Maggie's Farm

The piece in the National Post begins:

They drift along in the worlds' oceans at a depth of 2,000 metres -- more than a mile deep -- constantly monitoring the temperature, salinity, pressure and velocity of the upper oceans.

Then, about once every 10 days, a bladder on the outside of these buoys inflates and raises them slowly to the surface gathering data about each strata of seawater they pass through. After an upward journey of nearly six hours, the Argo monitors bob on the waves while an onboard transmitter sends their information to a satellite that in turn retransmits it to several land-based research computers where it may be accessed by anyone who wishes to see it.

These 3,000 yellow sentinels --about the size and shape of a large fence post -- free-float the world's oceans, season in and season out, surfacing between 30 and 40 times a year, disgorging their findings, then submerging again for another fact-finding voyage.

Read the whole thing and find out what they are telling us.

Turdus in the snow: What an ugly name for almost everyone's favorite American Bird bird (except for the Ruffed Grouse), our good buddy Turdus migratorius. The Robin. We have small flocks of them all winter here, living on berries and old fruit, but they are on the move north now, and we see more - mainly flocks of males.

Yesterday I heard their spring song for the first time. Today we have snow and that spring song has been put on hold.

Did you know that they used to be hunted for food? And that they are really woodland thrushes who have found a way to adapt to suburbia?

Learn more about a familiar friend: American Robin

Photo: Sugar maple full of Robins, March 2007.

Our first migratory wave of flocks of Common Grackles and Robins arrived here this week from their winter in the southern US. We have spoken of Turdus Migratorius (Robin) here in the past, but not about the Common Grackle, who has been extending his range from the Mississippi Valley across the US east of the Rockies, and north into Canada.

A flock of these large wetlands-loving (but highly adaptable) blackbirds will empty your bird feeder in a few hours, accompanied by their loud screeching and squawking.

Our friend Sippican sends this photo of a migratory flock in his yard on the Massachusetts coast last September:

You can read about the Common Grackle here.

This is a reposting from 2006, prompted by a post by Surber about the dramatic resurgence of the wolf populations in the northern Rockies. Also related to the Crichton video posted today.

The ways that ecological interactions take place is always fascinating to me, and unpredictable. The return of wolves to Yellowstone Park is a case study.

Wolves kill more elk, balancing the elk population and driving the elk to safe zones, thus permitting the return of normal willow growth along river edges, thus cooling and stabilizing rivers resulting in bigger trout, and happy songbirds, and generally more biodiversity. And the wolves kill coyotes, thus there are more fox and mice and little critters, and more and happier hawks. Sadly, a parvovirus from domestic dogs threatens the 170 Yellowstone wolves. I guess no-one brought them in for their shots.

"Apex predators" are a key piece of any ecological puzzle. I'd like to see our native Timber Wolf returned to New England, along with the Elk who used to live in the Northeast. It would solve the deer infestation and the coyote infestation, and might reduce the number of cats and dopey little ankle-biter dogs in suburbia, too. Politically, it might be tough - can you imagine running for state office with a campaign promise to return wolves to Pittsfield, MA? But maybe they will come under their own steam, the way the coyotes did - which were never native to the Northeast and which cannot take on a whitetail deer.

Story in the Science Times. A Wolf website here.

Yesterday:

Beautiful snowy day. I have only seen the usual suspects: Blue Jay, Mourning Dove, Song Sparrow, White Throated Sparrow, SC Junco, Cardinal, BC Chickadee, WB Nuthatch, Tufted Titmouse, Downy Woodpecker, Red-bellied Woodpecker. Somebody around must be offering Niger seed (which is not really thistle seed) because I haven't seen any Goldfinches. Hoping for something exciting to come by, like maybe a California Condor or a Dodo. 

Large birds of prey lay their eggs early. A nest at Blackwater Refuge in Maryland already has two eggs. The Live Eagle Cam is here.

A friend of a friend took this photo of eaglets in the Adirondacks two springs ago:

Yesterday's snowy evening in Yankeeland. We love our snowfalls.

I once visited the Everglades in April, and it was really too late in the season: the wintering birds had begun to move north, and the dark swarms of attacking skeeters, especially early and late in the day, were a sight to behold.

Marshes are more full of life than any other sort of geography, which is probably why they appeal so much to me.

Despite the skeeters, for birders there is nothing better. Sad that I never saw a Snail Kite, though.

For your nature trips, the NY Sun agrees that winter is best for the 'glades.

Photo: Big Cyress National Preserve in the Everglades.

Photo by a friend, reposted from winter 2005:

A happy Harbor Seal in Long
Island Sound, off the CT shore, in January. Thanks for the nice photo.

These seals will start heading back down to Maine and other northern parts soon.

Sometimes it is good to consider some of the most familiar things in life that we take for granted, like the Chickadee.

This cute little non-migratory northern bird is known to everyone, especially from his wintertime visits to bird feeders, where he prefers sunflower seeds. He can be easily habituated to take seeds off of your palm if you stand still and have some patience.

Most of the time, though, he eats bugs and bug larvae by foraging through leaves and bark in woods and woodland edges. How often do you see them in the summertime? They are still here. They will nest in any little secret hiding place or tree-hole, and will use small nest-boxes. They are loyal to their mates, probably 'til death.

