Misamssootaa... The Long Rains

IIII ) llllllll Flooded Pond (10June11)

1656 Sspopiikimi - it's been a long absence, two weeks since my last visit. And during that time, and for at least a week prior to that, misamssootaa arrived, the long rains. And as might be expected, the pond and river have flooded. This evening I want to begin surveying, as well as I might, the response... who has suffered, who is benefitting, and why

1706 Even before I come within sight of the water, on my walk from the parking lot toward midpond, I find the robins have weathered the storm, though perhaps with some loss. In the cottonwood alongside the path, a robin couple has a single fledgling exploring the branches. Typically they would have four, but it is difficult for me to know whether the other three were lost to the wet and cold, or to predators. The nest is high enough that I can't peek in

1720 Leaving the robins, who are too alarmed at my presence to make further observation productive for now, I move to the bat tree at the cutbank of north-pond. From here I can see just how much the water has risen. It is like last year, all the way up to the forest edge-zone. Below me, there is a muskrat swimming back and forth along the bank, making a soft squeaking call. Soon he is joined by a mate who swims up beside him and is willing to receive his mount. The coupling looks awkward, with the male quickly sliding off and the female disappearing underwater. I continue to watch, as the male goes back to swimming and calling. Several times more, the female appears, he attempts to mount her, and rolls off unsuccessful. Finally, swimming out to deeper waters, I witness the efforts pay off. It's a brief but effective affair, and when it's over the female swims away to the opposite side of the pond, while the male returns to just below where I'm sitting, climbs up on a floating log, and cleans himself thoroughly for several minutes before sliding back underwater and out of sight

1752 I expect to find wandering garter snakes along the top of the cutbank, and in this I'm not mistaken. I come first across a large shed skin, then two snakes of equal size. All along the way, I see ponokaowahsin, the yellow puccoon, is in high bloom, as is the tartarian honeysuckle. Asparagus is just coming into flower. The golden currant and saskatoon have played out, and are now forming small, green berries. There are still some goldenbean in bloom, some in seed. On the opposite cutbank, below the levee, I see redwing blackbirds, and when I walk over to them I quickly spot one of the nests. It is in the buckbrush along the shoreline, and the male gives it away by dive-bombing me. The couple have five eggs, but aren't incubating yet. I'm pretty sure this would be their second attempt this season. No doubt they would have built their first in the reeds that are now, all but the tips, submersed

1826 The female mosquitoes are all about stabbing and sucking blood today. I'm not wearing poison on my body, so I try to just ignore them and let the ladies have what they need from me. Climbing up the levee, I see that the north wood is flooded out, the water having risen over the top of the river cutbank. There will be no bank swallow nests here this year, as last, and I've yet to see or hear any kingfishers today. Those I do encounter, when dropping into the forest main, are yellow warblers, catbirds, eastern kingbirds, and cedar waxwings. The latter are perched in a Russian olive tree in the wet meadows that is completely submersed at the trunk. From their perches, the waxwings are flittering down to nab things (insects presumably) off the surface of the water. I've never seen them do this before

1903 I have brought a game-cam with me today (RYECAM02), to set up in the dense bulberry thicket of the wet meadows. This clump of brush is at present an island completely surrounded by extension of flooded pond. I have to wade out through thigh-deep waters to reach it. Before I do, I wait for the mallards who are congregated here to depart. There is a mother with a single duckling, another mother with a small group of ducklings (perhaps six or seven), and another female who, when I initially arrive, is being gang-raped by four males. When these ducks become aware of my presence, they paddle away toward south-pond. I enter the water, and almost immediately see a little head pop up about ten or twelve meters away. I figure it for either a turtle or a snake, until it begins slithering through the water straight toward me, and then I know for sure it is a garter. The snake comes to me, investigating my leg. Then, realizing that I am a human being, in dives under the water and conceals itself none too well in some scouring rush. The snake is confident in it's hiding place, and doesn't move even when I crane my body overtop for a good look. I have no idea what was going on in this snake's mind. It obviously confused me with something else, but I have no idea what it could be. I leave the garter and continue to wade out to the bulrush island, find a good position for the camera along the tunnel trail that runs through the brush, then return to the main shore following a new beaver canal

1934 Continuing along the edge zone of the forest main and wet meadows (now pond), I pass at least half a dozen more dive-bombing redwing males. I don't bother making a nest count. I know they're there, and I will attend to that later this week, along with surveying the brush of the forest main itself, where there are no doubt a variety of nests. There is a notable absence of yellow-headed blackbirds, who prefer even more than redwings to place their nests over the water. On some of the submerged wet-meadow willows, there are both eastern and western kingbirds perching in close proximity to one another and, like the waxwings, plucking morsels from the pond surface. With the kingbirds though, this behavior is expected. I am noticing some damselfly bluets about, but no dragonflies yet. The beaver family is out, a couple of their members carrying big piles of mud to add to the top of their lodge, another munching on rabbit willow in the very wet meadows

