Heron Tracks

I just spent a very busy four days walking up and down the beaches of Florida's Panhandle. I was counting heron tracks for a wildlife index. I had three sites, each about an hour and a half walk along white-sand shoreline. I learned a lot about heron habits and tendencies but also made some sketches of the tracks out there in the state and national parks. Besides heron tracks, I also encountered some other big bird tracks. The one on the right isn't from a heron. It's an osprey track. The real giveaway was the slightly sideways projecting toe. It was nearly as large as the track of the heron, though.

Sketches at Tarkiln Bayou

Detail from my sketch pad. This is supposed to portray the setting sun.

Sketching in nature is a lot different from photography. The results aren't as stunning; they usually aren't something you'd want to show off. They tend to be messy, hard to see, and not particularly artistic. A photograph is exact, beautiful, and colourful: an art form.

However, sketching is a much slower process. A photographer can rush through the underbrush, snapping away at whatever catches his or her fancy. A sketcher, by comparison, must sit in one place and carefully attempt to reproduce some small aspect or picture of the environment onto paper. This slower pace forces the sketcher to notice things that the photographer often misses. The shapes of the leaves and stems of plants become more interesting than the flowers. The silence of immobility sharpens underused senses. The salty smell of the bayou. The wailing of a family of loons. A sudden splash from a jumping mullet. These things become the focus--and how to portray them in art. A quiet yet lively mood, all on paper.

Sketch of the eastern shoreline of Tarkiln Bayou

While listening, watching, and smelling these things, I scribbled the shapes I could see around me onto the paper. Tarkiln Bayou was calm, a glassy series of rolling ripples sliding along the salty surface between the stems of the needle-rush. The loudest sound was the mullet, jumping periodically to clean their gills. But one splash caught my attention. A different tune in the rhythms of fish, bird, and plant. I focussed my attention on the north shore, where a series of ripples was racing out from the cover of a breeze swept strip in the bayou. The silver patch of water, reflecting the sky, appeared to be supporting the base of a growing V of white wave, it's tip picking up speed toward the shore. It ended in a spasm of splashes. This fast swimmer soon moved back out into the bayou, edging closer to me with methodical surfacing, puffing out a breath of air, a blow, at each rise. It was soon clear what had approached.

Sketches of a stump in the water.

The dolphin was one of several, the others working different parts of the shoreline. It would chase the mullet toward the reads and catch it near the shallows. Amazingly, the dolphin didn't eat it's catch immediately but, rather, playfully threw the wounded fish up into the air. Sometimes the fish would try to escape, and the dolphin would chase it again, seeming to enjoy the game it had created. I was feeling extremely blessed to observe such unique behaviour. The dolphin nearly swam right under the boardwalk, flippers sticking up in the air, glossy belly and under-tail gleaming whet as it threw its head back to fling the fish over it's chin. Once the fish was no longer able to perform any "live entertainment," the dolphin presumably swallowed its catch and repeated a race into the shoreline for another mullet. Of course I feel a little bad for the mullet, but I was completely overwhelmed with joy. Fun and games is a characteristic of intelligence and character. Both qualities are possessed by dolphins and it was a real privilege to observe it first hand.

Sketches of water and plants at Tarkiln Bayou.

As the blows of the dolphins grew faint, and the light was fading from the horizon, I sang to my fluttering heart and danced back to my vehicle. A truly magical moment, to meet someone so different that could consider my existence, just as I consider his. I wonder if he even saw me.

Yangchuanosaurus zigongensis portrait

In accordance with the renovations I am doing for all my blogs, I have changed the purpose of this one as a showcase for my art. This is a portrait I completed over the holidays of Yangchuanosaurus zigongensis, a three-and-a-half tonne theropod that has been uncovered in China. Like an Allosaurus of the orient, it would have been the top predator of its ecosystem. I used the colours of a beautiful agamid lizard as a model for what I've produced here. It probably wasn't as brilliant as this in life, but it looked good to me.

Times: August 2006

These photographs were taken with my first digital camera; a Canon Powershot A430. I first enjoyed exploring perspectives in height, taking pictures of some of the sights I enjoyed in nature before using a camera. Pseudotsuga m. menziesii, Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 19, 2006, 12:00pm. Canon Powershot A460, ISO 0, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/400.

Salal berries became one of my favourite subjects. Gaultheria shallon. Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 19, 2006, 12:00pm. Canon Powershot A430, ISO 0, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/400.

This grasshopper was one of manny on the cleared lot where we were building our house. Melanoplus s. sanguinipes. Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 25, 2006, 11:30am. Canon Powershot A430, ISO 100, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/40.

A butterfly on our cleared lot near Stories Beach. Pieris rapae. Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 25, 2006, 11:30am. Canon Powershot A430, ISO 0, 21.6mm, 0 EV, f/5.8, 1/200.

