IIII ) lllllllllllllllllllll Sa'aiksi Aamsskapooyaa (10Nov09)
0902 Too nice a morning to pass up a survey of the canal on the way to work
0909 Between the 509 and Innokimi, we first encounter three magpies on the bank of the canal, who fly off as we approach, landing briefly in nearby willows, but then moving on to the BTAP stubble-fields. Then we come across about a dozen grey partridge, who were high on the bank above the access road, but flew to the other side of the canal all the same when they saw us coming through. On the road itself, there were two horned larks. And when we arrived at Innokimi, far back toward the distant shore we can see six or seven swans. No doubt there are plenty of ducks down here too, but the lake's surface is nowhere near as covered with fowl as it was last week
0932 Between Innokimi and Mookoan Reservoir, we find more magpies feeding in the stubble-fields. No owls today. Both Piipiiaakii and I suspect the kakanottsstookii we found dead on the 509 yesterday morning was the one who normally hunts the canal
0939 As at Innokimi, the waters of Mookoan Reservoir are virtually empty of birds. We find just six trumpeter swans: a mother with her three grey-colored young, and a single mature pair. I'm surprised to find so few birds here overall. Hard to believe that those we saw last week represented the peak of this year's migration. I hope not
1634 Sspopiikimi - The Sun is already fallen from view when we arrive, lighting just the tops of the east side of the coulee. There's a cold wind this evening, making the water on the pond choppy. All the dried plants are drab shades of yellow, grey and red, the colors of the earth from which they emerged
1652 It's just a quick walk to the ksisskstakioyis and back. The wind is too cold, and Piipiiaakii isn't dressed for this weather. In any case, far fewer sa'aiksi on the pond these days. North of the ksisskstakioyis there are just four mi'ksikatsi, seven american wigeons, and a lone aiksikksksisi. These birds are fairly spread out. Two male mallards and three wigeons hug the east shore near the bulrush tufts behind the muskrat lodge. The lone coot is out in the middle of the pond, diving for milfoil, with a wigeon lurking just above, waiting to steal a meal. South of there, also along the east shore, are three more wigeons and a mallard couple. I suspect it won't be long before all but a few of these birds clear-out for winter
IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllll Oyiiyis (11Nov09)
1056 Alexander Wilderness Park, Sikoohkotoki - Today Ki'naksaapo'p and I join one of our students, Charleton Weasel Head, at his chosen study site. I've never been down this part of the coulee before, so I'm excited to see what's here. I'm the first to arrive to the parking area at the bottom of the access road. The skies are clear, but there's a bit of wind, and it's a chilly day, though nothing like what's in store for us later in the season
1103 I decide to poke around on the cliffs near the parking lot while I wait for them to show. There's a fat, but young, four-tine mule buck grazing the cliff opposite that which I'm climbing. It doesn't seem at all concerned about my presence. Obviously it knows it's in a protected area. When I get to a high shelf of the cliff though, three whitetail does jump out from some brush below and run toward the river. The whitetails’ reaction is quite different than that of the mule deer buck, who's now staring up the draw along the entry road
1118 The buck continues to stare for about five minutes. Then I hear the sound of a dog barking from that direction, and this scares the buck into making a short run to get further up the side of the coulee. Ki'naksaapo'p and Charleton are pulling up. I'm going to meet them
1139 The three of us make our way down the established path toward the river. Along this route, Ki'naksaapo'p points out important features: the layer of alkali-topped glacial till on the cliffs, how our agricultural projects are having a similar alkali-lifting effect, and the Blackfoot names of some plants. I direct our attention toward siiksinoko (creeping juniper) and talk about Soaatsaakii, the okaan, and the use of juniper in vision questing
1148 Some of the words and other things Ki'naksaapo'p introduced that I wasn't aware of before: kaaniiksi (deadwood), ipoyikaaniiksi (standing deadwood, preferred firewood), use of dry maanikapi flowerhead as sponge for enjoying soup, iitsiki'tsiisaokii (prairie in the coulee bottom)
1156 As we explore the brush, still moving toward the river, a bald eagle passes overhead. We stop to look at and talk about all the different berry plants, as well as flicker cavities and a bald-faced hornet nest
1219 On the river there's a large flock of perhaps four-hundred mi'ksikatsi. I suspect ma ksikkihkini (the eagle) is hunting them
1243 Walking back up the path to our vehicles, Ki'naksaapo'p speaks about having a relationship to all these plants and animals. About half-way up, we come across an ant hill that has been dug out. I see no footprints to indicate what animal had done this, but the ants were hard at work putting their lodge back together. I'd have liked to sit there and watch them, but we were on our way
1445 Akaiinissko - Nitsitsskoo my familiar kawaahkoyi. This morning's hike was enjoyable and informative, a kind of Blackfoot inventory of Charleton's study site, an important first step in learning from a place. But for me, it was like a teaser in the opportunities passed. What might we have learned if we'd sat a while and watched the sa'aiksi, or ksikkihkini, or the ants? I feel compelled to get right back out to my winter site, which I'm visiting more and more often as the season shifts, to search for more lessons. I'm a learning junkie
1450 I've left my heavy camera backpack at home, opting for just my fanny-pack with a few tools: an elph camera, a knife, a small flashlight, my flip mino. It's a trade-off for mobility purposes, given that I have only a couple hours of sunlight left to work with. But not knowing what I'll encounter, there's no telling if the decision will be regretted
1458 I have a few objectives in mind, though I don't know if there'll be adequate sunlight left to fill all of them, and I'm never so firm in my agenda as to not respond to important happenstance encounters. But just in case, I would like to start surveying the birds' nests down here, those used over the breeding period of niipo and now abandoned, this in hopes of learning more about what was hidden while the leaves were out. I'd also like to check back on the rodent nest in the hollow stump, to visit The Twin, and to rack a few more logs on the side of my lean-to
1504 Most of what I'd like to see this evening is in the coulee bottom. So I hustle down the shallow-incline trail that leads to the upriver end of the flood-plane
1512 Toward the bottom of the slope, as it transitions to sagebrush flat, my path crosses with several of those rust-brown fuzzy caterpillars. Always, when I see them, they are just inching their way across my trail
1521 Soon I'm by the forest, scanning the buckbrush, saskatoons, chokecherries, and low poplar limbs for bird nests. The first I find is the relatively loosely-placed grass platform of a mourning dove, waist-high in the branches of a bulberry bush. Among the grasses used for this project, I recognize the seed heads of blue gramma. But there are others as well, including the spindly tops of a plant that seems to have the dried remains of tiny aster-like flowers
1539 Stopping off at the rodent hollow, nothing looks to have changed since my last visit. And peering in with my flashlight, I find no residents at home. Moving on, I follow the outer-most line of poplars and cottonwoods, running parallel to the river, but with a sandy willow flat separating them. About twice my height above, I spot what looks like it must have been one of this-year's downy woodpecker cavities. It's fairly recent and unweathered, but too high up on an almost branchless stump for me to be able to look inside. There are a lot of candidates for who may have lived there once the woodpecker originally excavated