2003 The last thing I check on in the wet meadows and forest main is the swainson nest. Sure enough, I can just see mama hawk peeking over the edge. Incubation is underway, and we'll be able to watch baby hawk education again. Leaving the forest, I climb the levee and move over toward the garter snake hibernaculum area by the river. Surprisingly enough, there's still a good number if snakes here. One is basking on a rock when I arrive. I turn another rock and find a young snake there, and while I'm looking at it a third, very large and ready to molt garter swings by to investigate. No doubt there are others still here as well. It's a good place, I suppose, to occupy year-round... lots of rock crags and rodents, southern exposure and close proximity to the river, but out of flood's normal reach. Speaking of floods, the Oldman is raging high, but the owl wood is relatively intact. Far more so than during last summer's event

2028 I finish my round with a walk along the west length of the pond, following the shale trail. The whole while, there is a redhead drake flying low, back and forth, from one end of the pond to the other. He eventually lands in north-pond, but only after making at least a dozen laps. On my route, I see the mallard mother with five or six ducklings. I also come across four geese who are together with four goslings. Two of the adults are slightly smaller, and I take them to be perhaps of last-year's brood. There is a coot couple at midpond when I pass, but no chicks. Their nest, probably the one from the south-pond marsh, must have sunk. I also spot a blue-wing teal drake, but no female. My final stop is at the thatching ant hive. The breeding swarm is over, and it's back to business as usual here, which tonight, at this moment anyway, consists of nothing more than the usual thatching activity

IIII ) lllllllll Nighthawk Display (11June11)

1948 Sspopiikimi - Mahoney wanted to take a post dinner walk, so we're out at the pond, making a counter-sunwise round. The dusk shadows are already coming over the water, and the mosquito presence is heavy

2021 There's so much going on here tonight, as we walk the shale trail along the west length, that it's hard to justify stopping to take notes, and so I don't... at least until we get to the bench overlooking the wide south pool. Like yesterday, there are robins and redwing blackbirds galore, yellow warblers singing in the trees, beavers carrying material up the lodge to increase it's height, and the thatching ants are still thatching. There is also a nighthawk in display above the pond this evening, and we encounter two goose families - the group of four adults and four goslings that I saw yesterday, and a single set of parents with another four goslings. We see the mother mallard with six ducklings, same as yesterday. But something I didn't note before was that there's a huge puddle of water down in the dip by the pump-house that runs the golf course sprinkler system. The chorus frogs are singing here as we approach, and then we notice there's also a mallard mama here. Her brood is large, maybe nine or ten ducklings. They scatter frantically across the water to hide in some half-immersed absinthe as we come near. When they hide, a magpie swoops in and perches above them, telling us where they are, waiting for us to act like real animals and kill one or more for food that they might share. With exception of the magpie, it occurs to me that this puddle use by the mama duck is incredibly brilliant. The greatest predator of ducklings here are the pike, and there are certainly none of those freshwater sharks in this puddle. So long as she can keep the wee ones from being hit by coyotes or hawks, they can feed here until a little larger, and greatly decrease the odds of becoming pike dinner when they again enter the pond

2130 We round south-pond, cut down to the duck blind (where we find another redwing nest with eggs), then hike through the forest main. There are hundreds of tree swallows gliding and swooping overhead, and the nighthawk continues to fly by in display. The swainson mama is diligently incubating. Her husband perches not far away, in the forest, constantly under mob attack by the redwings. A few of the plant events I failed to note yesterday... the star-flowered solomon's seal and leafy spurge are still in bloom, just as they were two weeks ago. The cottonwood and poplar panicles have played out, and they now have berries. The chokecherry are in full bloom, and there's purple wild vetch flowering in the forest. When we come back out onto the levee-walk at the north end, there is a killdeer on the trail. They don't have any river shores at present to nest or feed at. We sit down on the river bench for a quick break, and while I'm typing up these notes, listening to the robins and yellow warblers, a kingfisher passes by, flying low above the river, moving upstream

2154 Post-dusk darkness is setting in as we finish our route around north pond and back to the vehicle. A whitetail deer that had been laying down in some brush by the river startles and runs up and over the levee just a little ways in front of us, heading down into the forest main. At north-pond there are muskrats moving around in the reeds. The nighthawk dives and makes the fart-like noise after which his Blackfoot name, pisttoo, derives. We are lamenting not having spent more time out here already this summer, missing some of the details. Perhaps that will be amended from here out

IIII ) llllllllll Giant Water Bug Guards Eggs (12June11)

0920 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - I have only a couple hours to make a round-trip hike down to pull the last couple weeks of images off RYECAM01, so rather than noting everything, I'll stick to observations of the changes since my last visit

