Annual Midwest Crane Count

It was 3:15 a.m. when the alarm went off.  I looked out the window to see rain sheeting but short of a blizzard, we crane counters are expected to show up.

My clothes were all laid out, so I dressed quickly and went downstairs, but I was still sleepy and drank two cups of tea before I remembered I should have laid off liquids. There would be no place to pee until almost 8:00.  I packed the essentials:  a piece of fruit, a granola bar, binoculars, clipboard, pencils and the crane count paperwork.  I threw on my orange hat and winter coat.  Turkey hunting season begins today and there's no point in taking a chance. Liquids be damned, I made a cappuccino to go.

Gary pulled himself out of bed and moved his van so I could get my car out.  He went back to bed.  Rascal Cat never stirred.  His internal alarm clock was working just fine, thank you.

We had worked out the route two days before. In the dark and rain, I drove Highway G west to Highway 47 north to Highway F west to Highway I south to Highway XX west to Maple Grove and there I was at site 13. I never saw another vehicle all the way.

At 5:00 a.m., I was early by half an hour, so I amused myself with a sudoku puzzle by flashlight.  Then it was 5:30, time to count. On a good spring morning, I would be outside, but the rain didn't allow that. Lights off, the windows cracked open, I listened.

The robins were awake, of course.  Next to rouse themselves were the red-winged blackbirds.  Whrrrrrr.  They were followed by sparrows, then crows.  The three houses in the lane were dark. Nothing going on there.

Finally at 5:56, I heard the unmistakable sound of sandhill cranes waking up, but it didn't do me any good, they were far away to the south, outside of my site.  We are only to count what is in the boundaries.  So I listened and watched. When the rain let up and became a mist, I walked outside for a while, but all I spotted was a red-tailed hawk.

At 6:30, I started the car and drove the two miles to the north side of site 13.  There was nothing going on at the Embarrass River so I turned around and parked beside the road, still Highway XX.  All the roads had narrow verges and deep drops into ditches, so when I could see a car coming, I turned on the lights to avoid a crash. Raindrops sparkled on the brush and wire fencing.

In the distance, I could hear the honking of hundreds of Canada geese and from time to time, a flock took off.

Finally, three cranes flew over a field.  One landed and strolled around.  And that was the end of my count.

At 7:30, I packed it in and drove to New London and the Mosquito Hill Nature Center where I turned in my little report.  I talked to Steve, the naturalist, who had the primo uno site, a perfect crane marsh, one I've counted twice.  His form showed 75 cranes.  But I'm not jealous.  Well, not much.

We counters drank coffee, tea and juice, toasted up some bagels and talked about birding around the world. I got advice on birding the Bear River preserve in Utah.

Then I came home, just as Gary was getting out of bed.

The Pasque Flower

Just in time, the Pasque (or Easter) flower is blooming in my back yard.

Gary, who is a botanist, had his doubts about it because it didn't fit the description in his wildflower book and though I remembered planting it, I couldn't remember where it came from.  Was it from a greenhouse with exotic plants that is now defunct?  Was it from Dan, the city's handman/gardener/birder?  Was it from Lois, who often gave me plants? She died last year so I couldn't ask her.  Finally, I thought about Kim, the librarian who likes rare species.

We stopped at the library where she was working this afternoon.  Yes, she said, that's a pasque flower and she gave me a plant two or three years ago. She is jealous.  Her garden in the country is not as well protected as mine, so her pasque flower is not yet blooming.  

This Easter flower grows wild in South Dakota so is the state flower there.   It is a species that grows well in the tundra so it does well in cold weather.

I was delighted to see yet another flower to join the others.  The hyacinths started to bloom today and by tomorrow, there will be daffodils.  It is cold and windy here in Seymour, but spring pushes on.

Camping Gear

This morning, Gary brought my camping gear out of storage. There isn't much.  All I need is a small tent, two sleeping bags (one for cold weather, one for hot weather), a pillow, and a self-inflating air mattress.  There's a plastic crate that contains a one burner camp stove, a set of collapsible aluminum pans, a flashlight, matches, one plate, a set of utensils, a cup and a glass.

We have to test the air mattress and the tent for leaks and wash my cooking gear.

More important, and probably more expensive, is a total checkup of my car, the Mercury Sable station wagon.  I know the spark plugs need changing, and there will be a few other things, according to the mechanic.  It's a bigger car than I bought in the past, and in some ways it's a pain, especially when it comes to parking, but in a pinch, I can sleep in it.  

On April 30, there's a $5 bag sale at the Appleton St. Vincent de Paul store.  My clever daughter-in-law Tisha will be there to help me choose more clothes to take along.  I like buying things that way because if some clothes item doesn't work out, I can simply drop it off along the way, preferably at another re-sale store.

So bit by bit, I am preparing for the adventure.

A Day on the River

The forecast was good, the day sunny, the wind almost non-existent. It was time to wet the canoe for the first time since November 8, 2010. Oh, those five months were so long!

We planned on parking my car in the parking lot at Highway 156 west of Navarino, but when we got there we found the Wolf River had flooded over the banks, making the lot a pond. We parked my car across the river on higher ground at another lot that fishermen use.

We took the canoe on Gary's van to the next boat landing on Highway CCC. That lot wasn't entirely flooded, but the shrub area where I usually relieve myself before our trip was in water. Oops, I shouldn't have had so much tea or cappuccino before we left.

The Shawano County park ranger was there, repairing the fee station. For the last two years, we had been unable to pay because someone had broken into the tubular vault where the $3.00 payments were to go. Since he was there, we filled out the envelope with our fee right away so he could take it away without someone stealing it. He told us about conditions, admired our canoe, told us about his, and then he was off to his next stop at Hayman Falls. Hayman Falls? It's a beautiful spot we haven't visited for a while. We jotted that down for a hot summer's day cooling off place.