My grandmother had an apple tree in the backyard. The fruit had a classic look. Malus domestica. Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 25, 2006, 7:00pm. Canon Powershot A430, ISO 100, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/40.

I loved our old dog, Molly. Canis lupus familiaris. Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 26, 2006, 2:15pm. Canon Powershot A430, ISO 165, 21.6mm, 0 EV, f/5.8, 1/200.

I had no idea what these red berries were when I found them growing out of my grandparents backyard stump. Sorbus. Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 19, 2006, 12:15pm. Canon Powershot A460, ISO 0, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/500.

First floral photograph. It looks like a... dandelion?
But it's not not. It's an apargidium aster--same family.
Microseris borealis. Campbell River, Vancouver Island,
British Columbia. August 25, 2006, 11:30am. Canon
Powershot A430, ISO 100, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/200.

This was the first photograph I
took in a provincial park (Miracle
Beach). Populus balsamifera
trichocarpa. Miracle Beach
Provincial Park,Vancouver
Island, British Columbia. August
19, 2006, 5:45pm. Canon
Powershot A430, ISO 0,
5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/160.

This month, eight years ago, was possibly the most significant of my entire photographic phase. My family had been living in limbo as we built a new house. Throughout the winter, we had lived in an ocean-side resort. Our cottage had a slanting floor, we canoed from the front door, and we had little worldly pleasures to distract us from our quality way of life. No TV, no computer, no toys. I spent my days wandering up and down the shoreline and wading in the local swamps and ponds. Those were the happiest days of my life. However, there was little documentation of our happy, simple life in nature except a few photos with an old film camera we’d had from a few years earlier. It was time to go digital.

Araneus diadematus. Campbell
River, Vancouver Island, British
Columbia. August 27, 2006,
7:00pm. Canon Powershot A430,
ISO 100, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8,
1/60.

These four photos are of a spider that lived on the siding
of my grandparents house. It was a great experimental
model for macro. Araneus diadematus. Campbell River,
Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 27, 2006,
7:15pm. Canon Powershot A430, ISO 100, 5.4mm,
-1 EV, f/2.8, 1/100.

Araneus diadematus. Campbell
River, Vancouver Island, British
Columbia. August 27, 2006,
7:15pm. Canon Powershot A430,
ISO 100, 5.4mm, -1 EV, f/2.8,
1/80.

I’d seen a lot of beauty in nature throughout those years, so I’d started asking my parents to get me a camera. By August 18^th, on my 14^th birthday, the camera came. By then, we were living with my grandparents in their little suburban home and our house was almost complete. Without waiting, I took to the outdoors and started taking pictures of the unique perspectives and patterns I had noticed in nature. Unfortunately, many of my photos from those early days were lost to the mercy of poor organization. Old CDs are stacked somewhere, with damaged files full of old photographs badly in need of reorganization. However, some of the best have survived into more updated files.

So close to an orb-weaver spider, over exposed at a very slow shutter speed, made for a fascinating photograph. Araneus diadematus. Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 27, 2006, 7:45pm. Canon Powershot A430, ISO 100, 5.4mm, 2 EV, f/2.8, 1/8.

My dear mother was the victim of
poor use of a flash in poor lighting.
But she still looks beautiful! In the
years to come, I would capture more
flattering photographs of her. Isn't that
right Mom? My mom only ever gets
more beautiful as the years pass. Homo
s. sapiens. Campbell River, Vancouver
Island, British Columbia. August 30,
2006, 8:00pm. Canon Powershot
A430, ISO 100, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8,
1/60.

My dog's daughter
stayed in the family
before passing away.
Canis lupus familiaris.Campbell River,
Vancouver Island,
British Columbia.
August 27, 2006,
7:00pm. Canon
Powershot A430, ISO
233, 11.84mm, 0 EV,
f/4, 1/50.

Many of my first photographs were experiments. Trying to fool the automatic exposures of my Canon Powershot to create strange affects became standard practice for me. I tried my hand at portraits as well, but usually found myself dissatisfied with the results. Friends and family will have to forgive me if some of their portraits aren’t exactly flattering. Most of all, I became completely immersed in the world of macrophotography. Any bug or beetle that crossed my path became the subject of some new venture. I hope you enjoy these pictures as much as I did when I finally jumped into the world of photography.

Molly was one of the most-loved members of our family. She was a fantastic dog but passed away last year, close to the same time her daughter Ebony (see above) passed away. This is the cutest picture of Molly dog I ever took--it was never outdone by later, more professional photographs. Canis lupus familiaris. Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British
Columbia. August 23, 2006, 10:00am. Canon Powershot A430, ISO 0, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/80.

