Concluding Piitaiki'somm

IIII ) llllllllllllllll Early Mourning Cloak (10Mar12)

0827 Sspopiikimi - Woke up this morning just itching to survey the pond

I was here two days ago, shortly after dawn, for a filming session with a couple guys from the National Film Board who are working on a water documentary. Tatsikiistamik advised them to interview me, and I figured Sspopiikimi would be the best site for it, since this is where I do most of my learning. Unfortunately, we were pressed for time, because I had another meeting to attend, so I didn't get to take them along on a full round. We taped in front of the ksisskstakioyis, and I told them the story of how Mahoney and I began our phenology studies, through the challenge to collect waterfowl eggs. The geese, for their part, cooperated perfectly. At one point, the guys wanted to shoot me walking along the shale trail of the west length. As I did so, one of the geese followed, waddling north on the ice for the entire stretch, keeping parallel with me, and as close as she could get without coming ashore. This bird has probably known me her whole life, and if I were there under different conditions, I would have shown her serious attention. So that was one point of frustration for me. A second point came as I was making my way out. With only ten minutes to spare before my scheduled meeting, I stopped in the parking lot to talk with naturalist Ken Orich, who was just pulling in. As we exchanged some quick notes, I spotted a long-tailed weasel leaping into some nearby absinthe scrub. I pointed out the spot to Ken, so he could search it out, but I had to run, and this was the first long-tailed weasel I've ever seen at the pond

Needless to say, I've been dying to return, and this morning is the first opportunity. The temperature right now is right around zero, but things will be warming up soon

0832 As I come within view of pond, it's clear that the big melt-off is underway. There are now significant open pools all the way along. In the pool where I'm at, in north-pond, there are presently three aapsspini couples, as well as three mi'ksikatsi (one drake with two ducks). Further south, at midpond, I can see another mi'ksikatsi couple in a pool by the ksisskstakioyis, and two more aapsspini pairs on the wet-meadows nearby

0845 I start off hiking the shale trail along thewest length, passing a magpie who's sitting with five or six starlings in one of the large cottonwoods on the golf greens. I've noticed that the starlings of Sikoohkotoki are especially fond of singing wigeon calls, and as I listen to them this morning I'm reminded that the wigeons should be passing through at Sspopiikimi any day now. We usually have a group that stops here. I recognize them as the same clan every year because they have one eurasian member with them. They don't stick around, but they're usually here at least a week or so before moving on

Coming to south-pond, I find five more aapsspini couples grazing on the wet-meadows. There are more islands exposed in the wide pool now than in the two previous years, so I'm predicting more aapsspini couples will be nesting here than usual. The bigger question this time around will be whether misamssootaa, the long rains, continue to be extended beyond their norm. I was told that they have always lasted between four and fourteen days. But last year, they went on for something more like six weeks, completely submerging the islands as well as the entire wet-meadows through most of the summer. I also think this is why we had so few berries, as the flowers had just started blooming when the rains began. The change, I suspect, is related to the global warming trend and climate shift

I stop off at the south-pond bench to scan the wide pool and see if there's anything else to note. Nothing phenological that grabs my eye. There is, however, a new feature here. Attached to the metal wall of the nearby trash bin, I notice a wide, shallow box wrapped almost completely in black duct tape, with just a small rectangular window revealing the tin beneath. My curiosity immediately kicks in. Mahoney and I turned a log once in the forest main and found a geocache hidden beneath. I'm wondering if this box is not something similar. It comes off the trash bin fairly easily, having been held in place by magnets. Someone went through a lot of trouble to fashion it for this place. In order to open it though, I have to remove some of the black tape. Before doing so, I give it a little shake. Nothing moves inside, it feels light and empty. Confident that I'm not dealing with a bomb, I remove the tape from three edges of the lid and open it up to reveal... the box is a home-made pinhole camera. The only thing inside is a sheet of photo-paper, taped to the bottom, and revealing a long exposed shot of the Sun's path through the sky. Now I feel stupid and inconsiderate. Had I looked more closely at the little window, I would have seen the pinhole and figured it out. For me, it is a reminder of our cultural compulsion to seek quick answers through intrusive means. I close the lid again, tape it back up, return the box to its place on the trash bin, and hope I haven't caused too much damage. I need to take this as a lesson, and avoid jumping so quickly to intrusive methods in the future. I need to be patient and willing to exhaust potentials for careful observation and consideration of the consequences first

