded in the chokecherry brush, but on my approach run out of the forest, onto the sagebrush flats, heading again toward the coulee slope. As the deer depart, so too do the magpies, but within seconds a downy woodpecker glides into view, landing on a nearby cottonwood. Observing the woodpecker I notice that, like the chickadees who are often companions of the downys, it is not extracting its food from inside of the wood, but merely gleaning from the tree's surface. This I recognize as an opportunity to learn something... what insects could it possibly find in this manner during the middle of winter?

1533 For almost an hour, I go to work again with the flashlight, this time closely inspecting the furrows of cottonwood bark. I select three trees. Two of them are larger, with trunks at least two feet in diameter. The other three is smaller, with a trunk diameter of about thirteen or fourteen inches. Of course, the larger trees have deeper furrows, and predictably more insects to offer. My survey area comprises about two verticle feet, at my eye-level, around the circumference of each tree. What I find are plenty of exoskeletons, already-hatched spider eggs, and something else... the small, bark-colored coccoons of what I suspect is case-bearing moth species, lots of them. Surely this can't be all the available food on these trees, but it's a start to a survey I can readily continue with while visiting this forest

1552 With a couple dozen rose-hips in hand, I return to the box trap and drop them in through the chicken wire. As I do, a flock of twenty-one aapsspini fly high overhead, moving from my side of the coulee to somewhere across the river and over the opposite rim. I then move into the willow thicket to pass the rabbit snares once more before I leave. I also want to check RyeCam03 up on the cliff above, and as I begin to climb a juvenile bald eagle circles overhead. This bird's presence was probably the impetus for the geese shifting over to the other side of the river

1624 It turns out the camera trap has collected just four nocturnal images over the past couple nights, all of them confirming again that it is the western jumping mouse who predominantly inhabits this particular site. With these images downloaded, I make my way back downstream to my vehicle without any other encounters. The Sun has gone down and dusk's shadows are upon the coulee

IIII ) ll Glimpse Of Mallards (27Dec11)

0949 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - Making a quick run this morning to check my snares and collect a couple samples of the case-bearer moth larva shells that I found yesterday in the deep bark furrows of the cottonwoods. I have some errands to attend to in town this morning, so I can't stay long. The high winds continue, and the temperature has dropped another couple degrees, but it's still above freezing and expected to warm up over the next couple days

1009 I thought perhaps I'd be early enough to find geese lingering on the small ice shelves remaining at the river's edge, but there are none. Instead, today there is a family of seven mallard ducks, who depart as soon as I notice them. As I hike along, following the base of the cliffs, I begin to wonder whether the geese are even sleeping here this year. Without our usual ice-over, and the open crags here, they really have no particular reason to stay along this stretch. There are other places with islands surrounded by open water that would offer far better protection from land-based predators

1014 While I consider the geese, and as I approach the oxbow willow thickets, I hear the unmistakable stuccato whistling sound of a goldeneye taking flight from somewhere upstream. Looking in that direction, I see there's a coyote hunting along the gravel bar on the bank opposite me. The coyote and eye meet one another's gaze, and she immediately turns and trots off around the riverbend

1030 As I enter the willows to check my snares, I hear the calls of a ring-necked pheasant up on the adjacent meadow. It gives me hope that I may find it caught in my box trap. The snares themselves are empty, but each has been visited - one of them pulled into a burrow, where the rabbit managed to slip it off, the other simply thrown to the side. I reset both of them, confident that success won't be long away. The box trap, when I climb up to the meadow to check it, is empty. I add corn kernels to the rose hips within as bait. If I had time today, I'd build another live trap of this sort from the abundant deadwood in the area. Perhaps tomorrow

1059 Following the oxbow, I breach the edge of the forest, and there set to work surveying the bark of cottonwood trees in the same manner as yesterday. Today I select four trees, three of them being older, with deeper furrows. They are situated in the same kind of floral environment as the three I inspected yesterday, surrounded by chokecherry, buckbrush, brome and canada thistle. Almost immediately, I begin finding the little case-bearer pods, though overall fewer than before, and no other insects to speak of. While I work, a downy woodpecker flies in and hops around above, picking at something in the canopy. I select two of the larger, most promising moth cases as samples to open at home

Note: Neither of these cases turn out to have anything in them. They are simply the shell remains that housed and protected the larvae during a transformation earlier in the season. Back to the drawing board regarding available woodpecker and chickadee food to be found on the surface of these trees

