Fire Ecology at Tarkiln Bayou - May 14

Back in May I went out to see some of the aftermath of a controlled burn at Tarkiln Bayou Preserve State Park. Here are some of the shots.

After a fire, anything that hasn't been burned to ashes (several inches above ground). Is so exposed to the heat that it turns brown and dead. Some of these plants will grow back but, after burning over a few decades (every few years), the weedier species will die off.

The fire can't burn if the ground is too wet. Here, wet ground has kept the fire from passing a certain line. Ecologists burn forests to increase biodiversity--it keeps weedy species from getting a monopoly on growing space and offers a chance for more sensitive species to take hold.

Mushrooms poke through the ashes almost as soon as the fire is passed, demonstrating that only a few centimeters below the surface, life goes on as normal. Roots and mycelia are unaffected by the blaze. Many species are specially adapted to periodic fires and do much better in their presence. People have been starting controlled fires in America before Europeans arrived on the continent, but for different reasons. Early Americans burned to make hunting and defence easier. In a more open forest, both prey and enemies could be seen from a safer distance. Inadvertently, these tribes and nations created an ecosystem of their own tastes, and animals and plants adapted to survive specifically in a fire-frequented environment.

A young six-lined racerunner makes the most of the fringes of the burn. Bugs are easy to spot out here.

My favourite species of carnivorous plant, Drosera tracyi. The long, delicate leaves curl around stuck insects that blundered into the sticky droplets of dew. The black specks here are gnats that will soon be digested by the plant.

Sunset at Bear Lake, Blackwater River State Forest

I made it out to Bear Lake back in October 17. After taking a look around the recreation area, I circled to the back of the lake and watched the sun set. It was a great time to stop and think about life, creation, and the Creator. Sometimes I'm a little disappointed to always be out alone, but moments like these make me realize how healthy it is to just clear one's mind in solitude. 

A cypress swamp at the southern tip of Bear Lake, Blackwater River State Forest, Florida. October 17, 2015.

Sunset at Bear Lake, Blackwater River State Forest, Florida. October 17, 2015.

Sunset at Bear Lake, Blackwater River State Forest, Florida. October 17, 2015. After most of the colour had been drained behind the western horizon, radiating patterns of streaked light created a beautiful panorama. The blurring affect that the rippled water had on this was irresistible and it is really accentuated in black-and-white.

Garcon Point Preserve

West Campus wasn't my only venture last Saturday. It just takes me a while to get these things down in a post. Didn't see a lot at Garçon Point Preserve. It was hot and coming on noon so there wasn't a lot of wildlife out. Some wrens, rails, and cuckoos. A racer and a ribbon snake. What really struck me about the park was the amount of wildflowers and insects. I'd love to go back with a good butterfly net. There were lots of these whitish-coloured bees and a fantastic diversity of butterflies and dragonflies that I wouldn't dare try to identify right now.

I believe these lovely wildflowers (which were covered in those white bees, by the way) are Phlox.

A sulfer butterfly (Phoebis sennae).

Anolis carolinensis among the Serenoa.

Herping after Dawn in the Florida Panhandle

A little late in coming, but I did go check my minnow trap at West Campus bright and early Saturday morning. Nothing. I could see some nice sized bass swimming around in the water but none of them would have fit in the trap. I'll have to try again in a different place were the fish aren't so large. And maybe I'll use some bait.

Anyways, I thought, the morning is young, so I went herping for the rest of the morning. Found a few dandy critters right there at West Campus including a few more leopard frogs (Rana sphenocephala) and lots of cricket frogs (Acris).

I had been hoping to find another cottonmouth (Agkistrodon piscivorus) or maybe a rattlesnake (Crotalus) because I had an audience (two of my coworkers/friends from the college came with me to pull up the trap). However, I didn't find anything venomous. This baby racer (Coluber constrictor) put on quite a show though. "Bit" me three or four times before I got the photos I was hoping for. Never broke the skin.