My sister Sarah, only eleven years old. I'm not so sure she's as cute as she used to be, but she's made up for it with beauty. Homo s. sapiens, Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 25, 2006, 7:15pm. Canon Powershot A460, ISO 0, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/60.

My grandfather has aged well over the last eight years. He looks essentially the same now as he did back then. Homo s. sapiens, Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 25, 2006, 7:30pm. Canon Powershot A460, ISO 0, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/60.

My mother's cousin Mary. Notice I changed the background for this photograph; I believed the trees and bushes of the old stump I had been taking the pictures at to be too distracting. I think it helped. Homo s. sapiens, Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 27, 2006, 7:00pm. Canon Powershot A460, ISO 0, 511.84mm, 0 EV, f/4, 1/200.

My first self-photograph reveals my consciousness. As far as I was concerned at that time, I was far too cute-looking for a fourteen year old. My face isn't nearly as round anymore. Homo s. sapiens, Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 25, 2006, 7:30pm. Canon Powershot A460, ISO 0, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/80.

Hard to believe that this sixteen year old now has plans to get married this December. Apparently the braces paid off. I'm looking forward to seeing you in December Daniel! Homo s. sapiens, Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 25, 2006, 7:15pm. Canon Powershot A460, ISO 0, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/100.

My first sunset photograph. Better would come. Pseudotsuga m. menziesii, Campbell River, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. August 28, 2006, 8:30pm. Canon Powershot A460, ISO 329, 21.6mm, 0 EV, f/5.8, 1/60.

Places: Shatto Ditch, Indiana

June 24^th, 2014 – Shatto Ditch

You may have seen some of these photos in an earlier post about a specific trip I made back in June. Although you can't see the water in this early July photograph, the grass of the Two Stage Ditch is hard at work.

Above, the Shatto Ditch rushes through

buffer strip between two corn fields.

Bellow, the Two Stage system is more

obvious, with a defined dip into the

artificial flood plain.

A red pickup truck pulled off the farm road onto the grass on the buffer strip of a cornfield. The doors swing open and three stream ecologists deposit themselves into the tall grass and make their way to the back of the truck. It’s old hat now; I’ve made this trip several times and everyone drops into his or her perspective roles. Once we’ve got our hip waders on, our trio pulls out a bucket, pH meter, conductivity meter, SOND software meter, and a few other pieces of equipment.

Our purpose today is to monitor nutrient levels in the Shatto Ditch system of Indiana. The Shatto Ditch is special; it flows directly off the farmer’s fields and into the Tippecanoe River. The Tippecanoe, consequently, finishes its run at the Great Lakes—an important area for the fishing industry in both the United States and Canada. Whenever a farmer enriches his field with manure or fertilizers, the excess nutrients finds its way into the tile drains of the field. It is a system designed to keep the natural waters of the floodplain in the ditches. It works remarkably well and, where once was marshland, now grows agricultural bliss. Unfortunately, all that excess nutrients drains right into the Shatto Ditch and, subsequently, into the Tippecanoe River. Once the nutrients arrive at the Great Lakes, it accumulates at the mouth of the river. Spurred on by the bonanza, algae bloom excessively. Soon, alga grows on alga and the heterotrophs cannot keep up with the astounding rate of dead algae deposition. The amount of decay makes it impossible for fish and other ecologically important species to live. It creates a dead zone.

Fortunately, ecologists at the University of Notre Dame are looking for solutions. One possible solution that we are testing today is the Two Stage Ditch System. To attempt to remove the excess nutrients, like nitrogen and phosphorous, from Shatto Ditch, we have constructed an artificial floodplain about 10 meters wide. It is well planted with grasses and other plants that are naturally competitive for nutrients. The hope is that these Two Stage Ditches will make a difference and limit the amount of nutrients before it reaches the Tippecanoe.

Another possibility is cover crop planting. Some farmers have complied to planting their fields with competitive grasses to help absorb some of the excess nutrients. Right now, it seems like the best solution is a combination of methods.

Here, the Shatto Ditch is measured for discharge, the rate at which water is flowing at a given depth. It is usually measured every 5 or 10 cm and the width of the ditch or stream is also recorded. In this case, a culvert offers a good gradient for this procedure. In front of the tape measure, an ecologist uses a Flo-Mate to make the readings.

Brittany Hanrahan (background) and
Martha Dee (foreground) are the two
Shatto experts at Notre Dame. It has
been a lot of fun working with them.

A conductivity meter is used to monitor

both the temperature and the

conductivity of the tile drain jutting

from the bank.

We took samples at about two-dozen sites, from both tile drains and the ditch itself. By comparing samples taken in the typical Shatto Ditch with those taken at a Two Stage and tile drains from fields implementing the cover crop system with those that do not, the differences will be considered to determine the effectiveness of the innovative plan.