1600 The next two nests I find are set in the crooks of narrow-leaf cotton branches, where the branches meet their respective trees. They would have been well in a different season, as both trees are supporting tangles of mature clematis, wound so tight as to cinch many of the lower branches down. These two nests are cup-shaped, made of grass and thin, dark roots (the latter look to me very much like some of the roots exposed on the sand and rocks nearer the river). The cups are not entirely symmetrical, which may have more to do with their placement among the constricting clematis, but they are mud-walled on the inside, which makes me think they belong to robins. One of the nests is out of my reach, but the other I pull down. Its bowl is filled with fallen (or placed) cottonwood leaves. When I remove these leaves, I find there's a grass lining that has been laid-down on the bottom, over the mud wall. I see some rodent droppings in there as well, but it does not look warm enough to be a rodent nest. More-likely just a safe stop-over when a mouse has something it wants to sit and munch on
1614 Moving on, I come to a poplar stump about my height with a natural cavity just below eye-level. I peek in with my flashlight and see that about eight inches down from the cavity entrance there's a platform of grass and fiber from the inner bark of poplar. And just a bit further along there is a similar sized stump with three entrances leading to what seems a single central cavity. One of the entry holes is the familiar, small circle of a downy woodpecker. The other two, though, are somewhat elongated
1648 Checking nearby for other such cavities, I find a tree that has, in the past, lost one of its lower limbs. The bark has healed, but there is still an exposure to the inner wood, and this is thickly encrusted with some kind of whitish-orange fungus or sap. It's powdery when crushed between my fingers, which makes me think fungus. But the crust is greater at the lower end of the wound, which makes me think it's a pool of sap. In any case, it looks to me as though something has been eating this substance, perhaps a mouse, as such sign only exists near where there is bark to stand on
1641 While I'm looking over the stumps and cavity nests, a flock of about thirty aapsspini passes, coming from downriver and moving up over the top of the coulee rim to the south. Four mule deer does watch me from the mid-forest meadow as I observe the geese. From here, I can also see my lean-to across the meadow, reminding me that I intend to add a little more to its walls before I leave. And in the canopy heights of one of the poplars near my lean-to, there's a sizeable hawk nest. No sooner do I notice this nest than I hear the cry of a redtail nearby. I search the trees and skies in the dimming light, but don't see it. Then the bird emerges, crying and flying straight at me. It banks suddenly about twenty meters in front of me, and quickly disappears into another part of the forest
1658 Just after the strange hawk encounter, one of the mule does begins walking straight toward me. I stand perfectly still as she proceeds, a few steps at a time, taking an opportunity to scan for danger with all her senses at every pause. This goes on for about ten minutes before she is very close to me. I'm surprised, the wind must be carrying my scent right to her. Eventually she does catch it, and there's a moment of startled recognition before she hops away across the meadow. But it doesn't end there. Just as she’s leaving, two of this year's fawns approach, this time from upwind. And as with the doe, they don't seem to notice me standing there. What they do notice is another deer snorting on the opposite side of me, very close. I slowly turn my gaze to look for the snorting deer, and it emerges from the trees as I do. It's another adult doe. I am flanked by deer now, all at fairly close range. I start to wonder if they're coming toward me for a purpose. Do I smell good? Are they going to speak to me like in the old stories? Or is it just that, standing still amidst this line of trees, I appear to be part of the forest edge zone to them?
1720 As I wait to see what will happen with these deer, my fingers and face begin to chill. There's a pair of great horned owls singing to one another from across the river. My nose is running from one nostril, a cold liquid flow down my upper lip, but I don't dare sniff or wipe at it. I just wait as the three come closer and closer. The doe continues to snort on occasion, and a thought comes to me that perhaps these are her two fawns, and I just happen to have come dangerously between them. At this thought, I decide to move just a bit, to let them know - calmly and quietly - that I am here. I use my arms, slipping gloves over my hands. This is enough for the deer, they take a few hops away. And since it is getting so dark and I know Piipiiaakii will be expecting me home soon, I decide it's enough for me as well
1730 I walk slowly across the meadow to the lean-to. The deer are not surprised, they move away, but not beyond the meadow's perimeter. I realize I need to spend a full day down here to really get the survival shelter whipped into shape. All the same, I take a moment to collect a few more logs and fit them in place before I leave. I have to move carefully to get out of the forest in the dark. I can see the deer trails enough to follow them, but I don't want to step in any holes. Finally I arrive to the sagebrush flats, and from there move upriver to the trail that will take me back along a gradual slope to my truck
1745 The coyotes begin to howl when I'm about half-way up the coulee. They're singing and barking from the other side, across the river. After about five minutes, they stop and all grows quiet again. It's too dark to see much of what's around me. Between the coyote chorus and the time I reach the truck, I daydream of what it will be like to spend a few cold, snowy sleeps out here this winter, observing the drama at the open crags of river-water by day, tucked away and listening to all the nocturnal sounds from the wooden shelter by night
IIII ) lllllllllllllllllllllllll Shore Lodge Upriver (14Nov09)
0833 The magpies of Riverstone are busy with their house to house morning search for grub caught in spiderwebs
1458 Sspopiikimi - big changes since our last visit. With exception of small pools on the south side of both the ksisskstakioyis and the mi'sohpsskioyis (muskrat lodge), the pond surface has now completely frozen over. All of the mallards, wigeons, and coots have moved on
1518 Five aapsspini fly overhead when we first arrive. The iced surface of the pond is white with the dusting of snow received this morning. We hike straight along the west bank, me pushing Piipiiaakii in her chair, making our way toward the river. As we pass by the bulberry thickets and high coulee slopes of the south end, we stop at the twittering sound of a small bird. If we knew all our songs, we might be able to identify it. But as things stand, we scan the environment around us, hoping the bird will emerge. A magpie seems to laugh at us from the forest across the pond. For a few minutes, we think maybe the bird has gone. But then I hear it again and start moving toward the sound. Eventually I trace it to a patch of buckbrush, and as I close in it begins to sound like two birds. They're close, and I scan the brush intensely in search of them. Just then, a large flock of geese erupt from the river, probably three hundred of them, and a plane passes overhead. With all the noise, I start losing track of the smaller bird. I begin to think maybe it's gone again, that it’s used the sound interference as cover to flee. But then there's a hint of movement in my peripheral. I look over just in time to see two birds, one after the other, emerge from the buckbrush. I only get a few glimpses as they move from branch to branch away up the side of the coulee. They're small, warbler size at best, and bluish-grey in color, with flashes of white and yellow. One has a distinct yellow stripe on its head, reminding me of a yellow-rumped warbler. But I can't be sure. They move too fast and too concealed in the brush. Before I know it, they are up the side of the coulee and away
1548 I return to Piipiiaakii, who's been slowly making her way up the gradual hill to the high levee that runs between the pond and the river. She's upset that I disappeared in search of the little bird, leaving her to find her own means up the slope in her chair, although I thought she'd known what I was up to. In any case, by the time we reach the river, a cold wind picks up, and Piipiiaakii's feeling sore and tired. Temperature shifts really affect her condition, so after a quick peek at the half dozen mallards sitting on a block of ice beside the still largely unfrozen river, we turn to head back
