Son of the Son of Blog

sunday, may 17, 2009

the pileateds have gotten down to business.  there is no more bouncing around the forest, uttering high-volumed calls of “hey everybody, i’m a pileated woodpecker.”  no more cat and mouse, no more courtship, no more copulation L.  enough of that, it’s on with nesting.

for a while i had my doubts. 

for several weeks the calls and hollow taps of excavation were a part of my landscape.  when the pileateds stopped their courtship acoustics, the woods grew silent…save for all the whining grosbeaks and purple finches and chipping sparrows and grackles and downies and hairies and red squirrels and mock mock on the roof and the distant john henry on the highway 61 reconstruction…

okay…silence was not the proper descriptor. 

not hearing the pileateds, however, had me wondering if the nesting had gone awry. 

on thursday, as i was trying to do something constructive in my garden, the female answered my curiosity.  she left the cavity, flew towards me,  interrupted only by a brief vertical pause on a spindly ash.  she then moved to my topsoil stockpiles.  that in itself was not unusual or notable.  what was was the fact she started pecking at some of the lime i had spread on the topsoil last fall. 

let’s see:  a calcium supplement to facilitate egg production.  hmmm.... makes sense to me.

i was inconsequential to her.  she pecked at the dirt, then flew off towards the creek.  meanwhile, from the cavity, the male was watching, making sure she wasn’t cheating on him.

such a simple process, made all the simpler because i was in the right place at the right time. 

i seem to be in the right place at the right time a lot. 

even when i'm not.

sunday, may 10, 2009

in between the garden and the greenhouse and the nest boxes and a “down and back” trip to the cities and the litter box and dishes and clothes and launching chipmunks and the bear and the popcorn and pork sausage and divine interventions of velveeta and trail mix, there’s not much going on up here.

i did have a quick trip to the cities for some heady enforcement negotiations, and managed to arrive in downtown st. paul at the exact moment the morning commute came to a crawl.  i received several middle finger salutes for driving cautiously and pragmatically and managed to not make eye contact with anyone.  still, by the time i arrived at the meeting, one would have had a hard time driving a 16-penny nail up my arse. 

being in the throes of a week-end serves no other purpose than to point out how professional my procrastination is.  i have so much to do and usually, don’t get anything done.  and now, i am on the cusp of an afternoon of box checks so whatever tasks remain here will have to be addressed at some future juncture in my life.

or by the next property owner.

in an hour (or so) i am headed into a box trail i set up in 2006.  the trail extends a full 1.5 miles off the road... along an old logging trail and manages to bisect extensive inundated wetlands and several tangles of windfall. 

my fungus nails are already itching with anticipation and it’s a safe bet my shins will be bruised by 17:00 this afternoon.

i don’t know what i was thinking when i schlepped and hung boxes there, especially since the checking and maintenance thereof has proven to be somewhat problematic (hint:  ladders, tools, supplies, and several 40’s of colt malt liquor for each trip). 

i didn’t do any box maintenance on the trail last year, so i’ll have to assess their condition and plan for the summer/fall maintenance festival. 

nest boxes are probably the last manifestation of my owl passion. 

surveys are over and although i didn’t achieve complete coverage my last round, i covered enough to know that the owl spring of 09 was one of the worst, overall. 

ever. 

of immediate concern is the virtual non-existence of barred owls.  a couple of boreals managed to transport me to the halcyon nights of yore, but my assessment of the early 2000s is the same:  everything has changed. 

wow…i got this done. 

tuesday, may 5, 2009

once the loss of winter is incorporated, i move on. 

no sense in dawdling.

unwilling to lose my winter fitness, i have recently transitioned (smartly) from skis to bicycle.  last year i succumbed to one of the deadly sins:  sloth. 

that’s one deadly sin down, dozens to go. 

for 2009, i will sloth no more forever.

or at least until 2010.

the only downfall is that in between the seasonal white and green, is brown.  okay…brown and the litter that once lay hidden beneath a blanket of deep, comforting snow. 

i rode up the sawbill trail on sunday and couldn’t quite comprehend how much crap people toss on their way to the peace and serenity of the wilderness.  i have a distinct feeling, however, that an aesthetic destination isn’t on every visitor’s north woods agenda.  without exception, the discards were selections from the “quantity, not quality” shelf at the local liquor store and so, one can imagine the appalachian, mobile home mindset of the consumers.

