A Northwoods Almanac for 9/16-29, 2022

 A Northwoods Almanac for 9/16-29, 2022  

 

Orchids!

            Around 39 species of native orchids occur in Wisconsin’s Northwoods, many of which are associated with wetlands, whether they be cedar swamps, bogs, fens, marshes, or other soggy classifications. But this summer, Mary, Callie and I spotted three species of orchids right along some of the dry dikes at Powell Marsh, two species of which we had never seen before. To be sure, the orchids were off the edges of the sandy dikes and in some damper ground, but still, we were quite surprised to spot them in areas that are regularly mowed and frequently walked.

            I want to tell you about two of the species. On July 9, Mary and I found numerous patches of ragged fringed-orchids (Platanthera lacera) along a portion of one of the dikes. 

ragged fringed orchid, photo by John Bates

What made it more remarkable to us was that we had walked this area many times over the last 38 years and had never seen them! I imagine they were always there, but we weren't observant enough to spot them. Just another lesson in how you think you know a place, and you really don't, as well as a lesson in how a place changes throughout the summer. The natural world changes day to day, and the idea of saying “been there, done that” about any place only suggests how little one understands about nature.

            The species name lacera is Latin meaning “torn,” which aptly describes the deeply cut, or fringed, lip of the flower, while Platanthera comes from the Greek platys meaning “broad or wide” and anthera meaning “anther” (anthers are the part of the male stamens that hold the pollen). 

            The flowers are nocturnally fragrant, attracting night pollinators like sphinx moths, so we’ll have to go out in the evening next summer to inhale their fragrance.

            And in early September we found a dozen or so nodding ladies’ tresses orchids (Spiranthes cernua) along a different dike, and only in one small area. 

nodding ladies' tresses, photo by John Bates

Ladies’ tresses are one of the last of the orchid family to bloom in all of the Northeast, and accompany our more common early fall flowers like goldenrods and asters. The common name derives from the way the flowers are displayed – they appear a bit like a woman’s braid, which is the old meaning of “tress.”

            I usually think of orchids as being species of older, stable environments, but nodding ladies’ tresses are a pioneer species, rapidly colonizing disturbed habitats, and thriving only in the early stages of succession.

            In reading about ladies’ tresses, I came upon something I’ve never observed, most likely for lack of my paying attention. Bees pollinate ladies’ tresses, and the literature says that if you “observe a bee visiting a colony of the plants, you will find that the insect always starts at the bottom of the spiral spike of flowers and works its way up to the top, then flies to the bottom of the next plant’s spike, works upward, etc.” Apparently, this is a perfect example of coevolution, because the lower flowers of the ladies’ tresses mature first and are ready to receive pollen, whereas the upper flowers are less developed and can only give pollen. Thus, a bee picks up new pollen from the top flowers of one plant, flies off to the next, starts at the bottom flower, and delivers the pollen to the mature lower flowers, fertilizing the flowers.

            I’ll not only watch for this in the future, but I’ll also remember to smell the flowers, which I failed to do – they are said to have a mild vanilla scent.

            I was curious how many orchids Mary and I have seen in northern Wisconsin over the years, and out of the possible 39 species, we’ve only tallied 18, so we have a lot more exploring to do.

             

Wild Rice

            I’m fascinated by the beauty, utility, and complexity of wild rice, so I attended Susan Knight’s recent presentation on wild rice at the North Lakeland Discovery Center to learn more. Susan works as a research scientist for the UW Trout Lake Limnology Station, and is an ace aquatic botanist, well-known in our area for the many presentations she has given to lake associations. Over the last two years, she and others have engaged in a study of wild rice to try and determine why wild rice is on the decline on many sites throughout the Upper Midwest. The Great Lakes Indian Fish and Wildlife Commission in Odanah reports a 50% loss of rice across 40 Wisconsin waterways since 1985, and especially over the last six years. Areas like the southwest basin of Allequash Lake, which historically have supported extensive rice beds, are now nearly devoid of rice.   

wild rice flowers, photo by John Bates on Aurora Lake

         

            The difficulty with studying wild rice is that it naturally, and often annually, changes in abundance, and  the environmental factors that influence its abundance are not well understood or monitored. Wild rice is a finicky annual aquatic grass, and factors such as spring temperatures and water levels affect its abundance. So, one has to be careful in analyzing short-term changes. The long-term question is why some rice lakes are doing well while others are failing, and how does one tease apart “normal” variation from “abnormal” variation?

