Turtle Eggs And The Garter Snake Return

IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllllll Turtle Eggs (8June10)

1843 Sspopiikimi - we've been here about a half hour now, and have just arrived at the south bench after walking the length of the pond. It's still extremely flooded, and so far we've encountered a lot of the usual residents

1848 There's a stronger redhead and mallard presence here than there has been since the flooding began. I couldn't know where they went in the interim. I'm hoping this evening to see the reported cinnamon teal with her ducklings, but so far no sightings of their kind at all, which seems odd until considering that so much of the wet-meadows is now pond too

1851 It's really bothering us at this point that we've not come across any wandering garter snakes. In previous years there were so many out here. Last fall, we witnessed their exodus over the levee-walk at the south end of the pond, but assumed they were heading to their usual hibernaculum. Now that they've failed to return, it makes us wonder

1925 Leaving the bench, we walk around to the other side of the pond, passing Scabby on the way... she's still sitting her nest. Once on the opposite shore, we return to the site where we observed a painted turtle depositing her eggs last week. Using a photograph of the event still on Mahoney's camera to relocate the concealed nest site, we slowly remove soil and soon come across the egg cache. There are fourteen in all, leathery white, and oval in shape. Though we've seen the mothers at work on these nests many times, we've never laid eyes on the eggs themselves. We are careful to cover them back up as protectively as we found them

2007 Over by the blind, we notice two asparagus plants have been broken off and dragged into the water. At first I suspect ksisskstaki, though we've never known them to eat the asparagus before. When I fish one of the stems out of the water though, it appears to have been broken lengthwise on its stem, roughly, not like the relatively clean snip of beaver teeth. When on the bench at the opposite shore, we'd seen a group of scouts out here. Finding the matching asparagus base, it is wet as though recently broken. Our assumption is that an irresponsible scout master was showing the boys these edibles, failing to teach them that they're too fibrous when they've grown almost to seed, and that it’s better to leave them to produce more plants

2016 We’re walking through the forest now, passing the starling and flicker trees. All is quiet, fledging must have occurred. Mahoney is whistling, trying to call the flicker out, if she's still in there. Suddenly my BlackBerry spontaneously plays the call of a pileated woodpecker. This is very odd, because I hadn’t even used that application recently. The burst of electronic woodpecker noise causes a robin to shoot out from the trunk-hugging branches of a narrow-leaf cottonwood beside us. Peeking between the scraggly branches, we find her nest with three large hatchlings, nearing fledge. At the same time, mama flicker appears on her tree, carrying nothing we can see, and dives down into her cavity nest. She must still be incubating, and was just out for a quick bite of dinner

2031 The robin's nest on the north end of the forest still has not hatched yet, and I've given up on the one dove nest… their platform is coming apart at this point, and they never produced eggs

2041 Approaching the truck, I'm reminded that we still haven't seen the teal ducklings. It may be that I need to put my waders back on for another exploration of the very wet, wet-meadows

IIII ) lllllllllllllllllllllllll Comparative Snaking (9June10)

1720 Pitsiiksiinaikaawahko - perplexed over the absence of wandering garter snakes at Sspopiikimi, Mahoney and I have come down to the coulee at the river confluence to check on whether the rattlesnakes are still at their hibernaculum. If they are, perhaps the same would be true of the garters

1729 Because this is more of a grasslands area, the flora constellation here is quite different than that of the pond. More vetch and onion, sage and various yellow asters. The meadowlarks are here, and the canary grass in the dips of the rolling hills is already growing quite tall

1811 The answer to our inquiry comes pretty fast, as it doesn't take long before we're walking into the hibernaculum site. Just outside of the area they inhabit, I find and photograph ma's, a.k.a. Indian breadroot, one of the dietary staples of the past that most people can't even identify today. A few steps beyond the ma's and we come within sight of the first den entrance. We walk slowly, checking four or five of these holes, and encountering only one young snake. Ordinarily, if the clan were here, we'd see at least a dozen with the Sun out like it is. Clearly these snakes have left the site to find individual summer dens throughout the coulee

1826 Leaving the hibernaculum, we climb up on the ridge above so I can show Mahoney the stone effigy that's there. I still don't know what it is, but there are curious lines and arcs on its flanks, and the elegant sunburst and other lichens cover the surface of the stones in a manner that tells me they've been here a long time

1856 We make our way off the ridge and down to the river. As we come out of the trees at the water's edge, a whitetail deer way over in the brush on the opposite shore begins snorting in alarm. This provokes two aapsspini families with goslings near the deer to enter the water and swim upstream. As the geese moved away, a flock of fourteen pelicans flies past, also moving upstream, quite a stunning vision as they wing calmly just over the surface of the river