Then we were off, down the flooded river through the Navarino nature area, over twelve miles with few dwellings and nobody around. The entire trip we only encountered two fishermen but we had plenty of company. Flickers pecking on old trees told us they were back. Flying high above us, sandhill cranes were calling to the sun. Mallards quacked warnings as we approached then took off downriver to do exactly the same thing fifteen minutes later. Red-winged blackbird males warned us, too, but seldom moved off their perches. The robins, crows, tree sparrows, and chickadees ignored us completely.

The river was fast, so there was little paddling to be done, just a bit of steering and quick strokes of the oars to avoid branches hanging over. Gary took care of that. I observed he liked close calls and stopped ducking every time we approached what looked like disaster. Me, I leaned back, put my feet up on the bow and did very little at all but watch the shores go by.

The trees were budding, giving a slight tinge of mint to the shores, but mostly the banks were beige and brown. The river changes by the week. By the beginning of May, the forest will be lime green, by summer the green will be deep and lush, by late September, we'll be in autumn glory.

If this section of the Wolf River were in a city, there would be sandbags everywhere, but the critters don't find that necessary. The cranes, who are not nesting just yet, moved to the higher ground. The songbirds nest in the same trees, even if they are in a flood plain surrounded by water. The ducks didn't mind at all. The muskrats happily paddled around. In a week the water will be gone and everyone will go back to where they started. None of them have the problems we civilized folk have.

We stopped so Gary could fish but almost immediately something took the bait and his lure. That was 4 pound line, so it must have been sizable. This happened twice. We debated what it could be. A sturgeon? Probably not. A turtle? No, Gary said, they wouldn't be up yet, though later we did see a painted turtle sunning itself on a half submerged log. It probably was a northern pike, he thought. He caught nothing at all, so we'll never know.

The world was waking up. The cranes crooned, a belted kingfisher complained when he didn't get his fish, the song sparrows gave us their best tunes, and the leopard frog chorus let us know that they were all piling on each other to mate. Frogs originated the sex orgy.

We canoed in and out of the forest, gliding across the swampland below. We ate our sub sandwich on a bit of high ground that was today an island. A rivulet poured into the base of an old tree and came out gurgling a miniature waterfall. It was a perfect picnic spot and included a bit of brush that served me as an outhouse. Ah, relief and lunch!

A garter snake zigzagged his way across the river, fighting the current. It hesitated when it saw the canoe, then with renewed vigor kept going. I thought we should give it a ride, but Gary thought not. Why does the snake cross the river? It looked the same on both sides. Maybe there was a snake of the opposite sex over there.

And so our day went. The white throated sparrow sang. A little hooded merganser darted in front of us. The river carried us on.

Finally we came to Pearl Flats where we have twice guarded sturgeon. Not this year, the cabins and house trailers are surrounded by water so no one could get in there except by water. The vacation homes are on stilts, so they will be fine. The rocks where the giant fish spawn are under water. Unless the water subsides soon, there will be nothing happening there.

Gary dropped me off at the place I'd parked my car, but he paddled over to the boat landing, mostly so he could say he canoed through the parking lot.

We packed up and ended the day taking another look at my crane counting site. We figured out a better way to get to it in the dark next Saturday.

We came home with the beginning of our summer's tan. I put away the Vitamin D3 and St. John's wort capsules until November's gray days.   

Canoeing on the Wolf

Gary and I went  canoeing on the Wolf River today.  The river flooded over its banks because of the melting snow from the 18 inch blizzard of two weeks ago, followed by the yesterday's storm.

Behind Gary in this photo is the parking lot.  He was able to paddle the canoe off the river and through the parking lot.   I'll describe the entire trip tomorrow.  

Crocuses, Snowdrops, Puschkina, and Eggs

This morning the puschkina decided to join the rest of the flowering clan.  That's six species so far, with the daffodils showing yellow tips.  After last night's storms we wondered if the crocuses and snowdrops had survived.  No problem, those little guys just bend with the wind and perk up come morning.

Not so all the brightly colored eggs I hung so carefully from the lilac and honeysuckle bushes to amuse my grandson and the neighborhood children.  They were spread all over the lawn as if a demented Easter bunny thought Easter had arrived early.  With an Easter basket in hand, I gathered them and may put them up again when the wind dies down.

Weathering the Storm

The siren just went off for the seventh time, but all indications are the tornado activity will go south of us. 

I talked to son Chris in Appleton who says he, Tisha and Evan are in the basement.  When they bought the house, the inspector raved over the solid basement and the exceptionally strong walls, so I expect they are quite safe there.  They are snuggled into the futon down there, reading Evan his  bedtime books.  It's relief to know they are being sensible...unlike us.

We thought about going into the basement here, but one of the disadvantages of living in this old house is that in the wettest springs, the water seeps through cracks.  It's not a flood but sitting in the dampness did not appeal to us.  We'll take our chances with a twister.

It reminds me of my great aunt Mabel who once went out on her porch to watch a tornado approach Oshkosh.  She was in her mid-80s and in poor health.  She had never seen a tornado before and "what's the worst it can do, kill me?"  It missed her by two blocks.  "It was real pretty," she reported.  

But it is night time here so we would never see a tornado before it hit us.   We might hear the "choo-choo-choo" sound as it revolved, but that time it would be too late for us to do anything about it. 

Friends send instant messages wondering what is going on here.  It used to be when we were in tornado alert we sat in the basement totally out of touch with the outside world.  Now we sit at our laptops and communicate. What a wonderful new world.

It's all past us now, unless something happens in the middle of the night.  We won't know.  We're going to bed.