0959 From the coulee rim down to the rattlesnake hibernaculum (about halfway to the bottom), I'm aware mainly of some of the botanical differences since my previous survey. The dandelions near the rim are mainly in seed now, and there is far more wild vetch from this point down. I see the first blooms of yellow salsify and hound's tongue. The ma's, or prairie turnip, is almost there. Blue flax has erupted tremendously all over the place, as have the onions, butte marigold, black medick, narrow-leaf milkvetch, and missouri milkvetch. Some of the blue penstemon are generating seeds now, others are still in flower. The early yellow locoweed is starting to lose it's luster. All of this flowering and seed generation is going on, but I find surprisingly few insects. Those I have been seeing, primarily, are the butterflies. There are four of them with a strong presence: a sulphur (probably pink-rimmed), spring azure, a brilliant little orange butterfly that I've not been able to photograph yet for later identification, and (most prominently) the inornate ringlet

1051 From the hibernaculum, where I find no snakes, but a flattened bit of grass beside one of the den holes that suggests a large basker, I move onto the ridge above, follow it down to it's base, continue to near the flood plain, where I keep the camera, and return along the same route. Again, I take principal notice of the plants. The goldenbean has gone into seed production. The ball cactus is showing hints of flowers to come. Lower on the slope and in the meadows at the base are blooming yarrow, yellow sweetclover, blue-eyed grass, and prairie smoke. I also direct some attention toward the birds. There are three bald eagles moving in a wide circle above the coulee rim upstream. All around me are eastern and western kingbirds, the buzz of clay-colored sparrows, and the mews of catbirds. I flush a grey partridge, and I hear a ring-necked pheasant in the forest below. The one thatching ant hive that I usually check near the camera has been destroyed, a large pit dug straight into it. A few ants are on the scene yet, but hardly the scene it used to be. In the meadow grass, I find a very strange (suspected) fungus. It is a yellow mass, sponge-like in appearance, but far more damp and flimsy to the touch. I don't see that it has a grounded base, but it seems too large a mass to be insect eggs (note: checking my photographs from this moon last year, I found the same fungus growing on the trunk of a poplar tree). When I get to the camera, I learn that the little trail through the hawthorn brush is still being visited regularly by deer, coyotes, and porcupines. I also have my first image of a male pheasant, and several "empty" photos that will require further inspection on a wide monitor back home

1123 As I hike the rest of the way to the coulee rim, my only objective is to get a good photo of the small orange mystery butterfly. All of the species described on my way down are in the midst of mating. Eventually, near the top, the brilliant little one comes to land very close and seems almost to position itself purposely for the perfect posed photo, and just as quickly flutters away when I have done my job. (note: I identify it in the evening as Pearl Crescent)

1640 Sspopiikimi - it's such a warm day, we couldn't resist coming out for another walk. But the temperature has it's drawbacks too, and already, on our subwise route, we are neglecting to look very closely

1652 We've stuck to the shale trail, making our way around quickly to the shade of the forest main. Here perhaps we'll slow things down. Along the way, my eyes have been fixed to the trail, and any insects who happened to be crossing at our feet. There are many thatcher ants about today. One of them we saw carrying what appeared to be a segment of grub. We also came across two sidewalk carabids before we got to the forest, and one water beetle crossing the levee in about the same place we saw and photographed another at the beginning of summer. How they know there's a pond on one side and a river on the other is beyond me, separated as they are by the high levee. Perhaps we need to post a small "water beetle crossing" sign here. The bluets are out, though few of them yet, and there were at least thirty turtles of various age basking on the floating wood around the north-pond marsh

1748 Mahoney moves through the forest heading to the duck blind, while I wade out into the thigh-deep water of the wet meadows to access the small island of bulberries where I situated another game cam two days ago. This time, no garters come to meet me as I enter the water. I arrive on the island thankfully without leaches, and climb through the tunnel trail to my camera. It has taken several images that include mallard drakes, an unidentified small mammal in the night, crows and grackles... a cool assemblage, far different from what I'm getting off my other camera at the confluence. On my way back to the shore after downloading the pics, I came across the king insect of the pond - a giant water bug. It is huge, resembling a large cockroach. It is sitting atop a floating piece of wood, right beside and guarding a cluster of eggs. In all our years coming here, the only sign of these bugs we've seen are their backs, rising up like heavy raindrops on the pond surface. To find one exposed like this is a huge thrill

1848 Mahoney and I rendezvous at the duck blind, and then head up toward the garter snake hibernaculum. There is a large snake basking when we get there, but it quickly slithers out of sight. I then lift the same small rock where I found a young garter a few days ago. Nothing. Not even the small lasius pallitarsis ant colony who were hidden here before. As we walk away from the hibernaculum though, I have to stop short to avoid stepping right on top of a very young snake, one that must have just been born at the end of last summer. We continue around south-pond and along the shale trail that runs the west length, passing both goose families as we go. No sign today of the mallard mamas and their broods, but there's plenty of partially submerged grass and reeds to hide in. Near to where we turn off the trail to go to the car, there's a wide but shallow puddle. And to our surprise, this afternoon it's occupied by a large painted turtle. This is the time of year when they lay their eggs, while the ground is still soft from the rains. I suspect this turtle mama is planning to dig her nest here at the puddle's edge. Unfortunately, there are service vehicles that drive over this area. I pick her up and bring her back down to the pond, so that she can select a different site

