Lingonberries, Bogs, and Bears

I just got back from a quick and wildly jam-packed trip to Alberta.  Two days into it and our sense of time was acutely distorted, and by the end we were all spinning.  Exhausting, but enjoyable, these fall trips to the boreal wetlands are usually my favorites.  The trees are turning gold, frost whitens the grasses in the pre-dawn light, and I am reminded that the heat of eastern PA will soon be a memory.  I can deal with some cool after this summer, and wow it was nice to wear a scarf again.

Into the field and along the trails, we foraged with the bears for cranberries, sweet and earthy honkin'-big blueberries, and the best lingonberries I’ve ever had.  Evidence for bears sharing our space was both interpreted and direct.  They were busy leaving piles of evidence everywhere.  I don’t blame them.  Those berries are irresistible.  Unbeknownst to us, a very large black bear joined us at Utikuma as we sprayed our plots with water (a paradox, I know) tromped out in backpack sprayers, and as he wandered into view with his head in the verdure, we took our cue and left the bounties of the bog to our fuzzy and somewhat scary friend.  Our hopes of making a wild-berry crisp that day were thwarted.

 

Utikuma, as you may recall, was burned just over a year ago.  I hadn’t been there since earlier this summer, and since then, the changes in the vegetation are incredible.  The mosses are coming back, the vascular plants are everywhere, and tiny baby spruce trees, all spiky-sprouts, hide among the recovering moss heads.   The charcoal-ed peat no longer stinks, but instead, has a not unpleasant  hint of an old house with a recently used fireplace.  Snares of naked black spruce branches threaten you with bodily harm and impalement (which will only get worse as the dead trees begin to really fall), but on the whole, it is a joy to witness the transformation making Utikuma a highlight of the trip.

 

Because Utikuma is an almost 3 hour drive north and west of our home-base Meanook, we sometimes stay at the Boreal Center where we feel most welcome.  This stay included a side-trip to Marten Mountain, which has been on my to-do list for quite some time.  We scaled the cobbled gravelly road in our F150 and had a vista of Slave Lake and vicinity that you don’t usually get in Alberta unless you’re in a helicopter.  My sense of well-being as we ate good food and drank wine around the campfire that night was palpable; and to boot, the stars were incredible.   

It was a decidedly productive and over-all fun trip.  The day of rain and a little time off today is helping with the re-entry.  Fall is starting to ease in today with an onslaught of grey and rain and wind and it makes me want to start cooking soups again.  I think tonight I will braise.  I am glad to be home.

Acadia: Part Deux

Day 2:

Crows yawped before the sun peaked through the pines on which they roosted above our tired heads.  Not to be outdone, the ubiquitous white throated sparrow joined in soon thereafter.  The campsite was bustling before 8 and we were on our way to focus our efforts to the North and East. 

 

Cadillac Mountain was a top priority.  Given the availability of a road to the peak, we took it and saved up our tired muscles for another hike later in the day.  The moving abyss looming out my window made me queasy on the switchback road up the mountain, and the view were great.

And then… the hoards.  We were not prepared for the swarms of Homo sapiens plaguing the mountain top.  It was a beautiful day on a weekend, and so I’m not sure why we thought it would not be crowded, and I think the reality is that we didn’t really think about it, but to be confronted with it after such a beautifully solo experience the day before was a bit of a psyche shift.  Again, though, the views!  Oh the views!  We were glad to not have hiked up. 

It occurred to us as we dropped elevation down into Bar Harbor that these people on vacation were also taking a holiday from following basic traffic laws.  Countless close-calls and distracted dim-wittedness put us even more on edge.  We were really not here to see people.  Happy to be parked, we had an early lunch on the edge of the main thoroughfares and rebounded.  A quick walk through the cuter-than-expected souvenir-filled town and before you could say lahhbstahhh roll, we were out of there.  The tight muscles needed to be stretched.

Nitwits plagued us still on the loop road and the hoard stymied our attempts at swimming at the ocean beach, but we muscled our way into seeing Thunder Hole in hopes of a little drama.  No drama.  Quiet hole.  So, on to Gorham Mountain where the parking lot was crowed, but thankfully primarily for the ocean cliff walk located in a completely different direction.  Breathing a sigh of relief as a big group moved off with a ranger toward the ocean, we took to the wood.