1546 We are almost to the truck again when Piipiiaakii catches a flash of wing movement from a bird who's just flown below the cutbank on the north end of the pond. I walk to the edge of the bank to check it out, and though I don't see anything at first, a red-shafted northern flicker soon darts out from below and comes to land in a nearby poplar tree. We watch the flicker, hoping it will come back down to continue whatever it was doing. I want to know if these birds are the destroyers of ant hives, and I know there are some nearby. The flicker, for its part, watches us for a bit, and then gives up and dives out to another area in the absinthe field. We slowly pursue. But again, when we get near, and before actually relocating the bird ourselves, it notes our approach and flies to land in a neighboring tree. This time, the flicker begins making a repetitive, one-chirp call that I take to be alarm or agitation. And after a few minutes of this, it flies away
1603 We are very close to the truck now, and Piipiiaakii is ready to retreat to its promise of warmth. But we spot an exposed nest in a bit of chokecherry brush, and I'm sent in to confirm our suspicion that it had belonged to a robin. Indeed, this must have been the case. The nest was a classic symmetrical, grass-woven, mud-lined bowl. Inside, there were a few dry chokecherry leaves, and beneath these two cherry pits that had been gnawed into from one side, likely the work of a deer mouse
1609 That might have been the end of our visit, had another nest not appeared to us from within a low clump of young bulberry on the outskirts of the parking lot. This one was different. It was a loose, shallow bowl, woven with grasses and other plants, as well as fluff from cottonwood seeds, and who knows what else. This nest would require a closer inspection, so I lifted it out of the branches and brought it to the truck with us. We intend to look at it at home and try to identify some of the other plants used in its construction, along with who might have made it. But we probably won't take it apart to do a count of how many stems were collected. I don't know what would be gained by doing so. Rather, we'll return the nest to its place when we've looked it over, and put a little food offering in there for any mice or others who might be using it
1621 As we drive away, Piipiiaakii and I start discussing something that's on both of our minds - the need for an alternate site conducive to her phenological study no matter the weather condition. In other words, someplace we could park the vehicle, where she could remain inside as need be and yet still be able to conduct some interesting observations. The most obvious place we can think of to do this is also the closest to our home
1639 Popson Park - we've driven down to test this place as a winter alternative site for Piipiiaakii. Here we can pull up to the end of one of the roads, situating her in a grove of poplar and willow, close to and within sight of the river. There are also paths that start from this point that she can wander, when a
ble, while still being near shelter
1646 While Piipiiaakii sits in the truck, I get out and walk a path downriver. There's much to explore here, and if I were to walk in the opposite direction, I would eventually follow a bend in the river and come to my regular winter study site, Akaiinissko
1650 With daylight quickly receding, I want to hustle downstream to where this path meets the coulee cliffs, and work my way back from there. I'm not looking around too carefully. This is just a cursory survey, to find out if there's enough here to keep me occupied and learning. The path I'm taking is on a high shelf of the flood plain that runs just above a single line of poplars. About halfway to my destination, two flickers fly along this tree-line, heading back toward Piipiiaakii. The one in the rear is making a raccoon-like warbling sound
1701 I've come almost to the cliffs and, though there's not much for forest here, there's still plenty to see. I can't wait to come back in fuller daylight. I've noticed lots of old nests in the brush as I've come along and, cutting down below the tree line, into the willow growth closer to the river, I'm seeing signs of beaver activity
1705 Pushing my way quickly along trails through the willows, I've located the ksisskstakioyis of this stretch of the river. It's a shore lodge, without much obvious construction, but there's a massive winter food cache laid atop and beside it. All of this wood - mostly diamond willow - has been laid on shore, with very few stems hanging into the water. Now this is curious. But the river flows pretty fast and shallow here, maybe this beaver family has a lodge entrance that opens above the waterline. I won't know until we visit again, as it's too dark to really see at present
1715 Back at the truck, Piipiiaakii doesn't have much to report. Still, the site is promising. We may come back tomorrow with a food offering that can be left within view of the truck
IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllllllll Shore Cache (15Nov09)
0630 Dottie wakes me before dawn, just as I'd requested. Outside, heavy wind gusts are battering the synthetic siding of the houses of Riverstone. Should I get dressed and go to the coulee anyway? Yeah, I'd better. I'll regret it if I don't
0758 When I arrive at Minii, my stalking grounds, Naato'si has already lit the coulee with an indirect day-glow. I could see, driving in, that much more of the river has frozen overnight. Though sheltered by the coulee cliffs, the wind is still gusting strong down here. I drive to the same upriver site Piipiiaakii had last visited, park by the bulberry thickets, and begin walking in
0815 Though all the leaves have fallen in this forest, the well-trodden cattle and deer trails through the underbrush are wide enough that the wind has cleared a lot of the debris, at least enough that I am able to move quietly. I wind through the bulberries, passing under the old hornet nest set high in a poplar, eventually passing into an area with saskatoon, buckbrush, and red osier. There, I locate the fallen tree whose still bark-covered trunk will serve as my blind, and I sit down beside this log to wait and watch
0825 The massive poplars and cottonwoods are swaying almost as limber as the prairie grass in this wind. Twice already I've heard loud cracks and crashes as parts of the canopy have been snapped under the pressure. I feel secure beside this massive log, which should act as a breakfall for anything that comes plummeting my way. Right in front of this log, overlooking the midforest clearing, is a wonderful mature cottonwood, with a trunk that forks about twelve feet off the ground into three sturdy, close-set, rising limbs. It looks like this would make a great host for a tree-stand
0830 The first deer of the morning have entered the clearing. They are three whitetails, a doe and two subadult fawns. The doe is in the lead and she senses my presence, but can't see me. This is both a benefit and an obstacle, because she's relatively close to my position, but fairly obscured by a clump of saskatoon brush. I draw my arrow anyway and hold, hoping that she will move into a better position, or that any shot I do take will not be deflected off the brush. I wonder if she can intuit the rising danger. It seems as though she can, because she is looking at me, or for me, through the brush, jutting her neck out, raising and lowering her head. She turns and I can see her profile. She may be turning to leave, this may be my only opportunity. I release, "Thrum!" The doe takes a leap away and halts. I wonder if she stopped because I hit her? No, she's taking a few steps back this way now, even more cautious to learn what's back here. I quickly ready another arrow, draw back, aim, exhale, and release, "Thrum!" Another miss. The doe turns and dances away, the subadult fawns following. It's no shocker to me that I've failed. The shots were not perfect and clear, and I’m dealing with heavy wind. No doubt the saskatoons thwarted my efforts. I should have waited, I should have had more patience