1931 Off in the forest we check on the kakkanottsstooki oyiiyis. The last time I was down here, before the rains, the owlets were just puff-balls of white down. Now they are fledged and gone, roosted somewhere in this broad floodplain forest

1936 From the owl nest, I take Mahoney to show her my progress on the lean-to shelter I've been slowly building since the start of last winter. When it was snowy down here, I lost an arrow on the edge of the meadow beside this shelter. I'm telling Mahoney about it, and there it is... sticking conspicuously out from a log pile. The razor tip is buried deep in the wood and visibly broken, but I'm able to unscrew and retrieve the shaft

1942 As we walk through the green forest, full of purple-flowering lupine and gold-blooming buffalo bean, we talk about how we'd like to start camping out in the coulees for the weekends, maybe even invite groups of students to pick berries and accrue ethnobotany course credits

2024 Moving up through the buckbrush echelon of the forest to the sagebrush flat, we pay visits to both grampa and grandma cottonwoods, the two oldest living trees here. Both have neat hollows, and grandma in particular seems to have legs, arms, and a head. Not far from them, there’s another tree bent over to appear like a bear with legs and a white face

2054 Hiking back up the coulee slope, there are western kingbirds and gray catbirds calling to us from the brush. We can't resist making one more survey of the rattlesnake hibernaculum, but this time find nobody out at all

2113 Finally back up on the coulee rim, I'm already looking forward to a future visit. This coulee brings my thoughts back to hunting, and I'm conscious of the fact that we're not taking good advantage of the season's fresh greens and bulbs. It's something I'd like to change

II Garter Snake Return (11June10)

1516 In the interest of rekindling the Niitaowahsin Project, I've hiked into the Oldman River coulee just out my back door, to survey for potential edibles, and possibly harvest the same

1535 As I walk the top of one of the ridges, with a meadowlark singing from an old fencepost nearby, two plants present themselves right away. The first is pisatsiinikimm, the ubiquitous prarie onion. They are growing in close clumps of four or more plants together, with shallow bulbs that make it a simple matter to pry them up with my eight-inch crowbar (a.k.a. root-digger). In ten minutes I'm able to collect about forty onions

1539 The second plant, which I've not come prepared to deal harvest, is otahkootsis, the prickly-pear cactus. Their paddle-shaped leaves are thick and succulent right now, and it appears as though they'll be in flower soon. Better to wait for the fruit to form

1554 Looking around as I hike along the ridge, I see ground plums (which I plan to harvest later), drummond’s milkvetch, and butte marigold. There are several plants in bloom that I just have not learned to identify yet, other asters, purple vetches and a white flower like penstemon that I really should learn

1600 I've just come across a man and his son. They are dropping baseball-sized field rocks down a vertical hole, the opening of which is perhaps the diameter of a fence post. This strange hole goes a ways down, three or four meters by the sound of the thump when the rocks hit bottom, and it really is a mystery what might have created it

1624 When I come to the end of the ridge and begin my more rapid descent toward the river, I come across ma's, the prototypical starchy root vegetable, otherwise known as the prairie turnip. These roots are set deeper than the bulbs of onions, and it takes a bit more digging to unearth a clump of five of them. They are unfortunately small, like those bite-sized white potatoes you can buy at the grocery. I've dug up others in the past that were far larger, but I've not yet learned to judge by the appearance of the plant above what to expect below

1646 The next ma's I come across is a singular plant with a bit larger root, but still not as thick as could be. While I dig, a savannah sparrow sings from atop a nearby tuft of skunkbrush. It has a very distinct song, and I can hear others of its type elsewhere in the coulee

1706 Turning around at the cutbank above the river, I see that the draw from this point and almost all the way back up is thick with pakkii'p, okonoki, saahsiipakksinisimaan and other berry plants that will ripen later in the season. Then, as I begin climbing again, I'm finding all kinds of ma's I hadn't seen on the way down, perhaps because the angle brings the earth closer to my eye

1719 I've got a pond date with Mahoney to keep, so I don't make any stops on the way back. But I'll definitely be returning soon for more harvest. Chewing on some of the onion as I walk, I wonder what it would do for our bodies if we had such foods in our diet every day

1805 Sspopiikimi - back for another evening at the pond, and we are met at the trailhead from the parking-lot by this season's first giant stink beetle. He lifts his rear end high when we approach, pauses for a moment in that fashion, then begins scrambling for the safety of the grass