A 1.8 mile round trip, Gorham Mnt. Trail was listed as moderate, so, again, we looked forward to a fairly easy hike.  Sharing the exposed rocky trail with only a handful of groups was a welcome afternoon escape.  Mostly exposed bedrock, the trail was expertly constructed with boulder steps exactly where we needed them.  Cairns marked our path over large-crystalled lichen covered granite.  Blueberries and mosses clung to thin soils bridging outcrops.  Cranberries nestled in the crevasses.  The forager in me enjoyed the tasty fruits of the trail, but S was hesitant.  Apparently, I was Eve tempting him with the tasty globes.  I didn’t care.  They were sun-kissed and delicious.  He was missing out.

Home again home again to grilled chicken thighs and potato/onion/pepper pockets, gin and tonics and waiting for the stars.  A quick ¼ mile drive to the rocky shore and we were in star-heaven.  The fractured rocks couldn’t have been more comfortable with that view of billions and billions of stars above. The Milky Way swooped across the sky providing for most of the light in the moon-less sky.  Satellites and planets nestled into the nooks and crannies and binoculars exposed  mini-constellations hiding in the velvety dark.  Shooting stars from all angles drew tangents across the sky.  With the sound of the surf, and a small breeze keeping the bugs away, it was incredible.

 

Off to Boston the next day via York, ME, and home again home again for real.  Two thumbs up. 

A note:  Now in Fort McMurray, Alberta, Canada, and man... what an opposite sort of experience.  Hopefully, I'll have time to throw something together about this trip soon.  For now, the memories of Maine make for a peaceful escape.

   

Acadia: No Reservations

A week-long conference, even with awesome weather, great friends, and ocean views, is inspiration for a bit of quiet.  BIOGEOMON was over and Scotty and I took off for parts unknown.  Our destination:  Acadia National Park; we were flying by the seat of our pants going No-Reservation-style and looking forward to every minute.

Driving north and east, Rte. 1 took us through countless isolated  towns nestled upon the coastal igneous and metamorphic bedrock:  we breakfasted at Belfast.  Grabbed some firewood at a local Shaw’s and hoped for the best.  Stopping at the Thompson Island Welcome Center  we booked a walk-in on the south side of the park:  Seawall Campsite, Here We Come!  We had a site.  We were in.

We pitched the tent in the mossy wood, dropped our goods, made a couple of PB&J’s and high-tailed it to Mount Acadia via the long road ‘round the west edge of the island catching Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse not 2 miles from our home-base.  We were ready to stretch the legs.

Considered ‘Strenuous’, we were not daunted by Acadia Mountain… it just seemed like the right mountain to tackle on the first afternoon.  It was short, for goodness sakes… how hard can a couple of kms be?  And really, the east-west mountain ridge, rising to the 681 ft. summit, was steep and rugged, but it was not too bad.  I admit, though, we both did breathe comments like “glad we aren’t doing this in the rain” and “ooh that pass would be rough slick” (see post on Owls’ Head in ADKs).   

It was clear sunny warm weather and we were nearly alone on the mountain.  A false peak teased us with views of Echo Lake through the stunted Scrub Oaks and low-bush blueberry bushes.  A few more cairns and boulders opened up to a wildly rewarding rocky crag overlooking the south and west and a bit to the east.  Rounded monoliths everywhere are covered with lichens of greens and orange.  Four people were at the summit upon our arrival, but within minutes we had the glorious view to ourselves.  Blessed quiet and peaceful solitude.  Views of Somes Sound, the only fjord in eastern U.S.,  and Southwest Harbor, had us captivated.  We could see for miles over the green and rock and into blue open ocean.  Squinting, we could pretend to see our campsite.  A peregrine falcon welcomed us to her roost, yelling her hovering hello somewhere over her nest.  All was well in our world, and we tried to leave twice before we could actually get the gumption to do so.  It was coming on dinner time.  That helped… and we had local organic mouth-watering pork chops to cook over open flame.

It was time for fire and stars.

Day two:  To Be Continued…..

Elvis has Left the Building

The porch is cool(er) at 7 in the morning….  Turns out, early is a good time to exist in an 11 day heat wave.  Who knew.   Coming off a stint in Nashville, where the temperature was literally Africa-hot (I'm talking same temp as Baghdad (109 F) but it is not a Dry Heat), the mid 90’s really isn’t THAT bad.  Still, it gets on my nerves.  The easy morning air full of bird chatter and cicada buzzing is most welcome….    

Returning home this past weekend, we were primed for the heat.  Our stay in Nashville required active hydration, something readily found in the Music City.  Downtown is full-up brimming with honky-tonks and loud bars and watering holes of all sorts  –  folks drinking, smoking sections, and live music cannot be avoided even at breakfast time.  There is only so much of that I can take, really, but in small doses, very fun.  I learned about $1200 cowboy boots, Stetson hats, Nashville Hot Chicken, twang, spangled shirts, Jimmy Buffett haunts, pralines, the Ryman, the Coliseum, guitar cases and amps on the move, license plate encrusted old-time country joints, Gee’s Bend quilts, Elvis on every street corner.  In short:  a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.

