Probing the Private Lives

PROBING THE PRIVATE LIVES

Wednesday, February 07, 2007 (Napanee Beaver)

Friday, February 09, 2007 (Picton Gazette)

The coyote tracks were quite diagnostic. It isn’t often we get to see a paw print exactly as the field guides describe. Field guides seldom allow for the natural gait of an animal that can cause edges of a track to be indistinct. Oval track with toenails close together and pointing inward, unlike a dog print which is more round in shape, toenails pointing outward, as the book describes. We had heard there was a coyote in this area, and had hoped to see one on this guided winter hike, but if it was around, it was having no part of us.

In fact, few animals came out to exchange pleasantries, but we knew they were around. There were plenty of white-footed mouse tracks, and the fresh overnight snow even showed the indistinct mark from the dragging tail. It was one of those days, when anything that had moved ultimately showed up in the snow. We were far enough away from the mainstream of hikers and cross country skiers to see these signatures left behind – at least, a good six kilometres that ultimately took us through a spectacular mixed woods before emerging into fields that long ago succumbed to the advancing march of red cedars.

It was one of those days when you just had to be outside. The skies were sunny, the winds nil, the temperature hovering at a comfortable minus eight degrees. As naturalists, we embrace days like this and bask in their presence, when we can get them. Some of my early morning walks along our road, before the sun is fully up, are more like endurance tests. But this walk was special and the snow was thin enough that the entire route was done by most with hiking boots alone, although two accompanied us on cross country skis.

While mammals failed to appear for us, there were several encounters with birds. All of us stiffened when the brilliant red of a cardinal flashed across the trail, and melted into the trail side prickly ash. A second was nearby for we could hear the thin “chip” sound coming from a dense growth of tangles and red cedars beside the trail. At least two robins were heard, a species not uncommon this winter with this year’s bountiful crop of red cedar berries, wild grapes and buckthorn berries. This becomes their food supply in winter.

For the yellow-rumped warbler, which we had also hoped to see in the cedars, the blue fruiting berries are a life safer. This normally insectivorous bird undergoes a complete transformation. The rich blue-grey back and contrasting white breast that we know so well in the spring when great hoards of them are passing through on spring migration, has changed and the bird becomes unrecognizable. It throws off its gaudy dress in the fall and assumes more sombre tones of brownish offset by faint streaks. If it weren’t for the yellow rump that flashes as the bird flits around our window sills every October, most of us would pass it off as some sort of sparrow. The bird has a reason for hanging around house eaves and window sills. When October arrives, it undergoes another transformation, one of diet. And that would be the spiders it finds on warm, sunny days around our windows and doors. However, it doesn’t stop there. Individuals choosing to challenge the rigours of winter must change their diet once again. And it is now that wintering individuals seek out the tiny blue juniper or red cedar berries. By April, yellow-rumped warblers will change back into their spring dress and the cycle is ready to begin again. Birders make it a point to look for these wintering yellow-rumped warblers, still fondly known by some by their former name, the myrtle warbler. So another change, this time in its name.

There are books out there that help winter enthusiasts grasp the things they see at this season. Books on scats and tracks, and hints on identifying trees in winter. I picked up a book this fall from Ottawa’s Forest Shop. Wildflowers and Winter Weeds is a 250 page guide book on how to recognize the dead, woody tissues that remain above the snow. Many bear little resemblance to the plants they were in the summer, but even without the guide book along, we were able to recognize goldenrod, asters and Queen Anne’s lace. The book deals with everything from ragweeds and grasses to those more commonly recognized as wildflowers.

There is life out there when it’s minus eight degrees. We just have to look for it, as we did when we peeled back the bark of a dead elm. There were wintering insects in there, amazingly, yet undiscovered by a passing downy woodpecker. And a network of channels in the wood that hinted to burrowing insects earlier in the tree’s life. Had we turned over an old log we might have found a sleeping salamander. Who knows. But how far do we go in our explorations and our disturbances of the intricate web of life that keeps the natural world purring along? We are observers and should disturb this natural sequence of things as little as possible.

Winter is such a great season, and days like this can be busy as outdoor enthusiasts pursue their favourite pastime. As I drove home, hopeful anglers fanned out in their favourite spots on the Bay of Quinte. At Zwick’s Park, the slope near the dog park was crowded with parents and their children, all enjoying what the day had to offer. We have made the decision to make our homes in this climate, so we really have no cause to drone on monotonously about cold, wind, snow and everything else that winter offers. Winter, for all of its disadvantages, passes by far more quickly if we just get out there and enjoy its many offerings.