“no, just throw it off the porch, cletus.”

for some, the right to consume is paired with an inalienable right to discard. 

tonight, i rode up the onion river road before the rains arrived.   given the primary destinations of he road are the superior hiking trail and the sugarbush ski trails,  i didn’t envision a picture of detritus rivaling that found along the sawbill.  afterall,  skiers and hikers understand “leave no trace” and “pack it in and pack it out.”  at least that is what i told myself. 

i was wrong.

the same group of inbreeds tossing on the sawbill, had done the same on the onion. 

during my ride, i think i found yet another reason why winter is my favorite season. 

*************

sunday, may 3, 2009

their work is done and now, the real work begins.

the pileateds and spring and old aspen.

there has to be a recipe card somewhere.

yesterday, while working on my greenhouse, the repetitive sounds of keratinized beak meeting punky aspen were no longer heard.  it always works like that:  once something is gone is when we take notice. 

curious, i walked over towards the tree and within 20’, the female stuck her head out and looked at me with picidaen indignation. 

who could blame her?

so now, it appears my yardly pursuits will be accompanied by a pileated nest and that sits well with me.  towards the end of the afternoon, i caught a pair of hairies copulating on a bare limb, 40 meters from the pileated nest. 

everyone wants to be like the pileateds. 

i visited a dozen nest boxes yesterday, before finishing up a couple of stretches of surveys. 

nothing. 

dirty, knee deep snow lingers in the interior stands. 

when i returned to my property adjacent to the pileated property, my thistle feeders and a suet feeder were gone.  sam and moose were “nervous” and staring out the bay window.  i went outside and although i’m not sure who the culprit was, someone left a big pile of bear shit in my back yard. 

bears are like chipmunks.  big, frigging chipmunks. 

it is much more difficult to send them into earth orbit, though. 

the male pileated is in. 

i don’t have dish.  i have an aspen stand.

**********

thursday, april 30,  2009

upon their return to the duluth air base, the three f-18 pilots debriefed and then in unity, decided to release the stress of their 2 hour flights at “the cockpit”, the local watering hole where pilots gathered to drink and relive stories of flights completed and flights about to begin.

the duluth pilots had a certain swagger.  like george w. on the lincoln; like george michael after one too many visits to the glory hole.  they were bold and proud and wanted everyone to know it.  they spoke loudly and gesticulated like windmills.  they caught the glimpses of young, nubile women and flirted and played hard and flew fast and made really fast left turns. 

“rooster,” came the pronouncement at a spotlit table, “your left turns tonight were awesome.”

“hey thanks diamond, there was nothing wrong with your left turns either.”

“hey,” alpha joe chimed, “both your left turns were among the best i’ve ever seen.” 

“damn, i love this job,”  diamond said.  “i love going real fast and then turning to the left.”

“boys, tomorrow night, let’s see if we can go real fast and turn to the right and….”

“wait a sec rooster…i know what you’re going to say….”

“yeah?”

“yeah…”

“what?”

“drop more flares!”

“you’re right.  high five.”