0845 Luckily, it doesn't take me long to find the two arrows, their bright white and yellow fletching easily seen against the earthy-orange leaves covering the ground in the clearing. I hope my five minute scour of the area to locate these arrows, in addition to my failed shots a few minutes earlier, have not sent all the nearby deer into high alert. I sit back down at my log and wait
0910 It’s been almost forty-five minutes since those first three awatoyi passed. I'm wondering if they've told others, if this clearing is now to be avoided for the rest of the day. I decide to get up and take a walk. I'm cold, one of my legs is asleep, and I'd like to see if I can find another good location
0931 I'm walking a meandering, sunwise path through the forest, following the deer trails. On route, I pass two niipomakii flittering between a clump of saskatoon and an old, partially eroded log. I'm seeing plenty of deer sign around - dung, both fresh and old, as well as scrapings against saskatoon stems that remind me there's at least one resident buck. As I make my round and start heading back upriver, I catch sight of a large doe leaping away from me in the distance. She'd be going toward my truck, so I continue on in that direction
0956 My path has brought me full circle, back to my log, and to the realization that this is probably one of best sites in this particular forest at which to encounter roaming awatoyiiksi. I sit back down and am prepared now to pass one more hour here before returning home. A downy woodpecker is digging for grubs in a deadwood limb of one of the trees beside me. I sense that my opportunity may have passed for this visit. My only hope is that the resident buck, who to my knowledge has not seen me, will take a stroll through
1105 The hour has passed quicker than expected, and no sign of anything else approaching the clearing. The deer probably won't return there till dusk. I've packed up, hiked back to the truck, and driven downriver to the island proper. On the short route through the forest in between these sites, I caught the wagging tail of that large doe, again dashing away. I also saw a few magpies gliding between the trees. At this point, I should go home, but I just want to quickly check the beds where the awatoyi often seem to lay with the pheasants
1115 No luck. I've walked out to the bedding area in the bulberry brambles on the island, and nothing scared up. Heading out to pick up Piipiiaakii and Sheen for lunch, and see where the afternoon takes us
1334 This wind blows
1352 Popson Park - Piipiiaakii and I returned to her new alternate site. When we first pulled in and parked, we waited while a woman walked her dog nearby. Below us, in the river, we could see groups of aapsspini and chunks of ice drifting by. We wanted the woman with the dog to leave so that we could put a food offering out by the river, within view of the truck, that Piipiiaakii could watch while I went out to explore. No doubt the magpies would feast, and it might even draw an eagle. But as we waited, who should pull up and park beside us but Pat Twigg, off to do a couple hours of coulee visit for the research methods course Ki'naksaapo'p, Cynthia and I are teaching in the MEd program
I rolled down my window to acknowledge Pat and offer a few pointers on the assignment. After we got to talking, it seemed the best thing to do was just take a walk through the area together. So after setting the offering out by the river for Piipiiaakii, and despite the lingering presence of the dog woman, that's what we did
Pat and I moved downriver along pretty much the same route I'd followed last night. As we went along, I pointed out different plants and features, gave their Blackfoot and Western common names, and talked a bit about their qualities, traditional applications, or natural histories. We covered all three species of a'siitsiksimm, as well as aaatsistaotsipiis, clematis, broomweed, asparagus, sweetclover, buckbrush, hairy golden aster, aahsowa, awnless brome, absinthe, moss phlox, ninnaika'ksimo, aakiika'ksimi, and akspii. I pointed out robin, northern flicker, and bald-faced hornet nests, talked a bit about the aapsspini on the river, and led us over to the ksisskstakioyis. There, I shared what I'd recently learned about beaver winter food caches, and why this particular beaver family's habit of storing their food on shore was odd. My suspicion was that they had a lodge entrance located somewhere on shore that would allow them access to their resources once the river froze
We didn't have to look far to confirm my suspicion. There was a well-used slide coming up from the river's edge beside their shore-lodge and continuing to the top of the bank above it. No doubt this slide is used to drag willows down to the water, but it's still wider and more defined than other such slides, enough so to make me suspicious that it's used for other purposes as well. Following the slide up the cutbank, we came upon a large sinkhole, on the side of which was an entrance leading down into the lodge. My thinking now is that this sinkhole must be the collapse of a previous lodge chamber, and the family just adapted by repositioning their main dorm further down the bank (an area now covered with chewed wood, mud, and rocks, ending in shallow water). Yet they kept their old tunnel open above. Have they gone around normal beaver protocol to so so because of how this tunnel allows them access to land even during the thickest ice-overs? Or is it because the water is so shallow in front of their lodge that they fear getting trapped completely inside? Is it a combination of these factors? Aren't they concerned about the coyotes who, no doubt, will find this secondary access route and enter their lodge?
Right now the beavers don't appear to be coming and going from their shore entrance. The area around it is far too littered with leaves and other debris, and the slick trail from the river's edge up this slope tells me they're currently using an underwater access. Still, I'm going to hypothesize that they begin coming and going from the shore entrance on top of the cutbank once the river freezes. Even if they do though, it may not resolve too much in terms of my understanding. Like any good mystery, locating the shore-entrance I'd expected to find brought only more questions. Do other beaver families with similar cave-ins or shallow waters near their entrances do the same? If they are able to access land even when the river's frozen, then why cache food at all? Or why not cache it by the shore entrance? Obviously they're aware that they needn't store their food in the river. Do they place the cache by the river because, when at all possible, they intend on accessing it only by the underwater lodge entrance, so that they can stay near their aquatic safety zone?
Lots to learn here, and I'm glad Pat was on hand, both to give me practice articulating these thoughts, and because what we did in just the simple matter of checking the area for this second entrance and asking questions is precisely the kind of inquiry-based engagement with these places that we're trying to teach his cohort to do
After visiting the beaver lodge, Pat was wondering if there were any sinopaa (fox) dens around. I told him that I'd never seen any sinopaa on this stretch of the river, which didn't mean there were none, but what I had encountered many, many times were aapi'si (coyote). We then went up the coulee slope a ways further downriver in search of possible coyote dens
As we climbed, our conversation turned toward my slithering friends and their habits. Pat had been reading my blog, and was wondering what kind of micro-habitat was best for their hibernacula. I told him that the ones I knew of were on south facing slopes, about half-way down from the coulee rim, within sheltered dips or shelves of land. I pointed to some possible hibernaculum locations on the slopes a little further above us, not mentioning that I actually suspected there to be a den somewhere in this area. But my precautionary withholding didn't make a difference. That there were possible areas conducive to hosting hibernacula above us was enough to convince Pat we shouldn't walk up that way. He felt he'd had enough of a cram-course in Old Man River coulee ecology for one day.
