After leaving New Haven in my car today I became a little bit confused. I wasn't sure where I was going or what I was looking for. We have a nice array of protected areas in Connecticut, but after looking at a map you will see that they are few in number. The vast amount of land is private, off limits, and largely unmarked. Ten minutes outside of New Haven I thought I would try to find some vernal pools so that I can track the life cycle of amphibians, from breeding in the early spring to metamorphosis in the middle and late summer. Most of these sites are probably hidden and on private land, not in a state park. So I figured I would just drive around some back roads, but aimless driving never solved anything. I know that too well, but I ignored it. Sometimes I feel that this rash compulsion to move in a direction, even when I am strikingly unprepared, is part of my cursed psychological makeup. And when I start moving there is no turning back, no retreat or recalculation. This actually happens when I am cooking as well; I start mixing things without design and end up with a horrible medley of absolutely nothing. But we should all love ourselves the way we are right? So I kept driving.
I drove through the towns of Durham and Wallingford, the latter of which has a quaint little downtown area surrounded by farmland and other rural landscapes. Much of the land was cleared in the past for agriculture. For a while I found myself coasting through a great expanse of brown fields hovering on a sea of gently rolling hills. I don't know what came over me, but I entered into a state of total euphoria. The sun reflected so brightly off of the treeless earth that it made me smile. There is something so alluring about the countryside, but I am not sure I am of keen enough mind to explain it. I just felt a flash of freedom, as if I were a wanderer on this great earth, and the waves of hills were the infinite expanse that made the world, and all that is to be discovered, endless. I don't know what it is so cozy about the idea of infinite space, but somehow it makes me feel alive. Of course I have seen a map. I do know that our planet is sphere-like, about 25,000 miles wide, and approximately two-thirds water; indeed I know this is the truth, but I don't want to think about it. In my mind, there will always be the crest of another hill crawling out from under the horizon.
So out from the clouds I fell as I parked my car on the edge of the Mackenzie reservoir. As I stepped out I felt a brief chill, but the rays of sun landing directly on my skin were neutralizing almost to the point that it felt like a full-on spring day. I could see many birds gliding on the water, and there were some ducks that dipped under the surface, popping up a few seconds later. But before getting a closer look at them I watched some people fishing a few hundred yards away on the other side of the reservoir. It was clearly a family, as I heard a child complaining to their parent that a sibling was messing with their tackle box. I watched a few minutes with admiration, thinking how nice it was to see a family spending time like this together, outside in the fresh air and in the middle of nature.
Mackenzie Reservoir Entrance
More later...Plus last week's entry
By late morning, impatient from going unnoticed, the rays of the sun stubbornly forced their way through the pair of drawn shades in my bedroom window. They called to me with the promise of a thousand brands of life, all teeming in the warmth and glow of the daylight hours, a precious commodity in the dark New England winter. Of course I heeded the call. I quickly laced up my old shoes, tossed my binoculars and assorted guides in my bag, swung my camera over my shoulder, and headed north to...well, I wasn't exactly sure.
I picked out Wadsworth Falls State Park because it was reasonably close to New Haven. I am always alone during my winter treks (its hard to get people motivated for our resident overwintering wildlife), so I tend to save my longer trips for the spring and summer. All I knew about my destination was that it was centered around a waterfall.
Wadsworth Falls State Park: Entrance
Map of Wadsworth Falls State Park
(I followed the orange trail)
The trail I took was a march through a scene of brilliant white desolation, with a bed of icy snow covering the ground, and the bare trees climbing their way to the heavens. To me, trees are always beautiful, but if you stare up at them at this time of year they really appear supreme and god-like in their dominance of the quiet wintry landscape. They stand there, solemn and imposing, and I, of little stature, feel so insignificant in their presence. From time to time, a pack of chickadees or titmice will dance past and change the mood of the forest with their squeaks and funny clamoring; but when they've passed through, the seriousness sets in again. It's as if the trees are the parents and the birds the meddlesome children, and I, well I am some strange guest from another time and place. It's as if I don't belong, or am not enough in touch with the pulse of life to be a part of the club. Nor do I intend to be, for nature is timeless and above me.Today was very much a hemlock sort of day. Some aspect of this tree kept popping up wherever I'd go. Nathan, your friendly neighborhood hemlock expert, suggested that this is because many of the trees are either dead or dying from insect infestation (see previous entry), and all sorts of life comes to feed on their dying bodies. But, shifting our attention to the living hemlock for a moment, I wanted to note that their cones are quite small, not like those of any pine species around here.Eastern Hemlock Cones (Tsuga canadensis)
Cone in handKind of like the song "hand in glove" by The Smiths: "Cone in hand, the sun shines out of our behinds...No it's not like any other cone, this one is different because it's small"
Hemlocks are frequently found near streams and they tend to occupy moist cool valleys. I recall hearing that they are an important source of shade for animals living in or near streams (including fish), and that their decline will certainly impact the ecology of riparian forests.
Little hemlock in its element
On the dead and dying hemlocks I kept seeing this pretty orange fungus. I mean I wouldn't date it, but maybe I would buy it a martini (not funny ah-tall). But I did not see it on any other species of tree. After perusing my two new companion 'shroom books I discovered that this species is likely Dacrymyces palmatus (palmatus ~ like a palm [of the hand]). Supposedly this species looks similar to Tremella mesenterica (aka Witch's Butter), but palmatus favors dead conifers - Bingo!
Yellow fungus on hemlock
A collapsed medium-sized hemlock blocked the trail path. I stopped to take a look at the critters that were inhabiting it. Nathan told me that the black growth on the underside of the needles was probably a sooty mold which may be feeding on dead scale insects. You can also see a ton of the insects as well. These are usually the elongate hemlock scale (Fiorinia externa) which was introduced from...uh...the Virginia Tech website says Japan? These buggers damage the plant by using their piercing-sucking (I love this term) mouthparts to extract important nutrients from the needles. This produces a yellow banding of infected needles, and eventually causes them to fall off. Many hemlocks look bare and well, dead, because of the scale and the hemlock woolly adelgid.
Fallen hemlock
Underside of a branch from a dead hemlock
I still haven't made it to the waterfall yet...the best part! More later.