Coyote, Rattler, And Thunder

IIII ) lllllllllllllllllllllll Coyote, Rattler, and Thunder (28May11)

1000 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - today is the annual May species count for the city of Lethbridge, and I have been asked to participate by generating a list of all the birds, mammals, insects, herps, and plants in bloom that I observe along my usual survey at the confluence

1012 It has been raining non-stop for more than a week now, so I don't know how many insects will be encountered, and it's very unlikely I'll be able to log rattlesnakes on the list this year, but with the aid of a flashlight and a willingness to peek into holes, we'll see what happens

1034 I begin my count from the moment I walk out my door, where there are magpies and crows visiting our back yard. On the short one kilometer drive from my door to the coulee rim above the confluence, I observe rock doves landing in a stubble field, brewers blackbirds searching for seeds in the same fields, mallard ducks, northern pintails, blue-winged teals and northern shovelers inhabiting prairie potholes, a whimbrel walking the shoreline of one of the potholes, American robins hunting worms on the gravel road, and a western meadowlark singing from atop a powerline. With the window of my vehicle open, I also hear boreal chorus frogs and killdeer

1113 Arriving at the coulee rim, I hear other meadowlarks, as well as Canada geese in the distance. A grey partridge flushes from the grass, and a lone tree swallow flies by at close range. My attention, however, is mainly focused on the ground, taking in the flowering plant species as I start my way down the slope. In the short distance between the parking lot and the bench overlooking the flooded coulee, there are dandelions, two species of musineon, yellow prairie violets, blue penstemon, yellow pucoon, early yellow locoweed, Missouri milkvetch, a ground-hugging purple vetch, narrow-leaved milkvetch, prairie onion, moss phlox (with flowers playing out), goldenbean, butte marigold, colorado rubber plant (with flowers open but no petals yet), bastard toadflax, and tiny spikerushes. Some of the yarrow have buds, but they're not yet open. Pollinating almost every dandelion flower are tiny (photographed) two-winged flies

1155 From the coulee rim to the rattlesnake hibernaculum situated about half way down the slope, I observe more of the same plants as noted above, the only additions being a tiny yellow mustard with a slender stalk growing from a basal rosette of spatula-shaped leaves (possibly small-seeded false flax), plus skunkbrush sumac and cushion milkvetch, both of the latter nearing the end of their flowering cycle. The prairie groundsel is almost in flower, but not opening quite yet. There are several animals to add to the list: a clay-colored sparrow (heard but not seen), a ring-necked pheasant (heard but not seen), a seven spot lady beetle, whitetail deer and northern flickers on the slope, a herd of mule deer along the tree-line below, and a beautiful black widow spider inhabiting the third entrance to the rattler den. The widow not only has the classic hour-glass on her belly, but also yellow and red designs in a line up her back. Really amazing. Unfortunately no snakes though

1301 From the hibernaculum on down to the sagebrush flats and the trail through the brush where I keep my game-cam, the count feels to slows down considerably. I repeatedly observe all the same species as higher up. However, at the transition to the floodplain, there are some new flowers to note: golden currants, saskatoons, saline shootingstar, prairie smoke, white pussytoes, the first-flowering black medick, and a scant few yellowbells that haven't shifted to seed. All the prairie crocus are gone already. There are pink-rimmed sulphur butterflies moving around on the meadows of the sagebrush flat. At the base of the coulee slope, thick with goldenbean, there are Hunt's bumble bees pollinating. I find the larger Nevada bumble bees dormant in the grass, and a very few thatching ants out on the hive. Also nearby, among the dandelions, I see a second two-winged fly (one of the "flower-loving flies" I think) pollinating and find a running crab spider that blends in with the dry grass, waiting in ambush beside one of the flowering heads. As I watch, the spider takes out an unfortunate visiting insect, something like a small leaf-hopper

1340 The game cam had recorded visits by porcupines, coyotes, and several deer over the past week, none of which I suppose can be counted on my species list for today unless I see them myself, even though they have a permanent presence. After resetting the camera, I drop down to the river proper. The Oldman is so swollen, there are enormous trees floating by and the water is breaching the forest. I look around to see what other plants and animals I can add from this micro-environment. There are the leafy spurge, in flower and being pollinated by more flower-loving flies and hover flies. There are cabbage white butterflies flitting about. The trees themselves are in flower: balsam poplar, western cottonwood, narrow-leaf cottonwood. The Sun has come out briefly, and the birds are singing from the forest canopy. I hear and see yellow-rumped warblers, starlings, robin's, redwing blackbirds, and mourning doves. A few mosquitoes are about, not much of a bother, and I see some of the crane flies who are hunting them in the grass. I survey all the trees surrounding the mid-forest meadow, hoping to log the great horned owl family, but they are elsewhere this afternoon, probably perching somewhere along the flooded oxbow where they can take advantage of fleeing rodents. I can hear the approach of a bird that I'm sure nobody else will officially note today. It is Ksiistsikommiipi'kssi, the Thunderbird. No doubt there will be a drenching on the way, so I figure I might as well head back up to the sagebrush flats, and from there make my ascent of the coulee slope