            This study has a different approach. While most wild rice projects look at populations in late summer, this study focused on looking at wild rice through the entire growing season, following the rice from early spring onward, and developing tools to assess the health of the population throughout its life cycle.

            The researchers chose six local lakes to study: two that are doing well (Aurora and Wild Rice lakes), two that are doing poorly (Allequash and Irving lakes), and two that impacted by invasive species (Island and Oneida lakes). They sampled every two weeks in shallow and deeper waters for variables in water temperature, dissolved oxygen, the percentage of other aquatic plants like water lilies that compete with wild rice, and the amount of thatch on the lake bottom (leaf stalks of the rice), as well as counting the stems of rice over various transects, the height of the rice, and sampling for seeds in the sediments.

            The results? Well, they’re inconclusive. Studying an annual like wild rice that varies naturally over time requires long-term monitoring and long-term data sets to be able to say anything definitive, and this has only been a two-year study.

            Wild rice, Susan says, is under assault by things like higher-than-average water levels for the past half-decade, big rain events in spring that might flush wild rice seedlings downstream, milder winters that might allow more perennial vegetation to encroach on their habitat, and more waterfowl, especially swans, that eat the entire plant and don’t wait for seed production and increased development along our lakes and streams. Invasives like curly-leaf pondweed and Eurasian water milfoil are also of concern, as are the unnatural water level fluctuations created by dams designed to mitigate flooding and provide electrical power, but not to promote rice populations. Shoreline development is another factor, as is the decline in water quality in certain areas from sulfide mining.

            It’s complicated! Defining what’s “normal” is an exceedingly difficult task, as surprising as that may sound. Every lake is different. Let me repeat that: Every lake is different. Parsing out the possible factors impacting rice on one lake may not apply to the next lake, and so on.

            We’ve always had natural cycles of high and low waters, and variations in the intensity of rainfall, but are these cycles more extreme now? The answer is yes, and perhaps that’s where much of the blame will be found. But the impact of our expanding trumpeter swan population browsing the young stems may also be a significant factor.

            Further study is clearly warranted, because keeping viable wild rice populations matters not only to people but to a host of wildlife species. I hope the Trout Lake study can be funded over the long-term, so we can get closer to understanding how to conserve our wild rice beds.

 

Lapland Longspurs

            Mary and I hiked one of the dikes at Powell Marsh on 9/5, and had a flock of five Lapland longspurs land in front of us. This is notable because Lapland longspurs breed at the edge of the tree-line across vast areas of the Arctic tundra and are only occasionally seen in migration through our area. They winter in open fields across the central states with their greatest abundance on the Great Plains from South Dakota to Kansa.

            They’re a sparrow-like songbird that for non-birders in the fall may be classified as yet another LBB (little brown bird), but in their breeding plumage, the male is absolutely striking, with a black face, a yellow stripe above the eye, and a rufous nape.

 

Fireweed Seeds

            Fireweed has lost its lovely magenta flowers, and has now gone to seed. The seedpods split apart lengthwise releasing 300 to 500 seeds per pod - a single plant can produce up to 80,000 seeds! They’re all attached to a silky down that is easily carried far away on a wind. A 1987 study found that up to 50% of fireweed seed plumes cruise on winds higher than 300 feet, and can travel for a hundred miles or more where they hope to settle on bare soil, particularly after a fire, and can germinate.

 

fireweed in seed, photo by John Bates

Celestial Events

            Autumn equinox occurs on 9/22. Our days are now growing shorter by over three minutes every day. The sun will set this day nearest to due west, and will rise nearest to due east on 9/24. In the Lakeland area, we actually hit almost exactly 12 hours of sunlight on 9/25, then it’s the long decline in sunlight until winter solstice on 12/21, and the gradual return of more sunlight leading up to the spring equinox in mid-March.

            The new moon occurs on 9/25.

            If you haven’t been out looking for planets in the night sky, try looking after dusk for Jupiter rising in the east – it will be visible most of the night. Saturn also rises before sunset in the southeast and is observable all evening.

            Mars rises before midnight and is visible before dawn in the south, while Jupiter is bright in the southwest. 