0917 From the south-pond bench, I can hear familiar voices. There's a pheasant somewhere near the duck blind, across the wide pool from me, and another in the owl wood. More interesting though are the voices I hear coming from the coulee slope behind the golf greens. House finches, I'm sure of it

Since the course isn't open yet, I decide to trespass across the greens and climb up alongside the brush-filled draw below the flat I call the coyote playground. This brush is where the voices are coming from, and sure enough they're house finches, about two dozen of them newly returned from migration. There are also niipomakii here, and I see a single male robin. I'm not the only one attracted to the sounds of these birds. A white coyote approaches the brush just as I do, but from the opposite side of the draw. She's close enough that I figure she could maneuver her way to me in a matter of very few seconds. When she notices that I'm there too, she stops in her tracks and looks behind her, then back at me. Then, surprisingly enough, she sits calmly down on her haunches, so I follow her lead and do the same. The two of us sit like this for about five minutes, watching the birds together. Then she stands, looks over her shoulder again, and turns to climb the ridge behind her, soon disappearing from sight

0935 Moving on, I descend the slope again and hike over to the owl wood, where I can hear calls from mi'kaniki'soyi, the flicker. It's warming up nicely, and I have to remove my wool hat and thin gloves. The owls aren't here, they're nesting elsewhere, same as last year. By the sounds of it though, the starlings are getting an early start. I can hear them calling from inside one of the flicker cavities, the kind of calls I associate with mating

0957 In the owl wood, I begin to come across active insects... first a scout honeybee, then a greenbottle fly. I continue to see the same two species when I go over the levee and into the forest main. Their presence has me excited both about the season ahead, and about who I might find under the wet-meadow logs today

Fairly hurrying out onto the meadow, and turning one of the larger logs on the south end, I'm not disappointed. There are far fewer insects under this log than in previous years, owing I think to the floods of last summer. A really conspicuous absence is the lack of various beetle species who normally winter here - the rove beetles, sidewalk and granulated carabids. But who I am greeted with is the first butterfly of the year, a mourning cloak. She's gripping the log and keeping her wings closed, probably having only recently pupated. In addition, there are several fuzzy moth larvae here. They're about the same size as saltmarsh moth larvae, but darker in fur. I'll have to try again to dig-up a solid identification

1020 I lift a few more boards and logs as I move toward the bulberry patch. None of them have anything so exciting as an emerging butterfly, but I do find a pair of water striders and a large cocoon. I haven't brought any containers with me, or I'd take the cocoon home to see who comes out of it

Once at the bulberries, I set down my bag and climb in through a coyote-height tunnel. My camera trap here hasn't been checked for a couple weeks, and I wish I'd gotten to it sooner. In one of the early frames, a porcupine can be seen walking straight toward the lens. In the next three shots, it climbs right over top of the camera, shifting its focus away from the trail completely. After the porcupine, I have several pictures of thick brush, with who knows what passing behind

Rather than simply shifting the lens back in the right direction, I decide to move the camera entirely, setting it up in a different part of the bulberries, where it looks like the animals have cleared a sizable chamber. I then hike out through the forest main toward the levee, flushing a whitetail deer along the way

1045 I move on to the river where, for the first time in quite a while, there are no aapsspini to be seen around the big island. I can see one pair downstream, by the highway bridge, and several others upstream at the high-level bridge, but none on the island at all. Also absent are the eagles, ravens, and goldeneyes who've been fairly constant all winter. There are a few mallards on the water when I first come into view, but they quickly take wing. I walk down to the shoreline by the edge of the north wood, expecting to find insects scurrying among the cobbles. There are none, not even the isocapnia stoneflies I've been expecting to appear

1055 From the river, I hike through the north wood, over the levee, and through what remains of the absinthe field post pipeline construction. I am half hoping to encounter the weasel I'd spotted on my way out the other day. It was still bright winter white, but I can feel the season closing, and the new life ready to burst forth. There will be more and more residents emerging everyday now from here out

IIII ) lllllllllllllllll Diving Beetle Emergence (11Mar12)