1404 I emerge from the forest at the old cottonwood I call Grampa Tree. It's ancient and massive, with branches drooping to the ground that are larger than most mature trees in the forest. Just as I come into the sagebrush flat, a coyote begins howling and barking in greeting from nearby, low on the slope. I squat down and call back to animal, and it continues it's greeting. I stand up to walk closer, take two steps and stop. My next step would have come down right beside a dark, yearling prairie rattlesnake. It is basking on some grass beside a hole that it has chosen for it's summer den. I crouch down again beside the snake, who is perfectly calm. The whole scene is bringing a lump to my throat. The coyote continues to call at me, the snake rests peacefully within arms distance, and the Thunderbird is now roaring right overhead

1425 When the heavy raindrops begin, I walk. The coyote follows me, stopping now an then to call after me. I return the howls and yips. By the time I reach the path that will take me up the slope, the rain has turned to hail, and there's lightning clashes. I fairly march up to the coulee rim, looking arouforgery little. One final flowering species grows beside the trail in a wet pocket near the top. It is field pennycress. I take a few leaves to munch as I finish the climb, and soon reach my vehicle very pleased with the close of this visit

1427 This world is so beautiful, I've just got a lump in my throat. Twenty minutes ago, I was crouched down in the sagebrush flats at the bottom of the coulee, a coyote calling to me in greeting from low on the slope beside me, a perfectly calm rattlesnake literally within arms reach, and the thunder roaring overhead. It doesn't get better

Birds [22 species]: Black-Billed Magpie, American Crow, Rock Dove, Northern Pintail, Mallard Duck, Western Meadowlark, Brewer's Blackbird, Blue-Winged Teal, Whimbrel, American Robin, Killdeer, Canada Goose, Tree Swallow, Clay-Colored Sparrow, Grey Partridge, Northern Flicker, Ring-Necked Pheasant, Yellow-Rumped Warbler, Mourning Dove, Starling, Redwing Blackbird, Ksiistsikomiipi'kssi (Thunderbird)

Mammals [4 species]: Mule Deer, Whitetail Deer, Mountain Cottontail, Coyote

Herps [2 species]: Boreal Chorus Frog, Prairie Rattlesnake

Plants In Bloom [32 species]: Dandelion (Taraxacum officinale), two Musineon species (one with extremely segemented parsley leaves, the other with far fewer segments, both described as Musineon divaricatim), Tiny Spikerush (species unknown), Missouri Milkvetch (Astragalus missouriensis), Wild Vetch (Vicia americana), Narrow-Leaved Milkvetch (Astragalus pectinatus), Early Yellow Locoweed (Oxytropis monticola), Prairie Onion (Allium textile), Blue Penstemon (Penstemon nitidus), Yellow Pucoon (Lithospermum incisum), Goldenbean (Thermopsis rhombifolia), Butte Marigold (Taxacum officinale), Colorado Rubber Plant (Hymenoxys richardsonii), Bastard Toadflax (Comandra umbellata), Yellow Prairie Violet (Viola nuttallii), Moss Phlox (Phlox hoodii), Cushion Milkvetch (Astragalus gilviflorus), Skunkbrush Sumac (Rhus trilobata), tiny yellow mustard that might be Small-Seeded False Flax (Camelina microcarpa), Golden Currant (Ribes aureum), Saskatoon (Amelanchier alnifolia), Saline Shootingstar (Dodecatheon pulchellum), Yellowbell (Fritillaria pudica), Prairie Smoke (Geum triflorum), White Pussytoes (binominal unknown), Black Medick (Medicago lupulina), Leafy Spurge (Euphorbia esula), Balsam Poplar (Populus balsamifera), Narrow-Leaf Cottonwood (Populus angustifolia), Western Cottonwood (Populus deltoides), Pennycress (Thlaspi arvense)

Insects/ Arachnids [12 species]: Unidentified Tiny Two-Winged Fly (pollinating dandelion), Seven Spot Lady Beetle, Black Widow Spider, Hunt's Bumble Bee, Nevada Bumble Bee, Flower-Loving Fly, Running Crab Spider, Western Thatching Ant, Cabbage White Butterfly, Mosquito, Crane Fly, Hover Fly

Food, Intelligence, And Extreme Moisture

IIII ) lllllllllllll Food and Intelligence (18May11)

1142 Some scientists studying corvids propose that there is a link between their high (i.e. similar to us) intelligence and their omnivorous subsistence practices. Corvids locate, harvest, scavenge, cache, prepare and learn about a great diversity of food. I wonder what cognitive depreciations may occur when we rely on corporations to do everything but eat our food for us