We walked back to our vehicles, had a smoke, and Pat went off to the university to write-up his experience. It was an important lesson for me. Several students in Pat's cohort had been struggling with how to conduct their required, weekly inquiries outdoors. Perhaps, as Pat pointed out, and as Cynthia had originally planned, we should have taken the whole group on a walk to start-off the semester, and give them a little guided experience in what it was we expected them to do
After Pat left, I jumped back in the truck with Piipiiaakii. The food offering we'd brought was still laying out by the river, untouched, though almost three hours had passed. Piipiiaakii explained that right after we'd walked away, two women had come in separate vehicles to take their dogs for walks. Both had gone to stand beside the offering and let their dogs run on the riverbank, while keeping an eye on their vehicles. The dogs had immediately chased away all the geese and, at one point, Piipiiaakii dozed off for forty-five minutes, only to look up and see the women still there. She was frustrated, and I don't blame her
0902 Too nice a morning to pass up a survey of the canal on the way to work
0909 Between the 509 and Innokimi, we first encounter three magpies on the bank of the canal, who fly off as we approach, landing briefly in nearby willows, but then moving on to the BTAP stubble-fields. Then we come across about a dozen grey partridge, who were high on the bank above the access road, but flew to the other side of the canal all the same when they saw us coming through. On the road itself, there were two horned larks. And when we arrived at Innokimi, far back toward the distant shore we can see six or seven swans. No doubt there are plenty of ducks down here too, but the lake's surface is nowhere near as covered with fowl as it was last week
0932 Between Innokimi and Mookoan Reservoir, we find more magpies feeding in the stubble-fields. No owls today. Both Piipiiaakii and I suspect the kakanottsstookii we found dead on the 509 yesterday morning was the one who normally hunts the canal
0939 As at Innokimi, the waters of Mookoan Reservoir are virtually empty of birds. We find just six trumpeter swans: a mother with her three grey-colored young, and a single mature pair. I'm surprised to find so few birds here overall. Hard to believe that those we saw last week represented the peak of this year's migration. I hope not
1634 Sspopiikimi - The Sun is already fallen from view when we arrive, lighting just the tops of the east side of the coulee. There's a cold wind this evening, making the water on the pond choppy. All the dried plants are drab shades of yellow, grey and red, the colors of the earth from which they emerged
1652 It's just a quick walk to the ksisskstakioyis and back. The wind is too cold, and Piipiiaakii isn't dressed for this weather. In any case, far fewer sa'aiksi on the pond these days. North of the ksisskstakioyis there are just four mi'ksikatsi, seven american wigeons, and a lone aiksikksksisi. These birds are fairly spread out. Two male mallards and three wigeons hug the east shore near the bulrush tufts behind the muskrat lodge. The lone coot is out in the middle of the pond, diving for milfoil, with a wigeon lurking just above, waiting to steal a meal. South of there, also along the east shore, are three more wigeons and a mallard couple. I suspect it won't be long before all but a few of these birds clear-out for winter
IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllll Oyiiyis (11Nov09)
1056 Alexander Wilderness Park, Sikoohkotoki - Today Ki'naksaapo'p and I join one of our students, Charleton Weasel Head, at his chosen study site. I've never been down this part of the coulee before, so I'm excited to see what's here. I'm the first to arrive to the parking area at the bottom of the access road. The skies are clear, but there's a bit of wind, and it's a chilly day, though nothing like what's in store for us later in the season
1103 I decide to poke around on the cliffs near the parking lot while I wait for them to show. There's a fat, but young, four-tine mule buck grazing the cliff opposite that which I'm climbing. It doesn't seem at all concerned about my presence. Obviously it knows it's in a protected area. When I get to a high shelf of the cliff though, three whitetail does jump out from some brush below and run toward the river. The whitetails’ reaction is quite different than that of the mule deer buck, who's now staring up the draw along the entry road
1118 The buck continues to stare for about five minutes. Then I hear the sound of a dog barking from that direction, and this scares the buck into making a short run to get further up the side of the coulee. Ki'naksaapo'p and Charleton are pulling up. I'm going to meet them
1139 The three of us make our way down the established path toward the river. Along this route, Ki'naksaapo'p points out important features: the layer of alkali-topped glacial till on the cliffs, how our agricultural projects are having a similar alkali-lifting effect, and the Blackfoot names of some plants. I direct our attention toward siiksinoko (creeping juniper) and talk about Soaatsaakii, the okaan, and the use of juniper in vision questing
1148 Some of the words and other things Ki'naksaapo'p introduced that I wasn't aware of before: kaaniiksi (deadwood), ipoyikaaniiksi (standing deadwood, preferred firewood), use of dry maanikapi flowerhead as sponge for enjoying soup, iitsiki'tsiisaokii (prairie in the coulee bottom)
1156 As we explore the brush, still moving toward the river, a bald eagle passes overhead. We stop to look at and talk about all the different berry plants, as well as flicker cavities and a bald-faced hornet nest
1219 On the river there's a large flock of perhaps four-hundred mi'ksikatsi. I suspect ma ksikkihkini (the eagle) is hunting them
1243 Walking back up the path to our vehicles, Ki'naksaapo'p speaks about having a relationship to all these plants and animals. About half-way up, we come across an ant hill that has been dug out. I see no footprints to indicate what animal had done this, but the ants were hard at work putting their lodge back together. I'd have liked to sit there and watch them, but we were on our way
1445 Akaiinissko - Nitsitsskoo my familiar kawaahkoyi. This morning's hike was enjoyable and informative, a kind of Blackfoot inventory of Charleton's study site, an important first step in learning from a place. But for me, it was like a teaser in the opportunities passed. What might we have learned if we'd sat a while and watched the sa'aiksi, or ksikkihkini, or the ants? I feel compelled to get right back out to my winter site, which I'm visiting more and more often as the season shifts, to search for more lessons. I'm a learning junkie
1450 I've left my heavy camera backpack at home, opting for just my fanny-pack with a few tools: an elph camera, a knife, a small flashlight, my flip mino. It's a trade-off for mobility purposes, given that I have only a couple hours of sunlight left to work with. But not knowing what I'll encounter, there's no telling if the decision will be regretted
1458 I have a few objectives in mind, though I don't know if there'll be adequate sunlight left to fill all of them, and I'm never so firm in my agenda as to not respond to important happenstance encounters. But just in case, I would like to start surveying the birds' nests down here, those used over the breeding period of niipo and now abandoned, this in hopes of learning more about what was hidden while the leaves were out. I'd also like to check back on the rodent nest in the hollow stump, to visit The Twin, and to rack a few more logs on the side of my lean-to
1504 Most of what I'd like to see this evening is in the coulee bottom. So I hustle down the shallow-incline trail that leads to the upriver end of the flood-plane
1512 Toward the bottom of the slope, as it transitions to sagebrush flat, my path crosses with several of those rust-brown fuzzy caterpillars. Always, when I see them, they are just inching their way across my trail
1521 Soon I'm by the forest, scanning the buckbrush, saskatoons, chokecherries, and low poplar limbs for bird nests. The first I find is the relatively loosely-placed grass platform of a mourning dove, waist-high in the branches of a bulberry bush. Among the grasses used for this project, I recognize the seed heads of blue gramma. But there are others as well, including the spindly tops of a plant that seems to have the dried remains of tiny aster-like flowers
1539 Stopping off at the rodent hollow, nothing looks to have changed since my last visit. And peering in with my flashlight, I find no residents at home. Moving on, I follow the outer-most line of poplars and cottonwoods, running parallel to the river, but with a sandy willow flat separating them. About twice my height above, I spot what looks like it must have been one of this-year's downy woodpecker cavities. It's fairly recent and unweathered, but too high up on an almost branchless stump for me to be able to look inside. There are a lot of candidates for who may have lived there once the woodpecker originally excavated
