Three Bulls

We’d met friends for coffee and snacks and spent much of the morning talking, then H and I decided to head home. Before we’d gone far I thought that it might be a good day to see some elk. We’d been disappointed the last couple of times we’d headed west in search of Pennsylvania’s elk herd, but hope springs eternal.

When we got home, we quickly gathered things together: cameras and lenses, sandwiches for supper, bottles of water, sweaters and vests, and to change into more suitable clothing. Then west we went, stopping for lunch along the way.

When we got to the elk range we visited spots that had been prime elk viewing in the past and where, when only 40-70 elk lived in the state and I’d taken my first photos of Pennsylvania's elk in the mid-1970s –

Back then, and for many years after, we went to an area of abandoned hill farms and reclaimed strip mines above wooded stream valleys. In recent years, with the elk herd swollen to over 1,200 animals, the area has become home to large parking lots, a multi-million dollar visitor center, multiple second homes with more under construction, tour busses and hordes of tourists – but fewer elk to be seen. It’s difficult to avoid seeing a connection between the increased human activity and the decreased sightings of elk.

After unsuccessfully searching for elk in a few of the old places, we checked one of those spots for a second time and there they were, several cows and three bulls, far across a field in a location somewhat similar to that in the first photo from the 1970s –

The distance combined with the large number of tourists were enough to deflate whatever pleasure I derived from seeing the elk – it was time to leave. We got on the road, traveling about 20 miles to a location where I’ve seen elk many times in the past. And there was a bull, one with non-typical antlers but a bull nonetheless –

He headed into the forest, so we went on – and through the trees and branches on the edge of the field we got a glimpse of another bull –

Easing forward a bit, we got a better view of one of the most impressive bull elk I’ve ever seen –

He turned and walked along the field/forest edge, bugling as he went.

He too disappeared into the forest and we moved on.

We hadn’t gone a half mile further along the narrow field when we saw yet another bull elk, this one smaller and younger than the others, wearing a tracking collar and full of testosterone –

Three bulls, but not a cow elk to be seen. Each of the three bulls would usually try to collect a harem of cows, but the smallest bull probably wouldn't be successful with two larger competitors. Because none of them had harems, I had to believe that an even more dominant bull was somewhere out of sight with a band of cows.

When the young bull was busy thrashing the grass, it was already too dark for still photos and rapidly becoming too dark for videos – time to head for home.

One day you're here ...

             

                "One minute you're here. Next minute you're gone."

                                                                       Bruce Springsteen  

  

With due respect to Bruce Springsteen’s song, I’m going to change “minutes” to days as it relates to ruby-throated hummingbirds. So, “One day you’re here. Next day you’re gone.”

These beautiful tiny birds were around the house all summer feeding on nectar from the flowers both in the woods and in the garden.

An adult male usually arrives as the first flowers began blooming in our garden – when a red and yellow primula blooms we know a hummingbird will soon arrive. He sets up a territory and is followed a few days later by one or more adult females. Male ruby-throated hummingbirds mate with as many females as they can find in their territory.

The female builds a nest on a tree limb; I’ve never found a nest here, they’re very small and well camouflaged. There she raises her young without any help from the male. It doesn’t take long for the young ones to become independent –

As summer ended the male disappeared from the yard, but the female and young continued to visit the flowers and feeders. At least three females and/or young birds visited and fought over the flowers and feeders.

They fought over the feeder in our birch tree on September 16, but on the morning of September 17 there were no hummingbirds to be seen – and there have been none since.

One day they’re here. Next day they’re gone. Gone to fly across the Gulf of Mexico on their way to Central and South America where they winter. They'll be back next spring when the primula blooms, until then our place will be poorer for their absence.

Fall = Fungi

The naturalist can find fungi, or at least some of their fruiting bodies, every month of the year. The bulk of most fungi is hidden from view – in the soil; in the wood of living or dead trees; on or beneath the bark of trees; in or on plant leaves, seeds or fruit; on the skin of reptiles, amphibians, birds and mammals (including humans) and in our homes. Do you like bread or beer or stuffed mushrooms – thank fungi.

While we can’t easily see the vast bulk of the various fungi that inhabit the world, we can see their fruiting bodies. The fruiting bodies produce spores that waft through the air or adhere to living creatures which move them elsewhere, the spores that land on a suitable substrate begin to grow and thus the fungus reproduces and spreads. This has been a simple explanation of fungus reproduction; however, many species have VERY complex process for reproducing.

Some species of fungus fruit whenever conditions are suitable, others usually fruit in spring, but many fungi found in the northeast are more likely to fruit in the fall. This year the month of June was very dry, but in late August the fall rains began and we received 7 ¾ inches of very welcome precipitation at the house. That rain triggered a flush of fungus fruiting in the nearby woodland, here are some of those fungi –

 

There’s plant that many people think is a fungus but is actually a flowering plant bearing small leaves without chlorophyll and is a parasite on the underground parts of fungi. That plant is indian-pipes –

Although I might be able to correctly identify some of the fungi in those photos, many species are notoriously difficult to identify and a mistake can be fatal to those who gather mushrooms for the table. So, enjoy the variety of fungi shown in the photos, but never rely on photos in a blog post to identify fungi correctly.