1437 Sspopiikimi - Back again, with heavier winds, but still very comfortable temperatures, and a few tentative agenda items to attend. I'd like to check on the ant hives, for instance, to see who's all awake. I may try to locate this year's owl and magpie nests. Also... and I don't know how realistic this would be... I've been imagining following one of the honeybee scouts, to ascertain their nest location, and thereby avoid any interference with it through the season to come

1449 Of course, when seeking to learn unobtrusively from nature, all agendas must be kept loose at best. Coming within sight of north-pond, which is almost entirely ice-free, I'm ready to discard all my plans. There's more important things going on that I should direct my attention to. The water here is filled with aapsspini, thirty-five of them, almost all separated as couples. There's also two mi'ksikatsi pairs, and a lone female American wigeon. All are feeding or simply floating. More interestingly though, the mamia'tsikimiiksi are here, three of them, paying a lot of attention to the mud banks at the pond's edge. It's a bit too early for them to be shaping the mud bowls for their nests. Right now, most that I’ve been monitoring are still gathering sticks. It must be they're eating some newly emerged insect, and I'm going to have to check it out

1459 Yes, leave it to the magpies to tip me off to the latest phenological event. The muddy banks of the pond are teeming with mid-sized diving beetles, some of which shuttle off into the water at my approach, others opting to take flight. It is indeed nearing the time of year when I often find these beetles slowly dragging themselves along the ground at various distances from water. I don’t know enough about their natural history to understand why they would bother leaving the pond, but I suppose their travels keep the genetic pool mixed-up nicely. The adults are, as the magpies attest, edible. And though I haven’t mustered the courage to try any of them myself, similar predacious diving beetles are – like the giant water bug, which I also haven’t tasted – eaten by members of several cultures around the world

Leaving the beetles to their doings, I climb back up the bank and directly to one of the larger thatching ant hives. There are some active and outside, just as I’d suspected there would be. As I’m checking on them, two scout bees conduct exploratory fly-bys of my body. They zoom off at such a rate that I relinquish any notions of my ability to follow them

1523 The mamia’tsikimiiksi, who had taken off when I went to investigate the shoreline, are encountered again at the extreme end of north-pond, where they are again munching diving beetles. Noting my scrutiny, they fly up over the levee and drop into the north wood, and I follow, still on the lookout for any of their new nests or the location of the owls. I find neither, and end up eventually at the river cutbank on the other side of the wood, looking out over the big island. Surprisingly, there are just two pairs of aapsspini on the island today. Everyone else, it seems, is back at the pond

1545 From the river, I drop down into the forest main and make my way toward the wet meadows, stopping along the way to check the slave ant hives. No action there. Then, once out on the meadows proper, I turn a few logs, not finding much. There are several fast-moving little spiders, and I take the cocoon that I’d spotted yesterday

At the bulberry brush, I decide to go ahead and check the camera again, though it’s only been a day set up at the slightly new location. There are a number of images already, all of them showing magpies. It makes me wonder if they’re going to try to use the old nest from last year, even though the bush that it’s attached to is fallen over, leaving the nest just a few feet off the ground

1554 Continuing on with my wet-meadow log-turning, I soon come across one of the most splendid mouse houses I’ve ever seen… a cozy bundle of moss, grass, and cottony seeds, its entrance perfectly lined with cottontail fur. I peek inside with my flashlight, but there’s nobody home. Back behind this house, under the same log, and separated by a small burm of soil, is the mouse’s washroom space, with a good collection of droppings attesting to how long the period of occupancy has been

Setting the log back in its place and moving another fifty meters or so, I come across a large shed whitetail antler. This I take back and place close to the mouse log as an offering. I’m sure the little guy would love to nibble at this antler within diving distance of sure safety

1612 Arriving at the duck blind, the wide south pool looks much like north-pond in terms of activity. There are, by my count, twenty aapsspini here, most of them in pairs, and eight mi’ksikatsi

1635 While at the south end, I decide to walk around the perimeter of the owl wood, surveying again for the nests of kakanottsstookiiksi and mi’ksikatsiiksi. It is no use. I don’t know where the owls have gone but, as for the magpies, I suspect they’re building in the dense chokecherry stands along some of the coulee draws