1600 The next two nests I find are set in the crooks of narrow-leaf cotton branches, where the branches meet their respective trees. They would have been well in a different season, as both trees are supporting tangles of mature clematis, wound so tight as to cinch many of the lower branches down. These two nests are cup-shaped, made of grass and thin, dark roots (the latter look to me very much like some of the roots exposed on the sand and rocks nearer the river). The cups are not entirely symmetrical, which may have more to do with their placement among the constricting clematis, but they are mud-walled on the inside, which makes me think they belong to robins. One of the nests is out of my reach, but the other I pull down. Its bowl is filled with fallen (or placed) cottonwood leaves. When I remove these leaves, I find there's a grass lining that has been laid-down on the bottom, over the mud wall. I see some rodent droppings in there as well, but it does not look warm enough to be a rodent nest. More-likely just a safe stop-over when a mouse has something it wants to sit and munch on
1614 Moving on, I come to a poplar stump about my height with a natural cavity just below eye-level. I peek in with my flashlight and see that about eight inches down from the cavity entrance there's a platform of grass and fiber from the inner bark of poplar. And just a bit further along there is a similar sized stump with three entrances leading to what seems a single central cavity. One of the entry holes is the familiar, small circle of a downy woodpecker. The other two, though, are somewhat elongated
1648 Checking nearby for other such cavities, I find a tree that has, in the past, lost one of its lower limbs. The bark has healed, but there is still an exposure to the inner wood, and this is thickly encrusted with some kind of whitish-orange fungus or sap. It's powdery when crushed between my fingers, which makes me think fungus. But the crust is greater at the lower end of the wound, which makes me think it's a pool of sap. In any case, it looks to me as though something has been eating this substance, perhaps a mouse, as such sign only exists near where there is bark to stand on
1641 While I'm looking over the stumps and cavity nests, a flock of about thirty aapsspini passes, coming from downriver and moving up over the top of the coulee rim to the south. Four mule deer does watch me from the mid-forest meadow as I observe the geese. From here, I can also see my lean-to across the meadow, reminding me that I intend to add a little more to its walls before I leave. And in the canopy heights of one of the poplars near my lean-to, there's a sizeable hawk nest. No sooner do I notice this nest than I hear the cry of a redtail nearby. I search the trees and skies in the dimming light, but don't see it. Then the bird emerges, crying and flying straight at me. It banks suddenly about twenty meters in front of me, and quickly disappears into another part of the forest
1658 Just after the strange hawk encounter, one of the mule does begins walking straight toward me. I stand perfectly still as she proceeds, a few steps at a time, taking an opportunity to scan for danger with all her senses at every pause. This goes on for about ten minutes before she is very close to me. I'm surprised, the wind must be carrying my scent right to her. Eventually she does catch it, and there's a moment of startled recognition before she hops away across the meadow. But it doesn't end there. Just as she’s leaving, two of this year's fawns approach, this time from upwind. And as with the doe, they don't seem to notice me standing there. What they do notice is another deer snorting on the opposite side of me, very close. I slowly turn my gaze to look for the snorting deer, and it emerges from the trees as I do. It's another adult doe. I am flanked by deer now, all at fairly close range. I start to wonder if they're coming toward me for a purpose. Do I smell good? Are they going to speak to me like in the old stories? Or is it just that, standing still amidst this line of trees, I appear to be part of the forest edge zone to them?
1720 As I wait to see what will happen with these deer, my fingers and face begin to chill. There's a pair of great horned owls singing to one another from across the river. My nose is running from one nostril, a cold liquid flow down my upper lip, but I don't dare sniff or wipe at it. I just wait as the three come closer and closer. The doe continues to snort on occasion, and a thought comes to me that perhaps these are her two fawns, and I just happen to have come dangerously between them. At this thought, I decide to move just a bit, to let them know - calmly and quietly - that I am here. I use my arms, slipping gloves over my hands. This is enough for the deer, they take a few hops away. And since it is getting so dark and I know Piipiiaakii will be expecting me home soon, I decide it's enough for me as well
1730 I walk slowly across the meadow to the lean-to. The deer are not surprised, they move away, but not beyond the meadow's perimeter. I realize I need to spend a full day down here to really get the survival shelter whipped into shape. All the same, I take a moment to collect a few more logs and fit them in place before I leave. I have to move carefully to get out of the forest in the dark. I can see the deer trails enough to follow them, but I don't want to step in any holes. Finally I arrive to the sagebrush flats, and from there move upriver to the trail that will take me back along a gradual slope to my truck
1745 The coyotes begin to howl when I'm about half-way up the coulee. They're singing and barking from the other side, across the river. After about five minutes, they stop and all grows quiet again. It's too dark to see much of what's around me. Between the coyote chorus and the time I reach the truck, I daydream of what it will be like to spend a few cold, snowy sleeps out here this winter, observing the drama at the open crags of river-water by day, tucked away and listening to all the nocturnal sounds from the wooden shelter by night
IIII ) lllllllllllllllllllllllll Shore Lodge Upriver (14Nov09)
0833 The magpies of Riverstone are busy with their house to house morning search for grub caught in spiderwebs
1458 Sspopiikimi - big changes since our last visit. With exception of small pools on the south side of both the ksisskstakioyis and the mi'sohpsskioyis (muskrat lodge), the pond surface has now completely frozen over. All of the mallards, wigeons, and coots have moved on
1518 Five aapsspini fly overhead when we first arrive. The iced surface of the pond is white with the dusting of snow received this morning. We hike straight along the west bank, me pushing Piipiiaakii in her chair, making our way toward the river. As we pass by the bulberry thickets and high coulee slopes of the south end, we stop at the twittering sound of a small bird. If we knew all our songs, we might be able to identify it. But as things stand, we scan the environment around us, hoping the bird will emerge. A magpie seems to laugh at us from the forest across the pond. For a few minutes, we think maybe the bird has gone. But then I hear it again and start moving toward the sound. Eventually I trace it to a patch of buckbrush, and as I close in it begins to sound like two birds. They're close, and I scan the brush intensely in search of them. Just then, a large flock of geese erupt from the river, probably three hundred of them, and a plane passes overhead. With all the noise, I start losing track of the smaller bird. I begin to think maybe it's gone again, that it’s used the sound interference as cover to flee. But then there's a hint of movement in my peripheral. I look over just in time to see two birds, one after the other, emerge from the buckbrush. I only get a few glimpses as they move from branch to branch away up the side of the coulee. They're small, warbler size at best, and bluish-grey in color, with flashes of white and yellow. One has a distinct yellow stripe on its head, reminding me of a yellow-rumped warbler. But I can't be sure. They move too fast and too concealed in the brush. Before I know it, they are up the side of the coulee and away
1548 I return to Piipiiaakii, who's been slowly making her way up the gradual hill to the high levee that runs between the pond and the river. She's upset that I disappeared in search of the little bird, leaving her to find her own means up the slope in her chair, although I thought she'd known what I was up to. In any case, by the time we reach the river, a cold wind picks up, and Piipiiaakii's feeling sore and tired. Temperature shifts really affect her condition, so after a quick peek at the half dozen mallards sitting on a block of ice beside the still largely unfrozen river, we turn to head back