Lost It

The Big Woods had beckoned because it was a good day for photography. My route was through an old field where some of the last butterflies of the year visited the few thistles that were still in flower. 

 

From the field it was up into woodland that, although it has been logged, has never been cleared and has probably been woodland since the glaciers retreated over 10,000 years ago. There my quarry was fungi, specifically the fruiting bodies that can be abundant during the fall. And find them I did: large and small, colorful and drab, some newly emerged and some battered – by feeding slugs, chipmunks and deer.

After a mile or so there was a choice, go back the way I’d come or take an old road downhill on its curving way back to where I’d left the car. I chose the road because it offered the prospect of finding more fungi.

I hadn’t gone far when, on a steep spot, I stepped on a loose fist-sized rock that had been hidden by tall grass; it rolled beneath my foot and down I went – again. As I got up it was obvious that there was blood dripping from my fingers. Some dead branches where I landed had taken a couple of fair-sized chunks of skin out of my right forearm, because I take two anti-coagulants the blood flowed freely.

My pack’s first-aid kit isn’t for minor scratches or trivial cuts, it’s a serious kit for serious injuries. The amount of blood dripping from my fingertips called for something I’d learned about years ago – a sanitary napkin makes an extremely effective compress-type bandage since they’re made to hold blood. So out came one of those “feminine hygiene products” and self-adhesive tape to hold it on while I walked the mile and a half back to the car.

At home H cleaned up the mess I’d made of my arm (she’s had a lot of experience over the many years we’ve been married), and I changed my clothes. It was then that I discovered my pocket knife was gone; it’s a knife I’ve carried for over 40 years and has a story of it’s own. The knife’s predecessor was lost through a hole worn in my pocket while I was inspecting a new road under construction – it probably lies buried beneath tons of fill on the side of a ridge, for it was never found.

Only a day or two after I’d lost that knife, we were in a parking lot when I glanced down and saw a $20 bill laying on the ground. That $20 paid most of the cost of a new knife and now I’d just lost that knife too.

Was this knife lost when I fell or had I left it somewhere in the house or car? A search failed to find the knife, so I concluded it was where I fell. The next morning, after a night of rain, I headed back to the Big Woods to find the knife. On the way there were some fungi worth photographing –

 

Although it had rained during the night, the flattened grass and the broken sticks still spoke of my tumble. I brushed aside the grass and leaves – no knife. I’d just about given up hope of finding my knife when I absentmindedly kicked aside a piece of branch – and there it was –

 

How did it get out of my pocket when I fell? That's unknown and will never be known; but it doesn't matter, the lost had been found. 

When opened, the knife was a bit dirty and rusty from the rain –

But a bit of light oil, rubbing with steel wool and a little sharpening and my knife was as good as it was before spending a night in the Big Woods.

I’ve carried a pocket knife since I was in high school and this knife for over 40 years, and now it’s back in my pocket.

Summer at a Fallen Pine

The pine seedling began growing in an old field nearly 100 years ago. It wasn’t more than eight feet tall when the growing tip was damaged, perhaps by a feeding white pine weevil or a bird using it for a perch. Side branches took its place and the tree continued growing, this time with three or four trunks instead of the single trunk it would have had if that one tip hadn’t been damaged.

And so it became a more or less typical old field white pine with multiple trunks. Now, many years later one of those trunks has snapped off under a heavy load of snow or ice or perhaps from a strong wind. The fallen pine trunk has been lying on the ground for a number of years, serving as a highway for predator and prey and providing a source of food for many other species.

Here are the videos from the summer just past taken by a camera trap that has a view down the fallen pine –

It will be many years until the fallen pine is but an  indistinguishable hump on the forest floor, even then it will continue providing for the creatures of the forest.

Feeding the Kids

On a chestnut snag in the yard is a nest box that’s been the subject of a couple of posts on In Forest and Field. This year it was July before birds, a pair of house wrens, began using the box – surprisingly late.

The male often sang from the top of the snag or from a nearby fence that protects wildflowers from browsing deer.

Of course the male stuffed the box with twigs and the female took in fine material for the nest lining. Eventually eggs were laid and after the typical two week incubation they hatched.

The parents’ days of relative leisure were over as they made repeated trips to catch insects and spiders for their offspring. Sometimes the prey could be identified –

Sometimes not –

Each time the adult carried off a fecal sack voided by the young –

Eventually it was time for the young bird to look out at the wider world and prepare to leave “home” as the adults tried to lure it out –

Even though house wrens normally lay four eggs, it appears that only one young wren fledged from the box on the snag.

Our resident pair of cardinals also appeared to fledge only one young bird from each of their two nestings in 2026. And the pair of tufted titmice that frequents our yard only fledged two young this summer.

Young birds need protein to develop properly, protein that’s primarily derived from insects caught by their parents. Around the house it’s obvious that there are far fewer insects than there were years ago. The insect population in much of North America and in Europe appears to have plummeted in recent years and songbird numbers are said to be down by about one-third. What does the future hold?