Herping after Dark in the Florida Panhandle

Here's a post from someone you haven't heard recently. I've been busy--very busy. It is not unusual for me to work 14 hours in a day and 9 hours is a short one. I worked hard this week and managed to keep up with all the homework and quiz grading common in the life of a college biology teacher. At the end of the day I rolled out of work at 4:00pm. Nine hours. After a quick dinner and an episode of John Acorn's Nature Nut show I grabbed my Nikon and a minnow trap and danced out the door.
Sometimes I have to schedule my moments of enjoyment just as religiously as my work and education. I'd been planning a trip out to set my minnow trap for a couple weeks and a Friday night seemed like a good time to me. However, my graduate class was hanging over my head as I pulled from the campus and I'm hoping I don't regret my choice of activity for the night. Good grades are encouraging but it's no excuse to procrastinate.
I had hoped to set a minnow trap at Tarkiln Bayou but that is a state park and I imagine it would be less than legal to remove any fish or wildlife from the park. However, I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Whenever I have questions about the local wildlife I always find my way to Mr. Micah Bowman's office. A tall, lanky man with relaxed enthusiasm for zoology, Mr. Bowman spent his childhood in the panhandle and is far more adept at finding cool critters than I could ever hope to be. I asked my fellow faculty member if there were any places he could recommend for a minnow trap. His answer, always nonchalant, was so obvious I was embarrassed. West Campus was college property and fishing was encouraged.

I nailed these photos of a grass pickerel (Esox americanus) at Tarkiln Bayou last year (2014) near the end of November. I have been hoping to get a couple for my 120 gallon aquarium back home.

Yes, they are cannibals. My aquarium has three turtles at the present so trying to put some fish in there might be a bad idea. Sunfish would be nice but I find the predatory pickerel completely fascinating. I pulled the trap from the back of my minivan and made the short jaunt to the slough.
As I approached the rickety bridge over the algae-choked waters I spotted a black disk lying in the grass. It was just passed 7pm and the battery was low on my headlamp. I had to get close to see that it was a small cottonmouth snake (Agkistrodon piscivorus). Cottonmouths have a highly hemolytic venom that causes blood cells to rupture and tissues to break down, practically rotting off. However, I was delighted. In my excitement I ran back to my van to grab my ever-handy snake tongs and returned to where I'd dropped my trap before long. The snake was still there and I caught the snake without too much of a fuss. One strike and some degree of warning. It amazes me how placid these potentially lethal snakes are. This one seemed to have an especially calm disposition. The characteristic wide-open mouth display is an obvious message to threats. I carried the snake to the beach and took a few photos on the sand. Delightful.

Pumped with herpetological enthusiasm, I released the snake and started searching for more reptiles and amphibians with my headlamp. A southern toad (Bufo terrestris) hopped out of my way and soon I was running around the grass giggling like a four year old catching frogs.

Rana sphenocephala, the leopard frog. Loads of fun chasing these guys through the grass and catching them.

In the end I threw my trap over the bridge and watched it sink to the bottom. I tied the knot and headed back to my van. It was a good time and I don't regret it yet.

West Coast Trail - Part VII: Thrasher Cove to Port Renfrew

The day began with this intimidating set of stairs, the larges on the whole trail.

Dad effectively summarizes day seven with this expression. After reaching the top of the stairs out of Thrasher Cove, we salvaged what was left of our lungs and staggered down the trail. We arrived at the first junction and met a worker surveying the trail for bridge repairs. Much to our chagrin, he mentioned that soon, the bridge would be out and we would never make it out before the construction crew was in with the new bridge and there would be no passing for at least an hour. After some griping and flailing of arms, we realized that he had been referencing the trail back toward Camper Cove. We began to rejoice prematurely. There would be another bridge coming in south of Thrasher, he told us. But we might make it if we move fast. And we certainly did. The bridge was still on its way when we crossed and the workmen informed us that we still had time to spare. We saw the first bridge pass over us on the trail.

Cables ran through the forest from past days under the influence of the logging industry. The trees continue to grow, engulfing the cables.

An old steam donkey rests in the forest were it stalled.

Ropes are rigged to make the steeper parts of the trail more manageable. Dad is again expressing his overall impression of the West Coast Trail.

Western trillium.

A large cedar that somehow avoided getting logged before the trail was a national park. The smaller trees growing around it are primarily western hemlock.