1810 As we step onto the cutbank overlooking north-pond, I can see the water has gone down a bit, but the wet-meadows are still very marshy. There are two mallard drakes here, and the usual cinnamon teal drake by the beaver canal near the north coot nest. Little white flowers on top of the water are the blooms of water milfoil, and mi'sohpsski has just brought one back to his den

1822 We’re going to walk sunwise around the pond today, beginning by rounding the north end. The asparagus plant on this side is now taller than me, and there are still good shoots coming up. The plants here typically do not get this tall. We believe it’s the result of Mahoney's work, clearing off the old growth

1836 The constant presence of the cinnamon teal drake at this end of the pond makes me suspect that his mate may be nested nearby. While Mahoney moves to check out the river, I walk the brush-line around the north-pond bend, and just before I come to the forest, I spot a broken duck egg. Looking under some dead branches nearby, I find the nest. It is like so many other mallard and teal nests this year, destroyed by predators. No sign of the hen, and I don't know the cinnamon teals well enough to verify if this nest is theirs, but if it is I suspect the lady has fallen victim to coyotes

1845 As I scan the remaining siinikskaahko before the forest, I'm pleased to encounter not one, but two large wandering garter snakes. They have returned after all. I think I even hear a third one, but when I check the grass I find nothing, and turning back toward the other two, I'm unable to locate them again in the thick brush

1857 I meet back up with Mahoney in the woods, we stop to take a break on our usual log. We can hear house finches and yellow-rumped warblers singing around us

1917 As we resume walking again, through the forest now, I find a beautiful little fiber-woven basket nest in some chokecherry brush. There are no eggs in it, and I don't know who made the nest. As I'm taking pictures to help me identify it at home, we hear child-like cries from further up in the forest. It's not a catbird. We suspect it's a porcupine. But as we begin to search, the cries stop

1940 We never find the source of the cries, though we climb the levee-walk and scan the forest on both sides. Unfortunately, in doing this we've bypassed a lot of potential bird-nesting brush. But to make up for it, I suggest we check the owl woods, which we haven't gone into for a while. So we're breaking on the river bench, and then in we go

1957 The owl woods live up to the name we've given them. We don't have to go too far in before we see a large kakanottsstooki flying silently between the trees. Stalking up on one of her flanks, we hear her give the usual call, and then watch her preen for a bit before she glides quietly away again

2013 Nothing else too momentous occurs in the owl woods. We hear a catbird in there, along with others we don't know by sound. I lift a plywood board and find what appears to be a queen yellow-jacket oddly affixed and squirming on one side. She has not been squished, at least not by us, nor as far as we can tell. But something is happening here, and I will hesitate before I dare lift this board again

2017 Soon we are at the south-pond bench, where the waters are full and quiet. A mi'ksikatsi couple is resting on the peninsula before a stray drake flies in and gives chase to the female. All three fly off in chase and avoidance. Across the pond, the Triplet and Big Island aapsspini families are interrupted from feeding on the cutbank by a couple who've come to peer out the blind

2032 Many of the flying insects are finding perches for the night on the siinikskaahko and old absinthe stems. I move around and photograph some of the flies. The goose families have now made it over to the peninsula, and we see that the Log couple is among them

2052 The Triplet and Big Island goslings sure are growing up. Their adult coloration is really coming in, though they're still much smaller in body than their parents

2103 Soon we are cutting away from the pond and back up toward the truck. We've still not seen the mama with ducklings, but again there is a lot of wet marsh to work with now

IIII Asparagus Beetle Love (13June10)

1646 Sspopiikimi - a very hot day, compared to others recently. No clouds and almost no breeze. The bluets are mating, coming together in heart-shaped form. The large blue dragonflies are out, zooming along parallel to the shore. And the kingbirds and yellow warblers are in place to make the best of it

1650 Walking the length of the pond, we pass the three aapsspini families, who are moving toward the wet-meadows. There is also a lone redhead drake, drifting north near the mouth of the subpond canal. The waters of the south pool are still up above the old nesting islands. And there are a pair of mi'ksikatsi drakes here, swimming together near the peninsula

1724 We walk down onto the peninsula to try and photograph the large, blue dragonflies. Several of them pass, but all at such accelerated speeds that we don't stand a chance

1732 Up on the levee walk, we see Scabby taking a frantic dinner break down by her nest. On the other side of the path, at the edge of the owl forest, I spot a wandering garter snake lifting its head high above the grass. We wonder if it's dining on damselflies as well, and we intend to watch and find out, but after a minute or so it knows that we're aware of its presence, and it slowly retracts back into the grass. We wait three or four minutes longer, and when it doesn't emerge again we check the grass. It's gone