Brittany and I at Shatto.

Turtles are my weakness. They

distract me from my work and I am

helpless to resist.

Sometimes fluctuations in water level, such as flooding after a storm, or other chemical changes caused by fertilizing or watering activities of farmers can give the impression that there are unnatural changes in stream nutrient levels. To watch for this, a variety of other conditions in the stream are also monitored. The pH is usually fairly high as an indicator of high nutrients. Conductivity (the ability of the stream to carry an electrical current) is also fairly high but rises when storms wash debris into the stream. 

The amount and rate of water flowing (discharge) is monitored at tile drains by measuring volume with time. In Shatto Ditch, the width is measured and flow and depth are measured at 5 to 10-centimeter increments with a Flo-Mate, a battery-operated meter, to determine discharge. Temperature is also taken which rises when water flows off sunbaked fields. In addition to all these manually taken samples, SONDs, software-operated water meters are replaced bi-weekly. They collect data 24-7 and can be taken back to the lab measuring any fluctuations in pH, temperature, conductivity, and nearly any other water quality that could be a significant indicator of changes.

I was very impressed by the orange sides of this common garter snake caught at Shatto. There must be a few of them out there because I also saw a red-winged blackbird fly off with one of these snakes. There isn't a lot of wildlife out at Shatto but I've seen leopard frogs, bullfrogs, green frogs, and gray treefrogs among amphibians. Birds include cranes, herons, red-tailed hawks, red-winged blackbirds, song sparrows, mallards, crows, and other songbirds.

All these measurements and samples will be analyzed back in the lab for significant correlations. When the day is done, we strip off our waders, sweaty and wet from leaks in the boots, and climb into the truck. Once everyone is in, we drive for the nearest Steak N’ Shake. It’s a Tank Lab tradition: ice cream for the way home. 

Places: Beaver Ridge Family Campground

For the 4th of July, many of the REU biology students (including myself) decided to go camping for the long weekend. Leaving Friday afternoon, we ventured to the campground where I did some exploring in the evening. At around 9, we left to see some fireworks.

The next day was spent primarily in Potato Creek State Park (stay tuned for more posts), but there was a surprising variety of wildlife at this farm country campground. Birds were plentiful. Some of the species I spotted were cuckoos, song sparrows, American crows, common grackles, red-winged blackbirds, yellow warblers, mourning doves, and gray catbirds, to name a few. The catbirds were particularly interesting, since they had a nest with young ones not far from where we had built a fire. I am always surprised by the simple insight of people who do not normally have an active interest in wildlife. One of the girls sitting around the fire noticed fairly quickly that the catbird sounded, well, like a cat. A young kitten, she specified, but a cat nonetheless. Of course, it suddenly became obvious to me that it did sound kind of like the mew of a cat, but I'd never really thought about it before that.

Mammals in the park were primarily noticed by sign alone. White-tailed deer and beavers, for example, left both tracks and chew marks (yes, dear leave "chew marks" when the bit the tops of tender plants). A rabbit in our site was affectionately dubbed "Paulo." Red squirrels scampered amid the pine trees near the trails. However, I think my favourite mammal encountered at Beaver Ridge were the coyotes. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, a coyote, somewhere far across the corn fields, began wailing at the hazy, moonlit sky. Not surprisingly, more joined in, yapping and howling for a minute or so. As they quieted down, only the green frogs "goinking" in the slough continued to communicate with one another. With coyotes and green frogs completing my outdoor experience for the day I drifted off to sleep.

Green frogs weren't the only amphibians encountered around the slough. I also heard the odd bullfrog. Around the edges of this slough in the evening, there were manny juvenile amphibians. Having metamorphosed from their tadpole form, wood frogs and American toads climbed the hills and spread out into the forest.
As for reptiles, I caught one eastern garter snake. However, it was a special moment. Once the snake calmed down, I was able to carry it over to the campsites and allow people to touch and hold the snake as they pleased. Thankfully the snake remained calm and it was much needed good publicity for a group of animals that have an unjust reputation.
There were plenty of harvestmen (arachnids) in the campground, some of which carried mites. The fireflies, unlike anything we get in the northwest, are truly magical. In forests at dusk, it is amazing to see the multitude of blinking lights. Amazing.

Of course, there were fireworks for the 4th of July. No the one above is not a horrible explosion amid a stupefied crowd. Wait... that's kind of what fireworks are. Beautiful, horrible explosions. It's actually quite difficult to get good photos of fireworks. All these were taken on manual and, with the exception of cropping, are unedited. I think they turned out pretty good. When I have access to the right resources, I'll put up the full stop-motion of the grand finale.

Sorry. Couldn't help but end on a natural note. The moon, even in its plain grey costume, seems to have a unique beauty that surpasses that of fireworks.