1546 We are almost to the truck again when Piipiiaakii catches a flash of wing movement from a bird who's just flown below the cutbank on the north end of the pond. I walk to the edge of the bank to check it out, and though I don't see anything at first, a red-shafted northern flicker soon darts out from below and comes to land in a nearby poplar tree. We watch the flicker, hoping it will come back down to continue whatever it was doing. I want to know if these birds are the destroyers of ant hives, and I know there are some nearby. The flicker, for its part, watches us for a bit, and then gives up and dives out to another area in the absinthe field. We slowly pursue. But again, when we get near, and before actually relocating the bird ourselves, it notes our approach and flies to land in a neighboring tree. This time, the flicker begins making a repetitive, one-chirp call that I take to be alarm or agitation. And after a few minutes of this, it flies away
1603 We are very close to the truck now, and Piipiiaakii is ready to retreat to its promise of warmth. But we spot an exposed nest in a bit of chokecherry brush, and I'm sent in to confirm our suspicion that it had belonged to a robin. Indeed, this must have been the case. The nest was a classic symmetrical, grass-woven, mud-lined bowl. Inside, there were a few dry chokecherry leaves, and beneath these two cherry pits that had been gnawed into from one side, likely the work of a deer mouse
1609 That might have been the end of our visit, had another nest not appeared to us from within a low clump of young bulberry on the outskirts of the parking lot. This one was different. It was a loose, shallow bowl, woven with grasses and other plants, as well as fluff from cottonwood seeds, and who knows what else. This nest would require a closer inspection, so I lifted it out of the branches and brought it to the truck with us. We intend to look at it at home and try to identify some of the other plants used in its construction, along with who might have made it. But we probably won't take it apart to do a count of how many stems were collected. I don't know what would be gained by doing so. Rather, we'll return the nest to its place when we've looked it over, and put a little food offering in there for any mice or others who might be using it
1621 As we drive away, Piipiiaakii and I start discussing something that's on both of our minds - the need for an alternate site conducive to her phenological study no matter the weather condition. In other words, someplace we could park the vehicle, where she could remain inside as need be and yet still be able to conduct some interesting observations. The most obvious place we can think of to do this is also the closest to our home
1639 Popson Park - we've driven down to test this place as a winter alternative site for Piipiiaakii. Here we can pull up to the end of one of the roads, situating her in a grove of poplar and willow, close to and within sight of the river. There are also paths that start from this point that she can wander, when a
ble, while still being near shelter1646 While Piipiiaakii sits in the truck, I get out and walk a path downriver. There's much to explore here, and if I were to walk in the opposite direction, I would eventually follow a bend in the river and come to my regular winter study site, Akaiinissko
1650 With daylight quickly receding, I want to hustle downstream to where this path meets the coulee cliffs, and work my way back from there. I'm not looking around too carefully. This is just a cursory survey, to find out if there's enough here to keep me occupied and learning. The path I'm taking is on a high shelf of the flood plain that runs just above a single line of poplars. About halfway to my destination, two flickers fly along this tree-line, heading back toward Piipiiaakii. The one in the rear is making a raccoon-like warbling sound
1701 I've come almost to the cliffs and, though there's not much for forest here, there's still plenty to see. I can't wait to come back in fuller daylight. I've noticed lots of old nests in the brush as I've come along and, cutting down below the tree line, into the willow growth closer to the river, I'm seeing signs of beaver activity
1705 Pushing my way quickly along trails through the willows, I've located the ksisskstakioyis of this stretch of the river. It's a shore lodge, without much obvious construction, but there's a massive winter food cache laid atop and beside it. All of this wood - mostly diamond willow - has been laid on shore, with very few stems hanging into the water. Now this is curious. But the river flows pretty fast and shallow here, maybe this beaver family has a lodge entrance that opens above the waterline. I won't know until we visit again, as it's too dark to really see at present
1715 Back at the truck, Piipiiaakii doesn't have much to report. Still, the site is promising. We may come back tomorrow with a food offering that can be left within view of the truck
IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllllllll Shore Cache (15Nov09)
0630 Dottie wakes me before dawn, just as I'd requested. Outside, heavy wind gusts are battering the synthetic siding of the houses of Riverstone. Should I get dressed and go to the coulee anyway? Yeah, I'd better. I'll regret it if I don't
0758 When I arrive at Minii, my stalking grounds, Naato'si has already lit the coulee with an indirect day-glow. I could see, driving in, that much more of the river has frozen overnight. Though sheltered by the coulee cliffs, the wind is still gusting strong down here. I drive to the same upriver site Piipiiaakii had last visited, park by the bulberry thickets, and begin walking in
0815 Though all the leaves have fallen in this forest, the well-trodden cattle and deer trails through the underbrush are wide enough that the wind has cleared a lot of the debris, at least enough that I am able to move quietly. I wind through the bulberries, passing under the old hornet nest set high in a poplar, eventually passing into an area with saskatoon, buckbrush, and red osier. There, I locate the fallen tree whose still bark-covered trunk will serve as my blind, and I sit down beside this log to wait and watch
0825 The massive poplars and cottonwoods are swaying almost as limber as the prairie grass in this wind. Twice already I've heard loud cracks and crashes as parts of the canopy have been snapped under the pressure. I feel secure beside this massive log, which should act as a breakfall for anything that comes plummeting my way. Right in front of this log, overlooking the midforest clearing, is a wonderful mature cottonwood, with a trunk that forks about twelve feet off the ground into three sturdy, close-set, rising limbs. It looks like this would make a great host for a tree-stand
0830 The first deer of the morning have entered the clearing. They are three whitetails, a doe and two subadult fawns. The doe is in the lead and she senses my presence, but can't see me. This is both a benefit and an obstacle, because she's relatively close to my position, but fairly obscured by a clump of saskatoon brush. I draw my arrow anyway and hold, hoping that she will move into a better position, or that any shot I do take will not be deflected off the brush. I wonder if she can intuit the rising danger. It seems as though she can, because she is looking at me, or for me, through the brush, jutting her neck out, raising and lowering her head. She turns and I can see her profile. She may be turning to leave, this may be my only opportunity. I release, "Thrum!" The doe takes a leap away and halts. I wonder if she stopped because I hit her? No, she's taking a few steps back this way now, even more cautious to learn what's back here. I quickly ready another arrow, draw back, aim, exhale, and release, "Thrum!" Another miss. The doe turns and dances away, the subadult fawns following. It's no shocker to me that I've failed. The shots were not perfect and clear, and I’m dealing with heavy wind. No doubt the saskatoons thwarted my efforts. I should have waited, I should have had more patience
0845 Luckily, it doesn't take me long to find the two arrows, their bright white and yellow fletching easily seen against the earthy-orange leaves covering the ground in the clearing. I hope my five minute scour of the area to locate these arrows, in addition to my failed shots a few minutes earlier, have not sent all the nearby deer into high alert. I sit back down at my log and wait