Sadly, I missed a good chunk of the food scene (which you know is key!) and the next time I find myself there, I plan to eat well.  I hear great things and had some glimpses.

For now, let it be said:   I’ve had a taste of the culture and it is fried.

Quadding 101

It is day two of rain here at the field station.  We are socked in.  Which is good for the Earth, but not so good for fieldwork.   But that is ok as we have been going hard since our arrival and we have a GC being installed today so we can measure more gasses.  That said, we got out earlier with some quads and bombed around the grounds to blow off some steam and learn a few things.

If you’ve never been quadding, you are missing a whole big hill of fun.  That sounds obnoxious and pretentious even to me, but I really think it is true.  And so I must define the word quadding, because is that even a real word?   By ‘quadding’  I mean ATV-ing four-wheel style.  It is exhilarating – a blast – a damn great time.   My good friend Brandon gave our crew some helmets and a few good tips and opened up some opportunity to learn on a rugged course at Meanook.  Seriously….  every last one of us had a great time. 

Some tips: 

Don’t be afraid to go fast into curves and lean into them (you can overcome the quad angling off good solid earth by shifting even ever so slightly to the opposite side).

Quad in pairs so when you try to wrangle your way over a log the size of your wheel, someone is there to angle you in the right direction when you find yourself anchored.  Puddles are sometimes a burden, also, if you navigate poorly.

Know the terrain so you can go wildly fast on the straight-away and slow down for the bucking bronco trenches. See also, point number two above.  

If you need to go under a fallen tree it is ok to put all your weight on one side of the quad to make room.

Big rubber boots that are awesome for wetland walking are not the best clutch workers.

I’m edified and still gaining courage and insight, and THAT seems a good metaphor for life.  Whatever the perspective, it was a great way to spend an early afternoon.

Meanook in Song

In the chill of the evening, the passerines are active with the sun still several hands high.  Tennessee Warblers dressed in yellowish green have invaded en masse and flit from tree to tree.  They are mistaking windows for pass-throughs much to the dismay of everyone here at Meanook.  One such warbler, recovering on a pine branch, finally flew off, but only after Kitten made leaps for it, pulling the bough low as if he was the one hanging on for dear life.  Hooray for the bird.  No doubt Kitten will find a snack elsewhere this evening but the warbler flies free.  White Throated Sparrows are chatting with the Chickadees and the rowdy Ruby Crowned Kinglets, the Blue Jays yell and swoop from low branch to low branch, and the Sapsuckers play percussive wood.  It is a symphony in the bush. 

Spring is arriving here with birds and blooms.  The cherries aren’t quite flowering yet, but they are knocking on that door.  It seems spring is a little early up here as it is also on the east coast.  Last year almost to the day, it snowed 5 inches.  Two days ago I was hot and sweaty looking at a collapsing permafrost mound. 

Our research puts us in what is called the discontinuous permafrost zone.  North of us, the earth is frozen year ‘round.  South of us, the soil thaws completely every summer.  Here, there are pockets of frozen mixed in with the thawed.  This zone is shifting northward and that thaw brings changes to the landscape and changes to the ecosystems.  Fire hastens this advancement, warming the earth as it scorches it with no chance of the peat recovering the cold of the next winter.  Last year was a doozy on the fire-front, and this year, seems like we are in for another.  Right now, 23 fires burn in Alberta with 345 fires since the burning season started this spring.  We drive through smoke on the way to our sites.  That acrid burn in the nose is not unfamiliar to us and puts me on edge.

Tomorrow we head north to the Mariana Lakes region of Alberta where we will spend the day in both bog and fen and hopefully not run into any bears or fire.  The travel allows for some fast truck window viewing, and since arriving, we’ve seen much:  a Bald Eagle, an Osprey, countless waterfowl and shore birds, Sandhill Cranes, Buteos, Falcons, Shrikes, Passerines of all shapes and sizes.  Our feathered friends are here and are welcoming us to Alberta and to spring.  The morning will bring the dawn of a new day and as we walk among the mosses the birds will sing.

Note:  The above was written 2 days ago… the total fires is now up to 390 as of 10 AM yesterday…   much potential for ignition.   We have only experienced a bit of smoke and smoldering.  So far so good.  More soon.