1111 With my moth cases in hand, I hurry back out of the forest, through the willows, and out along the base of the sandstone cliffs. In the short time I've been gone, a flock of thirty-one geese have silently arrived, and are standing on the thin ice shelf against the opposite shore. They must have gone up over the rim earlier, fed on the stubble-fields until full, and returned to rest. So much for my hypothesis that they're rejecting this area due to the open river. On the other hand though, they are behaving differently. They're safe enough (given that I carry no rifle) on the opposite shore, yet they quickly take wing when I come parallel to them. A few weeks ago, when it was colder and they were conserving energy, they were not this skittish

1129 I make two brief stops before reaching my vehicle. The first is at one of my fishing kits. Given the predictions of warmer weather the next couple days, and the absence of almost all shoreline ice at this particular station, I decide to go ahead and throw my line in again. I also stop off at a patch of tall goldenrods. Almost all of the stems have the spherical galls, produced from a chemical reaction to the saliva of goldenrod gall fly larva as they eat into the pith of the stems. I have heard that a good many insects may make use of these galls during winter, so I decide to take three of them home as samples

Note: Cutting open the goldenrod galls, I find in each case only the larva of the gall fly. All of them have excavated their escape tunnels already, and are waiting out the winter, preparing to pupate when we again transition to summer

IIII ) lll The Young Porcupine (28Dec11)

1013 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - Back for another morning round, to attend my traps and perhaps explore the forest. My thermometer reads at seven degrees above zero, but owing to the continuing high winds it doesn't actually feel any warmer than yesterday

1029 I walk my usual route along the base of the cliffs at the river's edge. I notice up ahead there's something in the water near the one fishing kit where I have my line out. Moving closer, I can see it is a lone goose, and it's adopting a posture I recognize from the nesting season as an attempt to conceal it's presence, holding it's head and neck horizontal on the water's surface. At first I consider the possibility that this bird might be hooked or otherwise tangled on my line, but then it paddles across to the other side of the river and drifts stealthily with current downstream. I check the line just to make sure, and all is intact. It must be that this goose has a broken wing or some other debilitating injury that has forced it to remain at the river while all the others have gone to feed at the stubble-fields. With a river between us, I may never know for sure. Not likely I'll feel compelled enough to wade out into the icy water, and even if I did the goose could easily evade me. I'll just have to keep an eye out for this one during future visits

1048 I make my way to the oxbow willow grove, and there find my two cottontail snares in the same condition as yesterday - one has been pulled into a burrow, but the animal got loose, the other is flung off to the side. It may just be that positioning them at the den entrances is not going to work, and that I'll need to go back to snaring only along the runs. But I figure it's worth one more attempt, and so I reset them again in the same positions

1102 Next I climb onto the willow-round meadow and check my box trap. It has caught another porcupine or, judging by the size of it, the same yearling as last week. I open the box door and sit down a short distance away to smoke and consider my options. It is the opportunity for this animal to make an escape because, having now caught her twice, and given that even at her size she still has far more meat than a cottontail, I don't have many reservations about eating her this time. I smoke and wait for her to depart. When she doesn't go, I take up a strong stick, coax her out, and brain her

1208 I carry the porcupine out into the meadow away from the trap, and for the next hour or so process her. It might not have taken me so long, but my knife isn't as sharp as it should be, and she's pretty fatty. I leave her guts in the meadow for the coyotes to find, hang the heart and lungs on a branch of a nearby tree as an offering to the magpies, and pack all the meat along with the liver and kidneys

1230 There is only the matter of the porcupine hide to deal with. I don't want to leave it where the coyotes or corvids will find it, because the quills are too dangerous. So I bring it along as I head back to the cliffs. At a certain draw, I know of a sheltered little sandstone nook visited only by mice and voles. This is where I place the hide. The flesh and fat will be eaten away, and I can return later and collect the discarded quills

1245 The injured goose is nowhere to be seen on my route back. Chances are its gone even further downstream. I will look for it again when I return in the morning. No hike in the forest today, just the mixed emotions of an omnivore who doesn't like killing animals, yet detests absolutely his dependence on the commercial food industry, and hopes eventually to escape all participation in it

IIII ) llll The Old Porcupine (29Dec11)

0931 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - Wind, wind, and completely exposed earth. There were rainstorms upstream yesterday. Thunder was heard. I keep thinking about the river beavers, how they secured their food caches directly to the walls of their lodge. And the garter snakes, how they elected not to den in their usual cutbank hibernaculum. How did these changes relate to the (non)winter we're having? What's to come? I'm expecting a deluge of rain at the season's close, floods, early flowering, and another summer without berries. We'll see...