IIII ) llllllllllllll Ponokaowahsin, Hover Flies, And Lessons From The Rattler (19May11)

0657 Two important lessons from the rattlesnakes yesterday, not so much emphatic "knowledge" as interesting things to consider. Curiously enough, both were mediated by humans

First, Darin noticed a secondary face in the rattler image I posted, a mask that is deceptively benevolent, meant to mimic, catch and hold the trust of rodent and/ or small bird prey. If we assume the obvious, that we too are a part of nature, and that the rattler's face contains this mimicry because it is adaptive, then should we not wonder whether there are predators employing similar ploys against us? I have long considered the notion that there are now two or more human sub-species, at least one of which is completely and purposefully abiotic in it's agenda. How ironic that an animal this vicious, parasitic sub-human hates most should reveal such a key strategy in the very deception our predators employ... to appear very much like us, while in truth intending to consume us, to feed off our energies, for their own short-term benefit

The second lesson came inadvertently through Cody who, in response to the reposted image with highlighted secondary face, noted that he respects and fears the rattlers. Having grown up so much around snakes, I don't generally identify with the fear of them. Though I have to admit, the first time I explored the rattlesnake hibernaculum and found myself amidst dozens of very camouflaged and poisonous serpents, it took some effort to calm my racing heart. They are powerful, but they are also quite delicate. Every time my anxiety would rise, so would theirs. I recognized very quickly that when I feared rattlesnakes, my anxiety transferred and created real danger. Following this observation, I began visiting them more frequently, and for longer durations, and part of my own work was learning to be internally calm in their close presence. I've mastered that, to a degree, but only by staying out of striking range. When on occasion a rattlesnake has approached me with the obvious intent of making friendly physical contact, as soon as it comes into striking range my anxiety goes up, the snake registers that fear and acts in kind, and both of us are suddenly in danger again. So I have been well aware of the manner in which my own fear can put me in danger. But when Cody mentioned respect and fear, my response was a kind of identification with the snakes. Our fear is exactly what distresses them. Why? Because when someone fears you, the potential for them to act in unpredictable, uncontrolled and violent ways on that fear rises. In other words, the ones who fear you are the most dangerous. This is something the snakes have been telling me all along, but that I've never quite been able to hear correctly. Think about it. If we extend this lesson into our human social affairs, it could be of considerable consequence

1710 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - the road out to the coulee rim is a sloppy mess this evening, owing to fairly continuous rain showers since last night. I'm heading down to snag whatever new images there are off RyeCam01, and to see whatever else I may given the dampness

1737 Though darkly clouded in all directions, there is no rain at present. But the ground and vegetation are fairly damp, enough so that, halfway down the slope now, I'm quite aware that one of my waterproof boots is in need of some repair. There is one insect dominating the scene today, and that is the blood-sucking mosquito. The birds sound pretty happy with the situation. Robins, meadowlarks, vesper and clay-colored sparrows, all are singing. I have noticed a few new blossoms of ponokaowahsin, or yellow puccoon, starting to open. Aside from that, the flowers are all the same. In the forest below, some of the poplars and cottonwoods are showing leaves

1833 I slog my way down to the sagebrush flats, and it is now raining again. At a couple locations on the way, I hear frogs near the trail and make unsuccessful attempts to locate them. Once at the bottom of the slope, I veer off toward the area where I have the game-can set up, but taking a slightly different route than usual. In doing so, I come across first a fairly freshly killed starling, and then a large den system that can only belong to the coyotes. There's no obvious sign that the den is presently in use, but I figure the dead starling is at least a fair indicator. In any case, the location is duly noted for future monitoring. Not far away, at the camera, I learn that the only animal to pass in the last few days has been a night-visiting porcupine. Now I am at the river, where the pelicans are huddled on what little of their island remains above water, and I'm aiming to head through the forest toward an alternate path back to the top

1909 Though thoroughly soaked, I'm glad I decided to route through the forest. It's given me the opportunity to hear the niipomakiiksi and kakkooyiksi, to learn that at least some of the mi'kaniki'soyiiksi are still mating, and to check in on the kakanottsstookiiksi. The owlets of the latter are fledged now, though one of them is standing in the nest, and the other (an ample flyer) is sticking close by. I'm just in time to witness one of the parents fly in with a rodent dangling from talon. The meal is brought to the nest, where the provider and the one owlet share in ripping it apart

1951 My hike back up the coulee slope follows a very grueling, vertical path. As I start out, there are small herds of deer grazing. The whitetails, three of them, depart when they see me coming from the forest. They follow a lateral path along the lower slope, moving downriver. The mules, thirteen of them not nearly as skittish, keep an eye on me as I climb. There is nothing of interest to note until I reach the last shelf before the rim. There, in a particularly wet area where canary grass grows, I find my harvest for the day in a batch of barely-flowering pennycress. I strip the green leaves off a couple dozen of the plants, filling a cargo pocket, and leave three or four times as many alone to develop. While at this task, I find a fly of some sort, a bee mimic, sitting dormant on one of the leaves. I'm easily able to get good macro photos of it for later identification [note: it is a hoverfly species]