Coming full circle again to the wide south pool, there’s a bit of goose tension. A family of seven members are, for some unknown reason, purposely stirring things up. They are swimming up to each couple occupying the islands and bullying their way across. This doesn’t play out well at the island nearest the mouth of the pool, whose occupants are, I believe, the Gosling Couple. This is the most aggressive pair of aapsspini on the pond, and they stand their ground just fine even against seven. In fact, they send the intruders scrambling

1643 Just about back to the vehicle now. The wind has picked up, and there are now far fewer insects around than there were earlier. I have no further encounters to report. But I did notice, coming through the bulberry patch above the peninsula, that the flower buds now have that vivid, lively look to them. If we have a few more warm days, I wouldn’t be surprised to see them start opening already

IIII ) lllllllllllllllllllll The Unfortunate Snagging Of A Muskrat (15Mar12)

1230 Sspopiikimi - Bit of a traumatic morning. I went out to the pond after dropping Mahoney off at work, hoping to get a jump on the apaksskioomiiksi (northern pike). I want to get a good supply of fish over the summer, and can't think of a more beneficial way to do it than in catching some of the larger predators at Sspopiikimi before the goslings and ducklings are born

With the ice having melted, the aapsspiniiksi are already very near to caching eggs. I'll have to monitor them closely from here out. Today, there were twelve pairs on the pond, and plenty of islands to go around. Still, the territorial battles have begun. I witnessed several fights between ganders while attending to the fish. There are also four or five mi'ksikatsi couples hanging around the pond, but they're more skittish, and fly away when I'm around

Unfortunately, just as during this transition between seasons last year, it doesn't seem the apaksskioomiiksi are all to interested in eating. I walked along the shoreline tossing and reeling-in the spoons they rarely resist, and didn't get even one strike. Then, along the shore of the wide south pool, I noticed a dead turtle tucked up in a little inlet to one of the muskrat burrows. I pulled the turtle out, and examined it. The shell had already been gnawed through in several places, and all the appendages (head, legs, and tail) had been eaten out, but there was still some flesh and organs deep inside. I though that maybe, if the apaksskioomiiksi were too dormant yet to chase after spoons, a drifting bit of rancid turtle meat might do the trick

I quickly set myself up, sapping spoon for hook, putting just a tiny weight near on the line, to sink the meat. Since I didn't have a bobber with me, I rigged up a natural float using a couple inches of cattail stem. Ready to go, I cast the bait out a ways, waited patiently as it drifted back in with the wind. Cast again, waited. Cast a third time, and suddenly a muskrat surfaced near my line. It swam straight to and over top of my bit of reed float. When I didn't see the cattail appear again in its wake, I slowly started to reel things in. Sure enough, the hook had caught in the muskrat's hind foot, and now I had a squirming mammal at the end of my line

Because it did not break away immediately, I though maybe we'd end up eating barbecued muskrat tonight. I held the pole and dug into my backpack for a small crowbar I could use to inflict the necessary crack on the head. I didn't really want to kill the muskrat, nor did I want to inflict a serious injury and just leave the animal to suffer. With crowbar in hand, I slowly guided the muskrat toward the shore at my feet. Then, just as things were about to get brutal, the muskrat dove into the same little inlet I'd taken the turtle from, and climbed up into a burrow with my hook still securely attached. I don't know how my line remained intact through the pulling and thrashing, but it did

Crouched beside the burrow entrance, I kept things tight and waited. When the muskrat refused to come back out, I held the line with one hand and started digging toward the animal with the other. Soon I had an exposed tail, and then the leg. The hook had gone through part of the muskrat's foot, and the damage looked to be no worse than a piercing. But how to get the hook out without either causing more damage or being bitten? I had no idea. Finally, I just grabbed the hook and pulled it down, away from the wound. At the same time, the muskrat made its own move, tore free and dove out past me. I hope it has enough self-doctoring instinct to ensure the puncture doesn't become infected and debilitating. I guess next time I'll react differently to start... If a muskrat appears to be going after your fishing bait, it probably is. Get the hook back to shore and out of reach as quick as possible, or prepare to eat muskrat for dinner

IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllllll Isocapnia… Finally (18Mar12)