0948 I hike along the bank of the river, the base of the sandstone cliffs. There's a raven calling from somewhere near the opposite coulee rim, but I can't spot it. A lone male goldeneye takes wing upstream at my approach. I stop at my fishing line, pull it in, and find it untouched. It's baited with a piece if porcupine liver, something I'd think would be irresistible. What was the goldeneye eating anyway, if not fish? I toss the line back in and continue on

1000 Soon I'm at the site of the two cottontail snares I have set-up, in what would be the banks of a river oxbow, were it not dry. Like the fishing line, neither snare has been visited

1022 From there, I climb up onto the willow-rounds meadow to check my box trap. I can see it through the bulberry and hawthorn brush as I near. The door is down, someone's inside. When I reach the trap itself, I'm met with another porcupine, this one an older male, large and muscled. I haul the box out into the open meadow, and carry along the same club I used before. When I open the door, the porcupine runs, but I close the gap in just a few bounds, and he stops for a second to take a defensive posture. Soon, but not nearly soon enough, he's dead. A minute or two stretches on and on. The resilience of life amazes me. People who never struggle to bring death to another mammal with their own hands, and their own strength, who never have to be the immediate cause of it, and look it in the eye, maybe they don't deserve to eat any meat

1110 I've brought a slightly smaller, sharper knife today, but the process still takes me some time. I work patiently, but still manage to get two quills in my hand and slice open one of my fingers. The raven who was calling before (I presume) crosses the river and lands up above me on the cliffs, waiting its turn. A magpie flies from the forest into the nearby willows, silent, also waiting. I don't bother placing the heart and lungs up on the tree branch today, given that the birds are right here, and will come down to take their share as soon as I leave. I wonder how many others are observing me from concealed positions in the distance. All of the guts from yesterday have been cleaned up. I'm sure these ones will be too. When I've packed what I'm taking away, I again carry the dangerous hide off to the cliffs, and deposit it in the same sandstone nook as yesterday's

1138 As I hike back along the cliffs, I get little whiffs of the male porcupine musk I'm wearing. I stop just once, to wash the blood off my hands in the river. When I'm almost back to the car, there's a couple with a big red dog walking toward me on the trail. We exchange greetings, but then the dog gets my scent and I can see the fear take over. It takes some effort for the man to hold their dog back from attacking me. And by the way they both react, I can tell they don't understand the motivation for its behavioral shift. I just keep moving

IIII ) lllll Chickadee Food Continued (30Dec11)

1013 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - Finally, a day with relatively no wind. According to my thermometer, and verified by the appearance of the nimbostratus clouds above, we are at the freezing point this morning, zero degrees. Upstream, where I'm headed, there is a flock of perhaps thirty aapsspini dropping down toward the river

1031 When I reach the river and begin hiking along the base of the cliffs, the aapsspini take wing again. Likely they are being disturbed by a coyote, as I don't see any eagles around. What I am noticing though, hugging the sand by my feet, are flying insects. They a few, and at first I think they might be hallucinations, but eventually one of them lands just long enough for me to recognize it as a small two-winged fly. Unfortunately, it's gone again just as quickly as it arrived. By the time I make it to the half-way point along the cliffs, where I have a fishing line in the water, I've caught glimpses of six of these flies. None are willing to sit still for a macro photo. Overnight, my fishing line has become trapped in some new ice. I'll have to wait for a thaw before I can pull it in to shore again

1044 As I near the oxbow willows, it occurs to me that I haven't brought my knife. I took out of my pack at home to wash it, and never put it back. Fortunately, it turns out nobody has worked their way into any of my traps, and so I have no need for the knife today anyway. There are a few magpies already gathering around as I make my way through, checking the snares and such. When I inspect yesterday's kill site, I find they have eaten everything except the porcupine's stomach and a short section of intestines. Other parts of the intestine have been carefully stripped away, leaving behind the woody droppings that had been forming within

1124 For a little while, I walk around in the willow-round meadow, searching for an optimal site to build a live pheasant trap. I find a couple possibilities, but am also thinking it might be better to check the mid-forest meadow as well, something I can save for another visit. Right now I'm more interested in working on my phenology studies. I move back through the willows and climb the sandstone cliff, up to where I have RyeCam03 set up by a large boulder and rodent feeding station. Once again, it has captured a set of nocturnal images of the western jumping mice. I'm going to take the camera with me into the forest to look for a new mystery worth directing its lens toward