1739 Over by the river bench, the cutbank is greenish-yellow with blooming spurge. It's also swarming with honey bees. The only other plant we've seen such a concentration of honey bees on is the bulberries, when they first come in bloom. As we sit and watch them work, a catbird cycles through a repertoire of mimicked songs from the understory of the owl forest behind us

1811 Making our way toward the blind, we pass another garter snake, this one probably no more than a year old. It crosses our path in a hurry. Curious they waited so long to come out. After this snake, and just before cutting down into the forest, I find a gold poplar-boring beetle. It's something I've never seen before, and I lay prone on the ground to photograph it

1818 We don't spend too long at the blind, in fact we walk right by it. There is an insect event underway at the asparagus plants. The aptly-named asparagus beetles (like lady beetles, but longer of body) have come here to mate

1843 The forest is beautiful this time of year, all lush green and full of birds and insects. We stop at the flicker tree, but see no sign of the mother or her fledglings. Nearby though, a starling brings a mouth-full of worms to its young. Further along the trail, we check on the delicate little basket nest we found during our last visit. Still no eggs yet, but the interior has been lined with a white down that wasn't there before

1908 Up from the north end of the forest, we cross the levee walk and look out over the river island. Though the Oldman still looks swollen, we can see by the extent of island visible that the waters have dropped. There's a spotted sandpiper bobbing on a sandbar here. The swallow colonies are still swarming at the cutbanks, but we haven't seen much of the kingfishers. And just in the big rocks at our feet there's a pair of large garter snakes, making four so far today. This is what we'd expected weeks ago

1922 As we round north-pond to approach the truck, I scan the reeds that house the two nearest coot nests. It's entirely possible that at least the mid-pond nest has hatchlings now, but I don't see the parents bringing milfoil. I don't see the parents at all. Perhaps during our next visit, we'll sit and watch these nests

Ibis Fever And The Damselfly Explosion

IIII ) lllllllllllllllll Muskrat Spin And Flycather Dip (1June10)

1848 Sspopiikimi - tonight we brought our chairs to sit up on the north-pond cutbank and watch the evening happenings on these swollen waters

1853 The first thing I notice walking in is not a presence, but an absence. We've still not seen any wandering garter snakes here this season, which is very strange. Normally they come out soon after the frogs begin to sing, and in previous years they were abundant on the north cutbank. There were so many snakes here, we thought there must be a hibernaculum nearby. Now we wonder if something didn't happen to them over the winter

1859 We're just settled in when the first ksisskstaki paddles over our way along the opposite shore by the wet meadows. It quickly disappears into the yellowhead cattails. The male aiksikksksisi is here as well, appearing suddenly from the northernmost ksisskstakiohsoko to feed in the middle of the pond. As it dives for milfoil, we hear his wife grunting from the cattails, the ksisskstaki probably having approached too near her nest

1908 The mama aiksikksksisi just came off her nest to feed. I'm trying with difficulty to sort out the soyiiksiinaa situation in the yellowhead cattails. There are definitely at least two prominent males, who I believe are associated with the two nests we've identified there so far. I make this assumption because they often perch near their respective nests. But one or the other might just as easily fly clear across to our side of the pond, and not always to chase other birds like on the occasion Cynthia noticed here last week. To complicate matters further, other yellowhead males not infrequently come in and out of this territory

1923 There is a least flycatcher picking food from the water. It watches from overhanging branches and makes quick forays to snag its meal off the surface. It makes its way in this fashion up and down the bank, and just as it leaves us I see a turtle's head ascend for a breath of air. The mosquitoes are starting to become intolerable, and it's just going to get worse. We'll have to invest in repellent again for our next visit

1935 I see what appears to be a muskrat swimming almost frantically in tight circles and repeatedly diving. A ksisskstaki then came to meet it and the two dove together. The beaver soon surfaced but the muskrat disappeared. Then the ksisskstaki proceeded over to the shore just beneath us, where it climbed out, seemed to be rubbing its body on the plants, then dove back in. It made several dives in rapid succession, almost as if trying to rinse itself, then paddled off toward the yellowhead cattails

1938 While my attention is on the ksisskstaki, two turtles come out to bask on a log near the coot nest, and two drakes swim in from the south - a mallard and cinnamon teal. There are yellow warblers flittering past now and then, and the flycatcher continues to glean insects from the pond surface

1952 There is a lot of muskrat activity here tonight. I watch one do its spins and dives for a few minutes, while others cruise the shoreline, and still others propel straight across the pond. Sootamsstaa is whistle-winging in display high above, the mallard drake has flown off to the other end of the pond, and a spotted sandpiper has arrived