We arrived at the Gordon River early and chatted idly with the other backpackers about the marathon trip we'd completed. It was close to an hour before the ferry arrived.

Snorkelers string out a wire for some sort of survey at the mouth of the Gordon River.

A merganser passes overhead.

A chopper heads back into the forest after we arrived on the Port Renfrew side of
Port San Juan Bay. 

Epilog: Pacheedaht Campground

With our trip along the West Coast Trail coming to a close, we dropped into the campground on the Pacheedaht Indian Reserve. With time to spare, we set up camp and noted the wonderful sign at the entrance to the campground that read: QUIET HOURS: 10PM TO 8AM. Then we left for Port Renfrew. Overall impressions of the port were, sad to say, somewhat negative. People were friendly, sure. But they all swore like sailors and had the manners of pirates. I admit that most people wouldn't be bothered by these sorts of things but when your waitress bares her breasts to feed a four year old child that isn't even hers, well, it's awkward to say the least. Our taxi driver (an old, bearded man with tattoos and a missing front tooth) told us not to wear our seat belts because, as he put it, the law is non existent in Port Renfrew. We should have taken his words to heart but, hey! He was driving an ancient, rusty minivan with no seats that he parked at the local general store. We didn't think he was the best representative of the town. We would later realize that he was one of the elite.

Back at the campground, our neighbours across the bush from us began sharing music from their stereos with the neighbourhood. No problem, we thought, it's only eight anyways. Knowing we had to get up early to catch a bus the next morning, we cashed in without a fire and read a little until the music was off. NOT! At 12:30am, the music was going steady and, this time, the site across the road had begun a teenager party that was soon very out of proportion. By 2am, the teen's music was so loud that we couldn't even hear our neighbour's music anymore.The teens also decided to have a contest to see who could say the most offensive things to one another until a girl fled the bonfire screaming and crying as the loudest drunk was carried off to the beach yelling out profanity. They weren't any quieter over there and the smell of marijuana wafted into our tent. I was addicted by the time 3am rolled around. And surprisingly happy in spite of the involuntary insomnia. Dope has that affect on people. Just when we thought sleep was inevitable simply from sheer exhaustion, a lovely couple a few blocks away decided to finalize their divorce publicly at 5am. The music dragged on and so did the screaming. I have no idea when it finally stopped.

Two zombies rode the bus home that day. It is impossible to truly express myself without overstepping my personal moral standards. However, I can tell you this: If you value sleep and any form of peace that does not involve drugs and dope, DO NOT STAY AT PACHEEDAHT! They're subsidized by the government anyways so they don't need your patronization. However, if your a drunk, you might like Port Renfrew.

West Coast Trail - Part VII: Camper Creek to Thrasher Cove

Swainson's thrush watching breakfast at Camper Bay.

I assume this is a colour variety of the banana slug. It was about six inches long.

The bridge over 150 Yard Creek.

A giant red cedar.

The unfurling fiddlehead of a deer fern.

Remember that foreboding statement on my previous post? This is were it comes
to fruition. While attempting to climb through a dangerous surge channel, Dad
slipped on a wet boulder and fell into the swells. With his arms groping at the walls
and rocks and his legs kicking fruitlessly in the tide, he might not have made it out
without help. Grabbing the back of his 40-pound pack, I pulled him out enough for
his boots to find traction. He wasn't hurt--just wet.

The martian-like landscape of the limestone shelf.

A green algal boom in a tide pool.

This something like a giant surge channel.

We had to wait Owen Point for the tide to get low enough for us to pass through the caves. There were a couple other groups there as well with nothing to do but eat lunch and watch the seals on Owen Island.

Kayakers appeared to explore the caves and ride the waves between Owen Point and the island. This photo has been doctored for creativity. It was still daylight when the kayakers arrived.

The seals were nervous about the hikers on the shore, let alone the kayakers. The watched everyones moves very closely.

The water is low enough to wade and the other hikers have already passed through in sandals.

A mink at Thrasher Cove. There were many large groups at Thrasher, most heading in the opposite direction. A large private school was also there, participating in a lively game of base ball on the beach.