1406 Sspopiikimi - We're heading toward the close of Piitaiki'somm, and recently the temperatures have cooled. This afternoon it's just above freezing. Still, for the acclimatized, it's comfortable. I'm out with just a sweater, sandals, and buff. No need for a toque

Yesterday, we had the first of our end-of-winter snow flurries... wet, sticky snow attempting to be Makoyisttsomo'ki (the Wolf Cap). We've had such a warm winter, most of it melted as soon as it touched down. A second round is coming this evening, the clouds already beginning to meld into grey stratus

It appears as though the pipeline construction has been completed, at least down here. They've sprayed that (practically neon) green seed paint all over the areas where soil was disturbed, including along parts of the shale trail by north-pond. I suppose it'll be monocrop brome in those places now

1409 Not wanting to disturb any migrating ducks who might be around, having dropped in from last night's snow, I don't raise my head up over the cutbank until I get to the farthest end of north-pond. There's nobody unexpected on the water: seven pairs of aapsspini, plus a yearling, and one mi'ksikatsi couple with an oddball (likely young) drake. There's also a muskrat swimming near the old shore lodge of the ksisskstaki, and a lot more ice than there was only a few days ago

Among the waterfowl, two aapsspini couple seem more staked-out for nesting territories than the others. There's no islands here for them, but I suspect they'll use the wet meadows, as in past years. Hopefully they don't try nesting on the plastic dock that was installed last summer. I can't express how tempted I am to pull that eyesore apart and get it out of here

1430 From north-pond, I climb over the levee and out to the river. There are four aapsspini couples laying claim to nesting territories on the big island here, though I suspect at least triple as many once things really get underway. The big news though is that the awaited Isocapnia stone flies are finally making their appearance on the shoreline rocks, and there are both magpies and downy woodpeckers there to feast on them. If I don't see anything else of phenological interest today, these stoneflies will have made the visit well worthwhile. For me, their appearance is a measure of personal success. I have a lifetime of learning ahead of me, but it's always rewarding to have confirmation when I can successfully predict at least one more event in the annual cycle

1443 Leaving the river, I pass through the forest main and out onto the wet meadows to check my camera trap in the bulberry brush. Unfortunately, it seems to have run out of batteries a few days ago. The images it did catch show a heavy mamia'tsikimi (long-tail or magpie) presence, and indeed there is a small base of sticks near one of the old orbs to suggest they're building a new nest. There have also been repeated visits from a male aotahkaaokayis (orange-breast or robin), a sign of the season

Out on the wet-meadows nearby, there is a pair of aapsspini conspicuously standing their ground, and so I approach them after finishing my work the bulberries. The couple do move out onto the water, which means they haven't begun caching eggs yet. The surest sign of such activity is when they will stay near, despite the threat I present

There is also an aapsspini couple standing fairly firm on the little island the ksisskstakiiksi created in front of their lodge. With the water so low, the beavers have had to trench out the bottom of the pond near their entrance, and all the mud and stone is piled up (and likely scented) nearby. This aapsspini pair are going to nest on the little island, I'm sure of it. Mahoney and I are familiar with this couple, and they usually use the bulrush flotilla left behind from the ksisskstaki winter food cache. But given that it's an unanchored flotilla (this year having already been pushed against the shoreline by the wind), their nest almost always fails. Not this year. Finally they will have a firm and fairly unreachable platform

1451 Moving south from the ksisskstakioyis, I encounter two aapsspini couples on the wet-meadows near the subpond canal (now dry), a third pair in the subpond proper, and five more couples in the wide south pool. Also in south-pond today are two mi'ksikatsi pairs, plus six drakes who are traveling as partnered couples, and the lone female wigeon. I don't know what's happened to the flock of wigeons who usually stop here. It's unlikely I could have missed them completely. If they don't return here this year, I can only assume something happened to them. I don't think they could have all been taken by hunters. More likely, in that event, to conjecture they've fallen victim to an industrial massacre of some sort... oil spill, frack fluid leak, Walmart parking lot, what have you