2011 There is a mi'sohpsski burrow just below our seats and one of the residents has been coming out repeatedly over the last little while to gather grass stems from the shoreline and bring mouth-fulls of it into the den. It's coming in and out so often, it can't be eating the grass. It must be piling it up for bedding material, and since we saw some muskrat love the other week, my suspicion is that it may be replacing material soiled by birthing

2016 Announcing the arrival of this season's first eastern kingbird. It just came to perch briefly on a snag branch above the water, then quickly winged away

2021 The swallows have come to swarm overhead, flying high this evening now that the mosquitoes are out. We've noticed there have been no kingfishers around tonight, which is odd. And presently, one of the ksisskstaki is gorging on milfoil

2031 There is so much happening here all the time, it's difficult to stay focused on any one thing. Especially on evenings like this, where we've come out with no specific learning agenda. I find that I often note the beginnings of things, but that my attention turns before it concludes. The mama coot has long returned to her nest, the sspopiiksi abandoned their basking efforts, the swallows have moved on. I never witnessed any of this happen, only becoming aware of it after the fact

2036 Another mi'sohpsski is doing its spinning dives in the middle of the pond. At the same time, one of its relatives swam across the pond carrying an old, dry bulrush stem, which it brought into the burrow below us. Certainly this could not be food. Again I conjecture that they are renewing their bedding

2040 Feeling as though we've got the gist of what's happening here for this evening, Mahoney and I head home

IIII ) llllllllllllllllll Scabby's Nest Salvaged (2June10)

1627 The apocalyse movies all suggest that animals will signal impending danger, that if you see an avian exodus you better follow suit. But the response of local animals to last week's rising waters told a different story. Whole colonies of ground squirrels drowned, ducks stayed on their nests until their eggs submersed. A lot of effort is being put toward monitoring wildlife for what they can tell us about impending dangers in the context of global warming. But what if they don't know? What if we're the ones who are supposed to be aware of the rapidly deteriorating vitality of our environment? What if we're supposed to be the first to respond?

1900 Sspopiikimi - doused in mosquito repellant, we are here to make a full loop this evening. Though we can't be out here all the time, it's important to visit frequently, because there's always something new happening at the pond. Tonight is no exception. Almost immediately upon arrival, we see a new white flower in bloom. It is the wild onion, pisatsiinikimm

1911 Hiking the length of the west cutbank, we pass in succession a muskrat feeding in the reeds, Scabby redhead diving alone, the three aapsspini families who've been sticking together, and a single ksisskstaki outside the main lodge

1920 The south pool seems so quiet now. Without its islands, all the geese who were here before, haggling over potential late-nesting sites, are gone. Most of the redheads have left, the blue and green-winged teals, the mergansers. All the action now is in the sky, where hundreds of bank and tree swallows swarm like the insects they feed on, and sootamsstaa seems constantly to perform his display

1926 Suddenly, three cinnamon teal drakes come rushing together from out of the marsh reeds. They are too far away for me to see exactly what they're doing, and by the time I get glass on them, they're separating, moving in three different directions, widely spaced on the south pool. I don't see the female who'd been here the last few weeks with one of these males. Perhaps now she's nesting

1937 A pair of sikohpiitaipannikimm pass by overhead, gliding toward the river. We've still not seen them at the old nest, though it appears as though they repaired it after its use by the goose and the storm that pulled most of it down

1950 I decide to enter the tick zone, the brushy thickets above the peninsula, to photograph what's new - the green berries emerging on the golden currants, the rising nettles, the now-resident catbird. While I'm moving slowly along, one of the swainson hawks returns to land on the side of the coulee slope, up high near the top. I wonder if maybe they're going to nest up there

2015 Mahoney joins me in the brush just in time to walk out onto what little remains of the peninsula. A muskrat and beaver watch us as we scout around. Then we move up to check on the magpie hatchlings. The rabbit path leading to this nest is becoming increasingly narrow, both vertically and horizontally as new foliage grows in. Up the thorny bulberry tree and peering into the twig dome, I find we are down to just two magpie chicks remaining out of the original five

2025 Climbing next up onto the levee-walk and passing over the south marsh, we're happily surprised to see Scabby back on her nest. When I'd surveyed the marsh last weekend, I'd assumed she'd abandoned it, since the water was so close and her neighbor's nest got submerged. I even touched her eggs, and though they weren't cold, they weren't particularly warm either. But here she is, so everything must be fine