IIII ) llllllllllllllll Ducklings And New Goose Nests (21May11)

1006 Sspopiikimi - It's been too long since I've surveyed the pond, a week since my last visit, and that was just a brief foray to collect motoyaan. Spending most of my outdoor time at the river confluence, I feel out of touch with the goings-on here. Hopefully this morning's visit will change that

1018 As soon as I get out of the car, my senses are popping. I hear clay-colored sparrows, robins, mourning doves, redwing and yellow-headed blackbirds, chorus frogs. I see cabbage white and pink-rimmed sulphur butterflies, the latter visiting dandelions, and the two sometimes moving together. I figure the first stops I'll make are at the thatching ant hive and along the north-pond cutbank where I expect to find garter snakes. But even before I get to my first destination, I hear and see in my periphery a bit of movement in the grass beside the trail. I look down in time to watch a stem of alfalfa greens being pulled down into a vole hole

1052 The thatchers at the large midpond hive are still in their mating swarm phase, with winged males and females emerging from the mound and climbing to the tips of the surrounding grass. The smaller colony on the north-pond cutbank, on the other hand, are not producing winged members yet. Their hive is seriously pocked from repeated flicker visits, I even find a discarded feather beside it. While I observe these north-pond ants, a stink beetle of some kind makes a mad dash across the surface of the hive. Immediately the ants are on him, and he races back to the safety of the grass. My hopes of finding wandering garter snakes along this same cutbank are unrealized. Apparently they haven't made their way here yet, having just emerged from their hibernaculum at the extreme south end of the pond last week. I do however see that the kingfishers have returned, that the currant bushes are in flower, the turtles are basking, and there's a robin collecting mud to craft the bowl of her nest in a cottonwood that - like all of the forest main - is now in leaf

1116 There are no coot nests in the north pond reeds this year, owing to the floods of last summer having flattened all the foliage they depend on for camouflage. The redwings and yellowheads are going to make a go of it with what few usable bulrush an cattail remain. Today, the redwing males are giving chase to females. No sign yet of the yellowhead females. I walk around this area to the northeast bank, where I begin searching the buckbrush for nested mallards. It is here where I encounter my first wandering garter of the day. The whole thing gives me flashbacks of this time last year when, in the exact same place, doing the exact same thing, I also observed the first garter to reach north-pond for the season

1153 Following the edge zone where the forest main meets the wet meadows, I continue my search for mi'ksikatsi nests. At this point, my interest is not in collecting their eggs for food. I know it's too late for that and, as I search, three drakes fly low overhead to confirm. I'm just interested in knowing where they are so that I can follow their stories this summer, since there's no indication yet that any goslings will be raised here. While conducting my search, I find an interesting, deadwood colored ambush-looking bug on a log. And this log itself overlooks the largest ant hive of the pond. They are not thatchers, these ones, but build instead with sandy soil. And their hive, raised only about eight inches off the forest floor, is easily six feet in diameter. I take photos of both the bug and the ants in hopes of learning their identification this evening [note: identification of Formica podzolica, the slave ant]

1236 There are a couple of new flowering plants at the forest edge, in addition to the others I've already noted over the last two weeks. The two I'm seeing newly blossomed today are the star-flowered solomon's seal and a little blue violet. Another new arrival at this edge zone is pookaa, the catbird. I follow the line until I'm above the big bulberry patch of the wet meadows, and here by the magpie nest I figure I'll at least find sign of local duck nests by the remains of eggs they've stolen. But nope, no duck eggs. And no magpie eggs for that matter. Their nest has been raided by someone who either has arms dexterous enough to reach in (raccoons), or a slender enough body (least weasels). Along the tunnel-trail leading through this brush, I do feather remains of two small birds who have been recently eaten, and half a robin egg. Judging the wingspan and coloration with the feathers, I'm tentatively thinking they belonged to swallows. It's just difficult to imagine many animals swift enough to catch one

1316 The water of the pond has risen, and I have a wet walk coming out of the meadows. At the same time though, there's so many changes going on that it is worth the damp socks. Coming out, I see a snipe, my first dragonfly for the season, a baltimore oriole and, only from the viewing angle of the meadows, I can see that the swainson mama is up in her nest. We are going to have hawk babies to watch again! Once out of the meadows, I continue my survey of the buckbrush from the hawk nest to the duck blind over south-pond. It was only a matter of time. Sure enough, I've located a mallard nest. Eight eggs in an easy site to remember

1347 South-pond has it's own interesting happenings going on. The water, as I noted, has risen. Indeed it's to the point that Big Island in the wide south pool is submerged, and the eggs from the long-abandoned goose nest there are the only thing showing. The big news though is that there is a new goose nest in the pool. A mother incubating on a pile of reeds she's set on what little remains of one tiny island near the peninsula. I really hope she succeeds. Summer would not be the same without goslings here. The coot of the south marsh is still incubating her nest as well, which I suspect has risen with the water in flotilla fashion. And there are now three pairs of redheads here, though none of them are Scabby. I wonder what happened to her

1356 Hold the phones! We have our first babies of the season! Seven mallard ducklings paddling in one tight group beside their mom in the south marsh!