********

i never claimed any of this would make sense.

wednesday, april 29, 2009

last night should have been a banner owling night.

and it could have been a banner owling night.

if only the owls would have participated.

three saw-whets and to bed by 1:30.

this will prove to be one of the last late nights of the season and i am very good with that.

for some reason, the air force reserve has decided to fly in their great big circles more often this year.  last night was the third of 2009 where i have had to wait until they finish one of their great big circles so i could continue listening for my preferred on-the-wing subjects. 

a few years ago, i wrote that it was kind of like “nascar at 30,000 feet” and from my vantage point, that describes it perfectly.  like the grand finale at a fourth of july fireworks display, the jockeys dropped a couple of flares before heading back to duluth. 

i imagine jaws dropped and oohs and aaahs were heard from the front porches of all the mobile homes peppering the north shore interior. 

i was reunited with the tower of rohan last night.  there has been no change in the brightness, frequency, or subliminal messages it sends to me; it being the dark overlord of subservience and nefarious thoughts and actions.

many woodcock at sunset and in the lowlands boreal ow….i mean common snipe were busy. 

it was a beautiful night for owling.

and watching flares. 

*********

tuesday, april 28, 2009

with spring comes the realization that i don’t have enough time to think about all the things i should be doing.  it always seems to work that way and lo and behold, the trend continues.

on sunday, with winds bucking off the lake, i tried to finish attaching two of the temperature-activated vents on my greenhouse.  it was successful, but only after i slid off the roof and landed like a sack of oats on the gravel.  like skiing, falling isn’t really falling if nobody sees it happen.

that was a great comfort.

i have already indulged in a taste of fresh arugula and am “this close” to a sample of spinach.  i got started late and i am lamenting that but it’s all because of:   see above. 

the (soon-to-be) burgeoning family of pileateds are still working their hole.  both the male and female have disappeared into the cavity, but for some reason, the male was working the opening when i got home from work today. 

i could have owled last night, but ended up not owling because:  see above. 

only a couple of surveys left and then, evenings will be mine.  tonight, i would love to set up my telescope and watch espn on my neighbor’s t.v, but when it’s good for scopes, it’s good for owls, so i’ll be out on the back roads where the chances are very good that:

a).  i’ll run into a border patrol officer; and,

b)  that he or she will either be:

1) going real fast; or,

2) taking a nap; or,

c)  they’ll slow down (wake up) and:

                3) wonder what i’m doing; or,

                4) want to know if i have a”

                                4a) chew or; a,

                                4b) cigarette.

twenty three years in the woods by myself and all of the sudden, some government monkeys who were probably thinking "the mexico border or maybe the caribbean" when they signed up and instead, ended up in the middle of northern minnesota (ha ha), want to make friends with me. 

go figure.

renowned canadian owler and owl around good guy, jim duncan, sent me preliminary survey results from manitoba and they only ended up with around 16 boreals. 

it’s always good to know i’m not alone. 

************************************************************

thursday, april 23, 2009

work on the aspen bole continues.  the male sculpts the entrance and for the first time since i’ve been watching, disappears into the hole.  he doesn’t drop far though because his work is one in progress.  from an adjacent stand, the female calls and he responds, despite being otherwise engaged. 

they are intent on nesting now.

the female arrives and as soon as she is on the bole, the male leaves.  there is no chatter or complaining; the male simply leaves.  when he does, the female drops into the hole and for 10 minutes, excavated chips of punky aspen are tossed to the matted forest floor. 

their script is so simple, yet so perfect. 

their tree is back from the eastern edge of the aspen stand.  upon leaf-out, it will receive shade from the canopy during the heated rise of the sun.  within the stand there are holes ready for the taking, but theirs needs to be perfect. 

when i bought my house, this was one of the first things i loved:  the aspen.  the original owner had toyed with the idea of removing the stand but instead, left it intact. 

every species of woodpecker has nested here in this, my sixth year at the center of the universe .  last year, the saw-whets were self-affirming evidence that i have some good owl karma.  if it isn’t karma, then i must be able to identify where the right place at the right time is, more often than not. 

either way works for me. 

i was out owling last night and the rivers are open and bellicose.  woodcock have established more claims to open ground and until darkness was complete, every survey stop was the platform for peenting and then, dizzying flights. 

on my ride back to the shore, high beams illuminate a barred owl in the middle of the road.  i slow and watch as it grabs at its talons, then flies into the pines with prey in its mouth. 

springtime makes everything so easy.