0910 It’s been almost forty-five minutes since those first three awatoyi passed. I'm wondering if they've told others, if this clearing is now to be avoided for the rest of the day. I decide to get up and take a walk. I'm cold, one of my legs is asleep, and I'd like to see if I can find another good location
0931 I'm walking a meandering, sunwise path through the forest, following the deer trails. On route, I pass two niipomakii flittering between a clump of saskatoon and an old, partially eroded log. I'm seeing plenty of deer sign around - dung, both fresh and old, as well as scrapings against saskatoon stems that remind me there's at least one resident buck. As I make my round and start heading back upriver, I catch sight of a large doe leaping away from me in the distance. She'd be going toward my truck, so I continue on in that direction
0956 My path has brought me full circle, back to my log, and to the realization that this is probably one of best sites in this particular forest at which to encounter roaming awatoyiiksi. I sit back down and am prepared now to pass one more hour here before returning home. A downy woodpecker is digging for grubs in a deadwood limb of one of the trees beside me. I sense that my opportunity may have passed for this visit. My only hope is that the resident buck, who to my knowledge has not seen me, will take a stroll through
1105 The hour has passed quicker than expected, and no sign of anything else approaching the clearing. The deer probably won't return there till dusk. I've packed up, hiked back to the truck, and driven downriver to the island proper. On the short route through the forest in between these sites, I caught the wagging tail of that large doe, again dashing away. I also saw a few magpies gliding between the trees. At this point, I should go home, but I just want to quickly check the beds where the awatoyi often seem to lay with the pheasants
1115 No luck. I've walked out to the bedding area in the bulberry brambles on the island, and nothing scared up. Heading out to pick up Piipiiaakii and Sheen for lunch, and see where the afternoon takes us
1334 This wind blows
1352 Popson Park - Piipiiaakii and I returned to her new alternate site. When we first pulled in and parked, we waited while a woman walked her dog nearby. Below us, in the river, we could see groups of aapsspini and chunks of ice drifting by. We wanted the woman with the dog to leave so that we could put a food offering out by the river, within view of the truck, that Piipiiaakii could watch while I went out to explore. No doubt the magpies would feast, and it might even draw an eagle. But as we waited, who should pull up and park beside us but Pat Twigg, off to do a couple hours of coulee visit for the research methods course Ki'naksaapo'p, Cynthia and I are teaching in the MEd program
I rolled down my window to acknowledge Pat and offer a few pointers on the assignment. After we got to talking, it seemed the best thing to do was just take a walk through the area together. So after setting the offering out by the river for Piipiiaakii, and despite the lingering presence of the dog woman, that's what we did
Pat and I moved downriver along pretty much the same route I'd followed last night. As we went along, I pointed out different plants and features, gave their Blackfoot and Western common names, and talked a bit about their qualities, traditional applications, or natural histories. We covered all three species of a'siitsiksimm, as well as aaatsistaotsipiis, clematis, broomweed, asparagus, sweetclover, buckbrush, hairy golden aster, aahsowa, awnless brome, absinthe, moss phlox, ninnaika'ksimo, aakiika'ksimi, and akspii. I pointed out robin, northern flicker, and bald-faced hornet nests, talked a bit about the aapsspini on the river, and led us over to the ksisskstakioyis. There, I shared what I'd recently learned about beaver winter food caches, and why this particular beaver family's habit of storing their food on shore was odd. My suspicion was that they had a lodge entrance located somewhere on shore that would allow them access to their resources once the river froze
We didn't have to look far to confirm my suspicion. There was a well-used slide coming up from the river's edge beside their shore-lodge and continuing to the top of the bank above it. No doubt this slide is used to drag willows down to the water, but it's still wider and more defined than other such slides, enough so to make me suspicious that it's used for other purposes as well. Following the slide up the cutbank, we came upon a large sinkhole, on the side of which was an entrance leading down into the lodge. My thinking now is that this sinkhole must be the collapse of a previous lodge chamber, and the family just adapted by repositioning their main dorm further down the bank (an area now covered with chewed wood, mud, and rocks, ending in shallow water). Yet they kept their old tunnel open above. Have they gone around normal beaver protocol to so so because of how this tunnel allows them access to land even during the thickest ice-overs? Or is it because the water is so shallow in front of their lodge that they fear getting trapped completely inside? Is it a combination of these factors? Aren't they concerned about the coyotes who, no doubt, will find this secondary access route and enter their lodge?
Right now the beavers don't appear to be coming and going from their shore entrance. The area around it is far too littered with leaves and other debris, and the slick trail from the river's edge up this slope tells me they're currently using an underwater access. Still, I'm going to hypothesize that they begin coming and going from the shore entrance on top of the cutbank once the river freezes. Even if they do though, it may not resolve too much in terms of my understanding. Like any good mystery, locating the shore-entrance I'd expected to find brought only more questions. Do other beaver families with similar cave-ins or shallow waters near their entrances do the same? If they are able to access land even when the river's frozen, then why cache food at all? Or why not cache it by the shore entrance? Obviously they're aware that they needn't store their food in the river. Do they place the cache by the river because, when at all possible, they intend on accessing it only by the underwater lodge entrance, so that they can stay near their aquatic safety zone?
Lots to learn here, and I'm glad Pat was on hand, both to give me practice articulating these thoughts, and because what we did in just the simple matter of checking the area for this second entrance and asking questions is precisely the kind of inquiry-based engagement with these places that we're trying to teach his cohort to do
After visiting the beaver lodge, Pat was wondering if there were any sinopaa (fox) dens around. I told him that I'd never seen any sinopaa on this stretch of the river, which didn't mean there were none, but what I had encountered many, many times were aapi'si (coyote). We then went up the coulee slope a ways further downriver in search of possible coyote dens
As we climbed, our conversation turned toward my slithering friends and their habits. Pat had been reading my blog, and was wondering what kind of micro-habitat was best for their hibernacula. I told him that the ones I knew of were on south facing slopes, about half-way down from the coulee rim, within sheltered dips or shelves of land. I pointed to some possible hibernaculum locations on the slopes a little further above us, not mentioning that I actually suspected there to be a den somewhere in this area. But my precautionary withholding didn't make a difference. That there were possible areas conducive to hosting hibernacula above us was enough to convince Pat we shouldn't walk up that way. He felt he'd had enough of a cram-course in Old Man River coulee ecology for one day.
We walked back to our vehicles, had a smoke, and Pat went off to the university to write-up his experience. It was an important lesson for me. Several students in Pat's cohort had been struggling with how to conduct their required, weekly inquiries outdoors. Perhaps, as Pat pointed out, and as Cynthia had originally planned, we should have taken the whole group on a walk to start-off the semester, and give them a little guided experience in what it was we expected them to do
After Pat left, I jumped back in the truck with Piipiiaakii. The food offering we'd brought was still laying out by the river, untouched, though almost three hours had passed. Piipiiaakii explained that right after we'd walked away, two women had come in separate vehicles to take their dogs for walks. Both had gone to stand beside the offering and let their dogs run on the riverbank, while keeping an eye on their vehicles. The dogs had immediately chased away all the geese and, at one point, Piipiiaakii dozed off for forty-five minutes, only to look up and see the women still there. She was frustrated, and I don't blame her