2035 Just after looking at Scabby, we encounter three little birds picking around in the gravel of the levee-walk path. They are lark sparrows, and we're unable to see if they're eating the gravel itself, or seeds they might be finding within it. We could have watched them longer, were it not for the mallard drake that caught my eye, walking out of the buckbrush near the forest below. The drake sees us as well, and begins to waddle away. As he does, he's joined by his mate, who'd been "ducking" down. They enter the water of the marsh, and we in turn begin surveying the buckbrush for their nest, but to no avail. All the same, we suspect they have one here. Perhaps we'll see mallard and redhead ducklings this summer after all

2113 Since we're already down off the levee, we begin walking along the marsh bank toward the blind. On one part of the slope, Mahoney spots a painted turtle in a compromising position. She is in the midst of depositing eggs in a chamber she's wet-drilled into the sandy soil. We've seen the turtles lay their eggs here every summer, but it seems a bit early yet for this to be happening

2138 After a short and quiet break at the blind, we climb back onto the levee-walk and continue our round. Above the river, three flocks of pelicans are moving upstream, thirty-five members in all. Even higher, above them, there are thousands of swallows, more than I recall ever having seen here on any other occasion. A massive, swirling cloud that mesmerizes me until we're rounding north-pond and nearing the truck again

IIII ) llllllllllllllllllll White-Faced Ibis (4June10)

0930 I don't normally go chasing after rare bird sightings, and I don't keep a life-list. But about five or six weeks ago, one of the students who finished the first semester of my phenology series and immediately got employment doing species surveys for Blood Tribe Lands texted me with a description of a rusty and black-colored bird, with white around its face and a curlew-like bill, which she and her co-workers had spotted at Innokimi (Long Lake) on the Blood Reserve. I told her it sounded like a white-faced ibis, but I thought it was a long shot. In the weeks to follow, I began seeing other reports of the ibis crop-up on the Albertabird network, with lots of sightings around Stirling Lake. So I started driving various routes to and from work, keeping an eye out. Finally, this morning, the fever caught me completely, and I set out for Stirling, and announced my intentions on Facebook. Marsha, my student who'd spotted the first one, suggested that maybe the ibis didn't want to see me, and that's why I hadn't come across it yet. But when I pulled off at the marsh overlook at Stirling Lake, there they were. I was too excited to make a good count. I'd say there were about twenty of them. They flew off right away and settled in a hollow a little south of the observation deck. Between them and I there was about twenty bee hives. Bees are my greatest weakness. We have a long-standing feud, stemming from the time I tried to wipe out a hive when I was six years old. Suffice to say I've been stung repeatedly almost every year since. Anyhow, I wanted a decent picture of the ibis, and the only way to get one was to pass the swarming hives. So I did, and miraculously without a sting. The ibis, seeing that their first line of defense failed, took to the air again and began moving to the southwest end of the lake. I got some shots off just before they took wing, and just after. Not the best, but decent. And I wasn't about to pursue them further. As I was watching them come for a landing in the distance, a perfumed odor wafted by, and I looked over to find a skunk not five meters away. Perhaps he was meant to be their second line of defense, but showed-up a little late for the game

1310 Mama robin returns to the nest with a single earthworm. Who does she give it to? She dangles one end down and it is snatched by the tallest chick in the pile. But mama doesn't let go. She maneuvers the other end of the worm into the open mouth of a second chick, and let's the two of them tug to rip it in half

1639 Ruddy ducks in Innokimi, pretty cool

1842 Just learned that the red shale gravel that paves the pathways of our parks is actually rock and impure coal that was once piled in the coulee by Galt Mine #8, spontaneously combusted, and burned for many years

0121 After my close encounter with aapiikayii, I can better appreciate who this animal is. I always thought of skunks as being raccoon and cat-like. But watching them move, how they turn about, and looking into their eyes, it's immediately clear that they are of the weasels, who I've lived with and know well

IIII ) lllllllllllllllllllll Damselfly Explosion (5June10)

0822 Made another run to Stirling Lake this morning, where we saw hundreds of redwings, yellowheads, and franklins, and a whole island colony of cormorants. The ibis was being totally unsociable though, and the few that we observed were winging past at a distance

1342 Sspopiikimi - out here this afternoon to relax and learn. Last week, I pursued the question of how the heavy rains might be affecting those plants and animals who were already established here, blossoming and brooding for the season. Now that things have cleared up a bit, I look forward to learning about who was might have been waiting for these rains as their cue to get active

1354 Right off the hop, entering along the path that deposits me directly across from the midpond coot nest, I find a yellow warbler and two eastern kingbirds searching for some kind of food along the cutbank. I intend to follow them, but am immediately distracted by the appearance of a small fawn-yellow colored inornate ringlet butterfly and a new (to me) kind of damselfly, green and lavender in color