1205 On my way to the forest, I collect my two cottontail snares and reposition them away from the den entrances, where they don't seem to be working, into the dense thickets, where they've been successful in the past. I then follow the oxbow corridor into the trees. At first, I consider aiming the camera trap down the corridor itself, which I know serves as a highway for the animals. But not only would such positioning put the camera at risk for theft by humans who might follow the well-trodden trail, but its also not such a big question for me, which animals use this corridor. Instead, I find an large snag poplar up in the woodline above the oxbow cutbank that is appears to be especially favored by the woodpeckers. One aspect of this snag in particular raises my curiosity, and that is a large rectangular-shaped cavity. The known woodpecker residents of this floodplain in winter are the downy, hairy, and northern flicker, none of whom carve cavities of this shape or size. To me, although the cavity probably is just a widened flicker hole, it looks very much like the work of a pilleated woodpecker. Hopefully, the game-cam will settle the matter

1230 Down below the woodpecker snag, lying half-into the oxbow corridor itself, is a recently fallen cottonwood tree. I recognize it as probably the best opportunity I'm going to get for searching the canopy for potential chickadee and downy woodpecker food. I know these birds glean from the tree surface, but my inspections of several trunks hasn't turned up any insects. So I work my way from the terminal budding ends of this fallen giant, all the way down to that part of the trunk's base where it split. I pay special attention to what I figure would be the most likely places to find eggs or overwintering larvae - at the buds themselves, in the little hollows where twigs meet branches or branches meet trunk, under the loose bark by the diplodia galls, and in deep bark furrows. To my disappointment, I don't find anything. The only thing I am able to sleuth out is how the tree came to fall. There is a place on the trunk where a large branch once broke away, creating a wound that never completely healed over. And given the high winds we've had, leveraged against this weak spot, the wood gave way. It is very possible that any insects the tree did harbor were shaken loose from the impact of the fall

1253 I start making my way back out again, and get as far as the willow thickets, when I begin hearing the chirps and songs of chickadees. Following the sound, I come upon a group of five birds hunting in three young poplars. I get as close as they will allow and watch through binoculars as they survey these trees for food. For the most part, they don't appear to be coming up with much, if anything, from their search. Just two or three times do I observe activity that looks like they might have been successful. The chickadees hop quickly from one spot to another on the branches, looking but rarely testing with their beaks. Where they do really poke around is in the nooks at the base of the branches and branchlets, and under some bark that has been loosened by porcupines. It takes them only ten minutes or so to survey these three juvenile trees before they flitter off to hunt elsewhere. But watching them has given me confidence at least that my methods of searching for their food sources are on the right track

1313 On my way back along the cliff base, following the river downstream, I catch glimpses of two or three more of the small flies. Again, they come and go from my sight so fast that I don't have a chance to take any pictures, and so will not be able to identify them by species later. Perhaps they'll be out again tomorrow and I'll get my shot. I also come across a group of seven goldeneyes, who immediately take wing and fly whistling upstream. It is odd to see even this many goldeneyes together on the river. I'm used to only finding two or three in one place at most. I wonder if perhaps they're already getting the urge to migrate north again. Then, when almost back to my vehicle, a mature bald eagle passes low, directly overhead, moving in the same direction as the goldeneyes had, back toward the area I'd just come from. There seems to me to be fewer eagles surveying the river this winter, probably owing to the lack of ice and cold that would keep more of the geese down here throughout the day

IIII ) llllll Hibernating Anthomyiids (31Dec11)

1055 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - Our second relatively windless morning, and this visit begins much the way that yesterday's concluded, with niipomakiiksi. As I walk in, I first observe a male pheasant flying to land near the opposite shore of the river, and then hear the chirps of nearby chickadees. Following the sound, I find them scouring a couple cottonwood trees. Soon, however, they flitter down, one after the next, into a large patch of bulberries below. There are still some shriveled fruits to be found on these bushes, and though I don't witness it with my own eyes, I figure there's a good change the chickadees are eating at least some of these, along with any insects they might find. I take a look at the branches of a couple of these bushes, and find no obvious insect presence. But then, I still haven't figured out what they might be eating from the cottonwoods either