1455 I stop for a break at the duck blind. Everything is still fairly peaceful here. The big aapsspini battles haven't begun as yet. I'm looking forward to observing the behaviors of one pair in particular, those we call the Gosling Couple. It appears they have reoccupied the little island where they nested five years ago (that had been sunk in more recent years), right at the mouth of the wide south pool. Of all the animals at Sspopiikimi, this pair of geese have been our greatest teachers. They are the elders of the pond, and the goose herself the current matriarch of the Sspopiikimi matrilocal goose clan. Judging by behavioral nuances, Mahoney and I believe the 'husbands' are recruited in. Their behaviors range widely, while their wives have far more in common

The Gosling Couple are special for many reasons, not least of which being that they are the only pair who are absolutely safe from the egg predation we commit for our ceremonies. Both the goose and gander are absolutely willing to trade their lives for the protection of their eggs. And for that reason, five years ago, they were the only successful nesters (hence their name). That year, Mahoney and I sat on the banks and monitored them almost every evening throughout the incubation. When the hatching began, all the waterfowl and aquatic mammals gathered around the island to witness the occasion. It was the one and only time the gander allowed them near, and the first to pip faced us directly for a full day

We lost track of the first little yellow fluff-ball born that year, but the gosling couple never forgot about us. Ever since, the gander has used us blatantly as a component of his nest defense. Whenever we are near during the incubation period, he strategically positions himself to chase potential threats toward us. Often, they are so preoccupied with his violent charge that they don't even see us until the last second, and then they go into complete panic. This gives the gander exactly the edge he needs to convince them that passing by his nesting area is a very, very bad idea

1517 The 'ki-ki-ki' calls of male mi'kaniki'soyiiksi (red-wing-feathers or flickers) call me away from the duck blind. I've not seen or heard any of the territorial jousts of these birds this year, but they must be underway. I walk the perimeter of the owl wood, where one of the flickers is calling from. I can't help but glass the old nest and roosting tree of the kakanottsstooki (meager-ears or great horned owl) couple, even though I know they won't be here

When I get to the west end of the owl wood, I hike up one of the brush-lined coulee draws to check for mamia'tsikimi oyiiyiistsi. I know this year's magpie nests are being worked on here somewhere. It frustrates me that I haven't confirmed the locations. The draw I climb has the most bulberry bushes, and so is a likely magpie location. But my search of the brush produces nothing

I decide to climb the next ridge north, so that I can descent through another draw to continue my search. Along the way, I notice a smattering of emerging green... there are sporadic grass shoots, the first leaves of absinthe, and basal rosettes of sooyaiaiihtsi (three-flowered avens). Still no musineon, crocus, or moss phlox flowers though. But then again, they're not really expected yet, I'm just anxious

1528 The next draw north holds a ribbon of chokecherry and saskatoon, but still no magpie nests. They're probably one more draw over, below the coyote playground. My climbing legs are too shot to check today. With the melt of yesterday's snow, the slopes are incredibly slick. Believe it or not, the mud gives me more traction than the grass. I have several near-falls on my way down, and kind of tweek my knee as a result. Best practice is to go with the fall rather than resist it, but nobody ever does that, and I'm no exception

1546 Once at the base of the slope again, I continue down onto the peninsula. The kingfisher's here, the one who over-wintered. He flies off chattering in his usual fashion at my intrusion. I've brought my telescoping fishing rod with me, in one of the pockets of my backpack, and I take it out to give a few casts. The pike aren't eating yet, but for both dietary and phenological reasons I really want to know when they start. I'll continue to test for them every visit from here out

1555 The hike back along the shale trail to my car is without further event. It'll probably be another four days or so before I can return, but I'm glad to have seen the stoneflies before the moon disappears

Diamesinae Midges And Empty Owl Nests

IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllllll Aapsspiniiksi Return To Pond (18Feb12)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IIII ) l Diamesinae Midge (24Feb12)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IIII ) llllllllll Empty Owl Nest (4Mar12)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ravens And Borers

IIII ) llll Ravens And Borers (29Jan12)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IIII ) llllllllll Large Aapsspini Congregations (4Feb12)

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

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

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

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

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

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

IIII ) lllllllllll Optimistic Scouting (5Feb12)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IIII ) llllllllllllllllll Red Spider Mite (12Feb12)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scout Bee And Magpie Bath

IIII ) llllllllllllll Ksikkihkini (8Jan12)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllllll Thoughts On Forest (18Jan12)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Scout Bee And Magpie Bath (22Jan12)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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