 

Thought for the Week

            “The land retains an identity of its own, still deeper and more subtle than we can know. Our obligation toward it then becomes simple: to approach with an uncalculating mind, with an attitude of regard . . . be alert for its openings, for that moment when something sacred reveals itself within the mundane, and you know the land knows you are there.” – Barry Lopez, Arctic Dreams

 

Please share your outdoor sightings and thoughts: e-mail me at manitowish@centurytel.net, call 715-476-2828, snail-mail at 4245N State Highway 47, Mercer, WI, or see my blog at www.manitowishriver.blogspot.com.

 

A Northwoods Almanac for September 2-15, 2022

 A Northwoods Almanac for September 2 – 15, 2022  

 

Albino Hummingbird

            On 8/13, Cydney Welter sent me a photo of an albino ruby-throated hummingbird taken by Jolie Wood from Mosinee at her lake cabin rental in the Boulder Junction area. Jolie and friends saw it for the first time on 8/11, and it stayed around through 8/13 when she went home. Cydney noted, “It has not been to her feeders, but loves her bee balm plants.”

photo by Jolie Wood

            Over 300 species of North American birds and animals, from whales to snails, have been recorded as having some form of albinism or its many variants. In humans, about one in 20,000 people have one type or another of albinism. Mammalogists estimate that one in 10,000 wild mammal births results in a true albino. In birds, one study of 30,000 wild birds captured in mist nets in Southern California found only 17 displaying some degree of albinism, or one in 1,764 birds.

            Note this from the National Organization for Albinism and Hypopigmentation: “A common myth is that people with albinism have red eyes. Although lighting conditions can allow the blood vessels at the back of the eye to be seen, which can cause the eyes to look reddish or violet, most people with albinism have blue eyes, and some have hazel or brown eyes. There are different types of albinism and the amount of pigment in the eyes varies.”

            The same holds true for birds or mammals. Relative to the white deer seen so frequently in our area, these are indeed albinos despite the fact that their eyes are not red, but rather are a greenish-blue. Years ago, I contacted Dr. William Oetting at the Institute of Human Genetics at the University of Minnesota to determine if our local white deer were indeed albinos. I sent him close-up pictures of two of the deer, and through a series of correspondences, he concluded, “Without confirming this with molecular testing, both of these deer have tyrosinase negative oculocutaneous albinism. There is a lack of pigment in the hair, skin and eyes of both deer.  A close-up of the eye of the yearling shows a lack of pigment in the iris (green-blue).”

 

Nighthawk Migration

            Late August into early September is the time to observe nighthawks in migration in the early evening. Jennifer Heitz reported seeing dozens of nighthawks over the Wisconsin River near Tomahawk on 8/26 around 6 p.m., and the next night, a handful over Ballard Lake. She noted, “They’re so beautiful. I know fall is coming when I see them.”

photo by Bev Engstrom

            As of 8/28, the nighthawk migration has yet to come into full swing, so by the time you read this on 9/2, there may still be numerous nighthawks coming through.

            Over the last two weeks of August, thousands of nighthawks typically fly over Duluth like clockwork during their marathon migration to South America. It's the largest known migratory concentration of the common nighthawk in the world. The reason they concentrate through Duluth is Lake Superior, because birds don't like flying over such a huge body of cold water. So, when nighthawks from all over western Canada migrate south and east, they eventually hit the big lake, and when they do, they veer to the right, eventually flying over Duluth. Counts over the last 13 years have usually totaled between 20,000 and 25,000.
            In Canada, the population is estimated to be declining 6.6 percent per year, but that isn’t what’s been seen so far over Duluth. The expectation, however, is that the counters will see a major drop in upcoming years, which is why counts like this are so important to document actual numbers.

            So, as I encourage readers every late summer into early autumn, keep an eye on the sky during early evenings for nighthawks. Their erratic flight is a telltale identification trait, as is the bold white bar on the underside of each narrow wing.

 

Hawk Ridge, Duluth, MN

            September is THE month for seeing enormous numbers of raptors migrating over hawk Ridge in Duluth, while August acts as the prelude to the big flights. As of 8/28, 4,030 birds had been observed flying over Hawk Ridge, including 84 species. 

            The counters tally not only raptors, but songbirds. Cedar waxwings have dominated the count to date at 1,399, with nighthawks coming in a distant second at 594. Bald eagles have led the raptors in numbers with 177.

            The big numbers come in mid-September when broad-winged hawks make their annual push south. Broad-winged hawks are one of the few raptor species known to deliberately migrate in large groups, often observed in “kettles” composed of thousands of individuals that usually develop in very specific weather conditions. The record daily high was 101,698 on 9/15/2003!