1135 While I follow the niipomakiiksi, another event begins to unfold on the river. At least a thousand aapsspini arrive from fields above the coulee rim. The scene is much like that which occurs at dusk, with flock after flock descending, most of them landing on the ice shelf of the opposite shore. They are pursued by a juvenile bald eagle who, upon seeing me there, turns about and glides downstream. The geese are safe for the moment, but I wouldn't be surprised if the coyotes show up soon. I hike a ways along the base of the cliffs, then climb up and find a good boulder to sit next to while I wait and watch

1156 When the geese begin to depart again despite the absence of coyotes, I move on. I've not seen any of the flies along the cliffs that were out yesterday. When I get to the oxbow and willow-rounds meadow, I find my box trap empty again, but this time empty also of the corn I'd dropped in as bait. Since the trap hasn't been tripped, I can only assume its been raided by someone too small to bump the trigger stick, probably mice. I haven't brought any more corn with me, so perhaps I'll use this as an opportunity to plan a break for tomorrow

1216 Next I check on the rabbit snares. They too are empty, but one has been nudged off to the side. I pull both of them so that I won't have to be concerned about tomorrow. Then I follow the oxbow further, into the forest, and download the memory card of RyeCam03, at the woodpecker tree. No animals have passed by as yet

1254 Not quite sure what to take on from here, I consider hiking to the other end of the floodplain to check RyeCam01. But then I remember the tree hollow from last week, the one with mushrooms and an old bird's nest that had been filled to the rim with some as-yet unifentified material. I decide to take a second run at it. After relocating the tree, I again remove the next. This time, however, I almost immediately notice something I'd completely overlooked before... the outside of the nest, where it pressed against the wood of the tree, is sheltering hibernating anthomyiid flies. They are somewhat alert. When I touch them, however lightly, they shuffle to reposition themselves. Turning to inspect the inside of the nest, I find it is mud-lined, once home to a robin. The bowl is filled with a lot of small particles. Some of them are woody, like porcupine or beaver droppings that had disintegrated. There are also identifiable mouse turds, some small seeds, and reddish egg casings from an unknown insect. Overtop of this assorted collection, someone (presumably a deer mouse) has packed a bed of dry grass leaves. I return the nest to its little shelf in the hollow, which appears to be a site where a large branch once broke off, leaving the tree to attempt healing. Below the hollow, there is yellowish sap leaking out of the bark of the trunk. It's dripping down to the ground, but presently iced over. When I rub it with my finger, it liquifies. There is no stickiness to it, and it doesn't have a noticeable smell

1324 Moving on, I search part of the forest for other trees with similar features. In total I locate four more good-sized hollows created by large branches that had dropped off. Two of them have robin nests, and of these I'm only able to extract one (the other is too glued in by mud). There are no hibernating flies under the nest I remove. The tree that houses it has a wide, dark stain under the hollow, as though it had bled a similar sap previously. I also saw sap running and freezing beneath the hollow of a non-nest tree, and in both of the non-nest hollows there was accumulations of the crumbly, woody material similar to that found in the first nest, as well as the red-colored insect egg casings. From one of these trees, where the healing wasn't as extensive, I could see under the bark that the crumbly material was remnant from the work of poplar borer beetles, something I should have recognized straight away

1338 My arrival back at the river incites panicked responses from several birds. First, a male pheasant, perhaps the same one from earlier, flies noisily up a draw when I pass close to him. Then, at the cutbank, a group of six goldeneyes whistle-wing downstream, and their reaction startles a small group of aapsspini into crossing the river. There are still about fifty geese lingering down here, in families of between five to seven birds, spaced out from one another along the shoreline

1353 The goldeneyes have landed about a hundred meters downstream from me and are drifting ahead as I walk. Their movement seems to be at about the same pace as mine. As I pass each aapsspini family, the sentinel males issue their usual grunts, "Be aware. Everyone be aware." Soon I am closing in on the car

IIII ) llllllllll Bluebottles And Wolf Spiders (4Jan12)

0941 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - It's the last day of my winter break, and another fairly warm one out here. I need to make my way to the oxbow willows to remove the rabbit snares and close up the box trap, and I'll be heading into the forest to collect the images off both my game-cams

I've made brief runs out over the past couple mornings, just to check on things. The snares, four of them in total at this point, hadn't been touched. The box trap had been raided each night for its bait (corn and peanut butter), but whoever's been eating it is small and delicate enough that they haven't budged the trip-stick