They are known to hide food for later, and supposedly are able to find it. Their typical "chickadee-dee-dee" call is replaced, in springtime, with a sweet "fee-beeee" which we will begin to hear as the days grow longer.

You can learn more about these delightful birds here and here.

Cold yesterday morning, and this hungry female Sharpie (maybe a Cooper's) missed a sparrow at my feeder but decided to puff up her feathers and stand on the grass for a while looking around. Wonderful the way they can turn their head to cover 360 degrees. This is the best I could do through Thermopane glass and a screen:

Another view of the Rocky Mountain Front in Montana (more here). That's Ear Mountain. Been there. A.B. Guthrie's The Big Sky took place around there. (thanks, ap)

This is a reposting from one year ago:

I do not have the provenance of this remarkable photo which came in over the transom, but it is clearly somewhere West. A gold star for the photographer who must have spend many patient hours watching this carcass in the snow.

The picture tells the story: a Red Fox and a Magpie were happily dining on a deer carcass when Mr. Golden Eagle passed by. Does he believe that he can take a fox? I doubt that he can, but he can sure rattle his equanimity, and interrupt his luncheon.

Yesterday, in CT:

Our piece on the strange Salton Sea reminded me of western Montana's not-strange but wonderful 1500-acre Freezeout Lake WMA (Wildlife Management Area) between Great Falls and Choteau, on the Rocky Mountain front. I have visited it twice, birding - not hunting. It's a small WMA, but packed with life.

I have only been there in June, but during migration the shallow lake harbors over 300,000 Snow Geese and 10,000 Tundra Swans, not to mention everything else. Here's one guy's report of the geese.

When I went, the birds that stood out were the Western Grebes dancing, the Avocets, the Phalaropes, and the Short-Eared Owls. Tons of breeding ducks.

This place looks like a good place to stay, near the lake. Nice view of a cute butte. When I have been out that way for a week, I have stayed at the excellent, Nature Conservancy-run Pine Butte Guest Ranch. 

Photo above: Snow Geese over Freezeout, from this Snow Goose site

Where is the world's largest Beaver dam?

We have heard the stories that the largest is somewhere in Three Forks, MT, but the best data I can find is that the largest is in Wood Buffalo Park in northern Alberta.

It is 2790 feet, or about a half mile in length. It makes sense that the longest dams would need to be built on gently-sloping, slow-moving wetlands in order to impound a good volume of water, while most Beaver-sized streams can be effectively dammed with shorter lengths, or a series of shorter lengths, as in the photo below (from this excellent Beaver photo site):

We have a few Sharp-Shinned Hawks in the neighborhood this winter who have decided not to bother flying further south, and that it is more energy-efficient to hang out here and to feed off the sparrows and Goldfinches around peoples' bird feeders.

I almost got a photo of one this morning, perched on the tray of my feeder three feet from my window. I could see the iris of her alert eye. She fled when I reached for my camera.

Thus does my bird-feeder do double-duty, because I love seeing these small dive-bomber predators around the place. I have watched them catch a few delicious English Sparrows but they seem to miss their target most of the time despite their talent at crashing through shrubs in hot pursuit.

It's too bad the Sharpies won't take some of my Grey Squirrels, but they are Accipters - hunters of birds on the wing. We human bird-hunters can relate: hunting is not shopping.

A CT salt pond yesterday, on Long Island Sound. Thanks, reader.

h/t, Junk Science

Killer Whales team up to break up the ice floe before making waves to roll their fresh seal sushi dinner into the water (h/t, Neurophilosophy):

We have our first significant nor'easter of the year today here in Yankeeland. A collision of an arctic jet stream with warmer, moist air. Sleet and snow, and that tell-tale howling, blustery gale coming out of the nor'east. Wonderful.

Why does the wind blow from the north-east for a type of storn which tends to travel in a north-eastern direction? It's because the center of the counter-clockwise spinning cyclone tends to settle off-shore, feeding off of the Gulf Stream, leaving us with the western side of the storm. (The off-shore winds, for those on ships and boats, would be blowing from the south).

Here's Wikipedia on nor'easters.

A reposting from November, 2006

Stone walls are "newer" in New England than the early enclosures, which were made of wood. Split logs, like ol' Abe used to make, but not post-and-rail. They were the criss-cross leany sort which rested the rails on tilted posts. And to keep animals out of the cottage garden, they used paling fences.

But in post-glacial New England, where the fields seem to grow stones over the winter, you had to put the loose rocks somewhere, so why not make a wall?

It is hard to walk through any woodland south of Maine without stumbling across an 18th century wall, and sometimes you find an old apple tree in the corner, or an old apple-tree trunk. No doubt planted by the farmer for home-made cider, which was the only kind of booze the average Yankee farmer could afford.

This hilly, rocky woodland, as can easily be seen by the size and species of the trees in the photo, was pasture until about 40-50 years ago: it is a young beech and oak woodland, typical of acidic lowlands in New England, and well-past the point at which it is appealing to grouse and woodcock. Good for the wild turkeys, though.

The booming deer population, alas, vacuum-cleans the undergrowth, making it inhospitable for lots of small critters and birds: either we eat those deer or we return wolves and mountain lions to New England. (I'd vote for all of the above.)

These woods are dotted with low-lying vernal - and autumnal - pools, which are excellent for the toads, tree frogs, salamanders, Box Turtles, etc. "Wetlands," as some term them. I call them swamps, and I love them: they are a cradle of life.