            Most other raptors, like sharp-shinned hawks, migrate singly or in in small groups. Still, the record daily high for sharpies was 2,515 on 9/24/2017, so other raptors can come through in large numbers, too. 

            Raptors come through in October as well. The record daily high for red-tailed hawks took place on 10/24/1994 with 3,988 observed.

            Over the entire autumn, the total numbers are really impressive. From 1991 to 2013, Hawk Ridge’s fall migration averaged 76,000 migrating raptors.

            Of course, most birds migrate at night, and aren’t seen by the hawk counters. But sophisticated radar technology now makes it possible to estimate the number of birds flying over an area on a given night. So, on the Hawk Ridge website, click on “BirdCast,” which will take you to a page that estimates the total number of birds that migrated over St. Louis County on any given evening, as well as telling you what altitude, flying direction, and speed they were flying at, and the expected species that were likely part of that migration. For instance, on the evening of 8/27 into the early morning of 8/28, 15,700 birds were estimated to have crossed St. Louis county that night, most of whom were flying at an altitude between 1,000 and 1,500 feet, and at a flight speed from 15 to 35 mph, with the peak of the migration occurring from 10 p.m. to midnight.

 

North American Hawk Count

            If you’re interested in knowing about when and where all raptor migration is occurring across North America, go to the Hawk Migration Association of North America's website which has raptor migration count data and site profiles for over 300 North American hawkwatch sites. Here you can find hawkwatch sites by site name or location, as well as view hawkwatch profiles, their maps and data, and more.

            So, for instance, on 8/26, the Corpus Christi, Texas, hawkwatch counted 9,238 Mississippi kites passing over their count site, along with 10 swallow-tailed kites, 33 broad-winged hawks, 2 Cooper’s hawks, and one Harris’s hawk.

            The next day, 8/27, in Veracruz, Mexico, 4,445 Mississippi kites were observed cruising by their hawk watch site, along with 2 ospreys. 

            Go to https://hawkcount.org to look at all the daily reports across the continent from Oregon to Maine, and north to south from various sites in Canada to Panama.

 

Sweet Fern

            Sweet fern (Comptonia peregrina) grows prolifically in our area in sandy, wide-open, sun-lit places. One can tell at a glance the poor quality of a soil by the presence of sweet fern. But sweet fern fills a necessary niche. By colonizing logging roads, old fields, and other disturbed sites, sweet fern helps to stabilize the soil. Sweet fern also fixes nitrogen, meaning it can convert nitrogen from the air rather than taking it from the soil, and so improves the soil it’s found on. Like other plant pioneers, sweet fern makes the bed for future plant species to grow in.   

photo by John Bates

            If you're looking for fern-like qualities, like spores, you aren't going to find them – it’s a flowering shrub. Sweet fern produces separate male and female flowers in the spring before the leaves appear, the male flower clustered at the end of the branches in short catkins, and the female flower found below. The fruit is a green bur-like structure that reminds me a little of a mace, a medieval weapon with a spiked metal head.

            Crush the highly aromatic leaves, and you might smell something akin to sage, and indeed its other common name is “Indian sage.”  

            I learned recently that in the time before refrigeration, Ojibwe people kept their blueberry harvest fresh by lining their birchbark storage containers with sweet fern, which often grows right alongside blueberries. The leaves of sweet fern apparently produce a compound called gallic acid, which is a potent anti-microbial and keeps harmful bacteria like salmonella from growing on the berries. I’ve read that its Ojibwe name is “giba`iganiminzh,” meaning “it covers the berries.”

            Sweet fern once had a host of medicinal uses – as an external lineament for bruises and for rheumatism, or taken internally for colic, to cure diarrhea and dysentery, or drunk simply as a tea. The Mohegans applied the cooled tea to cure the rashes of poison ivy. The crushed and dried leaves fragrantly scented pillows and clothing as well, and were used by American Indians to flavor meat. I have heard of its use for bronchial ailments, and its "Vicks"-like smell would seem to support that usage.  

            And when added to a fire, the smoke supposedly will help keep away mosquitos and horse flies, though I’ve never tried this.

            

July Warmth

            July 2022 was the third warmest in the 128-year record for the contiguous U.S., according to NOAA. Generally, temperatures were above average and/or record-warm across nearly all of the Lower 48, with Texas having its warmest July, May-July and April-July on record. 

 

Thought for the Week

            “We don’t see things as they are. We see them as we are.” – Anais Nin