0941 Just as during the previous two mornings, there are some aapsspini on the river this morning. As I pass along the base of the sandstone cliffs, a flock of twenty-one geese paddle across to the opposite shore, and there they take to the air as two groups of ten and eleven members respectively. When I get to the floodplain and check the box trap, I find my bait has been removed againburns still nobody is in there, yet this time the trigger stick has been moved and the door is closed. I suppose a magpie might be able to work its way out between the mesh but, given that there's not a single feather to show for it, I think it more likely the work of mice

1016 There's a magpie who follows me through the oxbow willows to check my snares, none of which have seen any rabbits. It's not really surprising to me that the snares haven't been successful. The rule of thumb is that you should put up at least ten, and for most of the break I only used two. This was owing to my not being very enthusiastic about snare use to begin with, since the coyotes often beat me to the kill. In any case, I reel up the four that I have and stow them in the bush for the future, then continue on along the oxbow to RyeCam03. I've had this camera directed at an old snag that shows extensive woodpecker use, including a rectangular cavity entrance that is unusual for the species most often residing here. When I download the memory card, it shows the camera has taken more than four-hundred photos over the past three nights. Scanning through them in my viewer, it seems that all of these images were triggered by the movement of clematis vines swinging in the wind. There is no way to get around this problem without cutting the clematis down, and since new growth will issue from these old vines I don't want to do that. Best just to take the camera with me and find a new subject to direct it toward

1041 The quickest route to the upstream end of this floodplain and RyeCam01 is through the sagebrush flats, so that's the path I take. Walking along, I have to unzip my jacket and remove my touque. It's so warm today, I'm almost tempted to climb the coulee slope and check in on the rattlesnakes. It would be totally bizarre if I were to find them basking in this moon. There's pressing demands at home today though, so I decide to trudge on. When I get to hawthorns, I learn that activity has carried on here as usual for the past couple weeks. Most of the images are of mountain cottontails, though there are also magpies and pheasants. Curiously, the coyote and mule deer only make a single appearance each

1104 For my return route across the floodplain, I opt for the forest. I need to decide on a new subject for RyeCam03. I'm lonely for Sspopiikimi, so don't plan to come back here aain for at least a week or more. The new camera position must be somewhere fairly secluded, so that if anybody does come through in the meantime they're not likely to spot it. I have in mind to find a good log to aim it at. A lot of times during my winter walks, if I'm trailing coyotes through the snow, I've noticed that they use long logs as runs. I'm interested to see whether this is something they only do during snow cover, or if it is a more general strategy for navigating the forest. There are several logs along my path that would work for this experiment, but I eventually decide on one that's a bit different. Rather than being flush to the ground, the log I select is from a tree that has split vertically at the base and is bent over, forming a shallow arch that, at its greatest height, is about six feet off the forest floor. There's evidence of porcupine use on the log/tree, the trunk of which is thick enough for me to walk along from one end to the other, but it might be fun to see if anyone else uses this as a path or perch. I set the camera against the trunk of a neighboring tree, facing north so that the lens isn't pointed at the sun. This provides a perfect view of the length of the horizontal trunk

1120 Continuing through the forest, I scare up two whitetail does who are bedded down not far off my path. Just after they bound from view, and in the direction they ran, I hear a voice that sounds very much like a raccoon. When I look for the source though, I only see a magpie. The bird is watching me, an has probably been following me most of the day, as I've heard one or more magpies over my shoulder ever since moving through the oxbow willow. But if this bird made the strange raccoon noise, it is nothing like I've ever heard from them before. Certainly not out of the realm of possibility though, my magpie friend at home speaks several sentences in clear English. Yet, when I get back to the sandstone cliffs, I notice a print in the sand that makes me doubt it's the bird. There is a clear line of raccoon tracks. Fairly fresh, or I'd have noticed them before. It's not often I see raccoons down here. These are not like the bold urban coons who have no qualms revealing themselves. Our raccoons are masters of stealth and camouflage. The only way I've ever located them at will was with the aid of snow-fall

1138 The last stretch of my hike, back along the cliffs again, holds a nice surprise. There are not just a handful, but hundreds of the two-winged flies I'd spotted only glimpses of a few days back. This time, they are so abundant that I have no problem getting pictures, and I think they are bluebottles (though they lack the sheen I've seen in other seasons). And it's not only these flies, there are also hundreds of a particular species of wolf spider, who I imagine are feasting on the bluebottles. This is turning out to be a very strange winter indeed. So concludes the first holidy break I've ever had with the earth exposed and river wide open