1400 Before leaving the south, I gather as much asparagus as is available. It's been so long since we last checked on them that most of the plants are already branching out and past their prime as edibles. But there are enough you shoots still to make up the vegetable component of at least a few dinners for our family. I have started a natural foods diet, ensuring to eat at least something that I've harvested from the coulees every day. Thus far, only five days in, the foods I've eaten have merely supplemented my normal, toxic diet. But I am hoping that by the end of summer I am replacing at least two-thirds or more of what I consume with natural foods

1430 My hike back to the car on the shale trail along the west bank of the pond provides the perfect finish to my day here. I see the saskatoons are blooming now, as too the lens-podded hoary cress. The best thing I see on the route is that we have a pair of geese with two goslings. These must be parents from the river island. Also, there is another goose nested on the beaver lodge itself... first time we've seen this in the five years we've been watching them here, though we always wondered why none of them considered it before. Looks like we will have aapsspini families to keep us in summer company after all

IIII ) llllllllllllllllll Extreme Moisture (23May11)

0951 Pitsiiksiinaikawaahko - Extreme moisture. We have had light rain off and on for several days, and at present it is pouring heavy. All the same, the green of our world has been renewed, so I've decided to come down to check on RyeCam01, and have brought along fishing gear to see whether I can catch whatever it is the pelicans have been feasting on

1022 I begin following a deer trail down the coulee slope, but it is so wet today that, after the third near slip, I cut over and use the established shale path the rest of the way. In this manner, the descent is quick. Along the way, I pick up about two dozen of the largest worms I see. They are not the huge night crawlers, but the medium sized species. The earth is so saturated, it is only with care that I manage my way to the bottom without killing many of the exposed worms. There are robins on the trail too, taking advantage of the easy meal. I can hear clay-colored sparrows in the sagebrush flat and mourning doves in the forest. My plan is to enter the treeline and follow the oxbow canal to the river. From there, I will fish my way upstream to the site of my game-cam, then climb the slope again. One large sunwise circuit

1209 The oxbow, save for robins and starlings, is quiet as I pass through, until the last little stretch. There in the dense willow patch, where the oxbow is now filled with water, thousands of chorus frogs sing. There will be no way to fish the route I had planned without wading through. And since I would already be getting wet anyway, I figured I might as well try to catch one of the frogs for bait. Even with thousands here, this is not an easy task. In order to even see these frogs, one has to wade in and hunt them down by their individual voices, moving heron-style through the water, one tiny muscle at a time. A frog-catching tai-chi. The frogs are incredibly wary though. Once you seem like a threat, which usually means as soon as they're aware of your presence, the nearest frogs stop talking, and all hopes of locating them are shot. Three times over the course of an hour, I manage to creep close enough to one of them that I could almost grab him. Almost being the key descriptive. Every reach I made, however fast, was met with an elusive dive. Normally, this would not be much a problem in shallows. But this water is above my knee, murky, so the frogs have ample space to evade me. After the third failure, I give up. I'm confident another hour would see profit, but it's also eating away the day

1323 I am glad the frogs eluded me. If I'd have caught one, it's life would have gone to waste. The Oldman is high, fast, and muddy today. I know at a glance that the chances of catching a fish in this condition are nil. Far more likely I'll snare a drift log as it floats down river in the semi-flood. All the same, I put a bright spinner on my line and lace it's hook with a worm, who is then promptly stripped off by the force of the current on first cast. I stubbornly fish my way upstream, making futile attempts every twenty-five meters or so until I eventually reach the black cliffs. Geese, mallards, and killdeer all move aside as I pass through, and for a little while the rain stops and the mosquitoes come out. If only the mosquitoes feared us like the other animals do. The pelicans, for their part, stand on their island at the confluence, watching me with what I assume is amusement. They're not fishing at the moment, but if they were I bet they'd catch something

1411 When I arrive at the game-cam, the rain is back on. It's a complete downpour. With three days having passed since I last stopped in, I'm expecting to find a couple dozen images on the camera. Instead, there are just two: one that seems to have missed the target entirely, and the other being my own legs just seconds before I opened it up. Curious that the animals have avoided this brush in the rain. There has been one visitor for sure though... an insect has secured patches of tiny, yellow eggs on both my lens and sensor. I clean the eggs off, replace the SD card, and hike my way back up the coulee rim wet, tired, but happy to have come out anyway

1608 Results of first field test of Scottish waterproof socks: they work well until wading into water deeper than the calf-high cuffs, after which they transform into bladder bags carried by the feet