1419 Though the damselfly is easy enough to get close to, the ringlet is not interested in posing for my camera, and I have to pursue it for some distance around the absinthe fields, crossing paths with several other damselflies, including a brilliant boreal bluet, in the process. These ringlets are mating it seems. On some occasions when the one I'm pursuing stops in the grass, a second of its kind approaches it and the two flutter together briefly

1435 I've still not moved away from the absinthe and west midpond cutbank when I come across a dark morph cowpath tiger beetle. It seems to be hunting ants in the little clearings between tufts of grass

1445 After an hour in already, I finally make it fifty meters or so north to the bat tree. Along the way, I find several large aapsspini feathers, suggesting to me that they are already molting. I also see mi'sohpsski carrying bedding material, including old bulrush stems, into one of the burrows along the bank, just as they were doing a few days ago

1501 There are large blue dragonflies following the shoreline, so just beside the bat tree I climb down to try and get a better look. Of course, now they seem to be passing with less frequency, and those that do move by are fast to do so. But just below me, on some small rush stems above the waterline, I am witnessing the escape of a pinkish-colored damselfly from its alien larval exoskeleton. There is indeed a transformation underway

1522 Eventually I give up on the blue dragonflies, figuring that I'll have better success watching them if and when I get to the south marsh. Leaving the cutbank, I move rapidly around the north end of the pond, past its basking turtles, and climb the levee walk, heading toward the river. I can already see the waters of the Oldman are starting to descend again, leaving more of the big island exposed. I've come over here because I want to take a look at the steep cutbank, and hopefully learn whether the kingfishers or swallows are nesting yet

1537 There are indeed thousands of swallows swarming the cutbank. They seem to be moving in waves to and fro, between flying out over the river and rushing back to the embankment. I happen to find a kind of island where a small tree has broken off into the river with a lot of soil still clinging to its roots. This gives me a better vantage point from which to watch

1609 The swallows and kingfishers both have established cavities in the cutbank, but I have not been able to see whether or not they have eggs. I don't believe they have hatchlings yet, at least, because I hear no begging chatter coming from the cavities as the birds come and go. But part of what makes the whole task difficult is that the colonies depart each time I get close to one of the nesting areas. When I'm below the cutbank, on the river, I'm too conspicuous. I can sneak up on them from above, but as soon as they learn I'm there, they come bursting out of the cavities and refuse to return until I leave

1627 I have to concede that I'm not getting anywhere with these swallows. Their chosen nesting banks are very well protected: steep, heavily brush-lined, and always with the river flowing who knows how deep just below. I decide to climb back up to the levee walk and move toward the wet-meadows

1700 Whereas the river has come down, the wet-meadows by contrast have risen. While aiming to check on a redwing nest, the one with the balloon, I spot a turtle basking on some fallen reeds. Two steps toward it and I find myself thigh-deep in swamp water. It completely fills my gum-boots, and the turtle makes a hasty retreat. Already wet, I push on and find the nest, which was situated above land during my last two visits, but currently has a protective pool below it. Curiously though, it now has no eggs, where last week it already had one. The female is still claiming it, perching off a ways and giving an alarm call. Her husband is hovering and swooping me from overhead

1716 Heavy of boot and feeling pretty defeated, I'm about to call it a day when, to my delight, I come upon a new robin's nest with four turquoise eggs. I'm glad to see this because the other brood that had been nearby already fledged, and those at the college are about to leave the nest as well. This will give me another opportunity to continue following robin development. I’m particularly interested in the feeding technique I witnessed at the college over the past week, with the mother placing ends of a single worm into two hungry mouths, and the hatchlings tugging the ends to split the meal

1730 I am ready to go home, but before I do so I just want to visit one more area, the subpond. I don't know why I should need to go there. Really, all of the wet-meadows are subpond today. The aapsspini families and sspopiiksi certainly understand this. They are taking full advantage of the deeper beaver canals within this flood zone. But maybe it's just the principle of it. It would be a shame to leave without even stopping by the subpond for a glance. Sometimes the reward for doing so is a rare sighting. Earlier this season, for instance, we'd observed both a wood duck and a sora here. No telling who may be here today

1735 Even before I get to the subpond, there's a reward. Walking the edge zone between forest and wet-meadow, I come across a brilliant, fat yellow and black dragonfly. Real strong bee colors. I don't recall having ever seen this species before. Or if I have, I never noticed, which is odd considering that the bees and I are always highly aware of one another's presence

1755 Partway through the forest, I hear the familiar sound of starling hatchlings being fed. The chirps bring me to a snag tree with two starling nests set within old flicker cavities. The parents have a full-time job of collecting worms from the surrounding area, and flying them up to the waiting chicks. In a neighboring snag, mama flicker herself peeks out at me. She has been sitting here for some time now, and I would imagine she must have hatchlings by now. But if she does, she gives no sign of it, disappearing into the cavity, waiting for me to pass

1810 The rest of the hike back to my truck is uneventful, or perhaps I'm just tuned-out with physical and mental exhaustion at this point. But reflecting back on my original objective for the day, what have I learned so far about the beneficiaries of the heavy rains and flooding? Well, from what I saw today, it's pretty clear that the dragonflies, damselflies, and inornate ringlets needed this. They were a constant presence wherever I went. The mosquitoes, who were not too bad today, but were fairly thick immediately after the rains, were waiting for it. The robins and starlings, in their quest for worms to feed their hatchlings, probably appreciated it. The bank swallows, if they have eggs in those holes, certainly benefit from the high river, creating a formidable shield below them. Who else, perhaps tomorrow will tell

IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllll Parenthesis Lady Beetle (6June10)

1216 Currently sitting on the viewing pad along the edge of Stirling Lake, and we've been here for a half hour or so

1236 Just minutes ago the first ibis of the day passed overhead and landed in the marsh south-east of us. Across the lake, on the opposite shore, there's a massive congregation of gulls, and out on the small rock island the (nesting?) cormorants. There are hundreds of redwing and yellow-headed blackbirds in the surrounding reeds, and we can hear the "chuck-chuck" of a coot, the aquatic "glump" of a ruddy duck, and the "bip... bip" of a frog who's unfamiliar to us

1253 Another ibis passes overhead, this one continuing northeast. The few gulls who are moving around us are all franklins and thayers

1344 Eventually, we leave the observation deck and drive around some of the back-roads, trying to gain access to the lake from other angles. Along the way, we pass little potholes with mallards, shovelers, blue-winged teals and gadwalls. There are ground squirrels and grey partridges on the road. But there is no access to the lake, at least not without a connection to one of the local land owners. This is probably a good thing, as far as the birds here are concerned. It means no boats, or dog-walkers, or other recreation folk looking for a beautiful setting within which to carry out their human-centric activities

1539 Very cool, I just saved a parenthesis lady beetle from a pot of water it was drowning in out by the hillbilly couch. First one of its kind I've ever seen

1814 Sspopiikimi - received word that there are new cinnamon teal ducklings here today, so Mahoney and I have come for an evening visit. The conditions are perfect, high stratus clouds shading us, while retaining the day's heat

1835 Walking the length of the pond, from the parking area to the south bench, we see one of the ksisskstaki hauling a mud patch up on their lodge and, beyond that, the Triplet and Big Island aapsspini families. The goslings are growing up quick. Already the Triplets and Miracle, a few days older than the other three, are getting their white jaw patches

1839 While watching the goslings, we hear a mewing sound coming from the coulee slope. Looking up, we spot two porcupines walking together. They are far away, and the sound reminds me of the Blonde's baby from last year. So we are breaking briefly at the bench, then we're going to climb up for a look

1854 From our bench seat, we're seeing kingfishers and kingbirds hunt the waters and yellow warblers picking bugs off the logs. There's a redstart singing his "tweetie-bird" song from somewhere in the currants. Three cinnamon teal drakes just came in for a landing, while ten pelicans continue their flight in a line upriver. We hear the crow of a pheasant rooster from the coulee slope, he's standing as a silhouette on top of a ridge. He's calling for us to climb

1923 Seems we are not going to heed the call. Something's happening with Mahoney's camera, and by the time she's finished working on it, we figure the opportunity has passed. Instead of climbing, we'll go grab our chairs and sit at north-pond. But before we head in that direction, I walk over to check on Scabby redhead's nest, wondering if she could be the new mama rather than a cinnamon teal. She's not home, but I can see an in-tact egg from my position on the levee-walk, so I assume she's taking dinner

1950 Walking the length back to the north end of the pond, we don't encounter Scabby, nor the reported ducklings, though the wet-meadows are flooded now, so there's quite a lot we can't see. A couple ksisskstaki are out by the main lodge. They've dragged some poplar branches out there, stolen off the compost pile at the neighboring golf course

1955 Settling in beside the bat tree, we're in decent company. The Small Island aapsspini family are here with their two goslings, feeding on an island of grassy wet-meadow. Near them is a cinnamon teal drake. And of course papa coot is strutting around

2012 Our stint at north-pond is short-lived. The wind has suddenly picked-up and it's brought rain. Things are fairly quiet here anyway, not even the swallows are bothering to fly tonight