Reptile Rapture

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Snakes; I never had a truly concrete feeling about this slithery reptile. Squeamish? Not exactly. Adoring? Far from it. Fortunately, my experiences with these slinking species at the ACEC involved only a long-thought harmless kind: garter snakes.

Photo courtesy of Creative Commons

I’ve gotten quite acquainted with the garter snake folk around the Center. From lurking in canoes to creeping through a game of freeze tag, they enliven nearly every camp activity. My first encounter pushed my perception farther from the “adoring” end of the spectrum.  Imagine a gaggle of tween nature girls, anxious to participate in one of the most coveted activities during camp: canoeing. After completing what we’d assumed was a thorough snake-check, the girls were off sailing, in hot pursuit of a less threatening reptile. Minutes later, screams erupt from a canoe drifting in the middle of Will’s Marsh.                                    

                                                                                                                                                                                      “THERE’S A SNAKE IN OUR BOAT!” Counseling, cooing, coaxing, and still all were too overcome by fear to maneuver the canoe back to shore. It was rescue time. Mattie and I set out in our own canoe, equipped with rope and patience. Upon reaching the frightened vessel, Mattie valiantly tossed the snake to the safety of a bunch of Bull Rush, and we towed the girls to the safety of unconfined space not shared with a slithery stowaway. Here, the girls quickly shed the trauma of such an experience with the help of a turtle’s never-ending fascination. Luckily, no parents were alarmed, but rather tickled by the thought.                                                                                                                                                                                                                            After casual encounters with the creatures throughout my other days at the Center, I became more and more at ease in their presence. While on a lunch break, Carol captured a specimen that was to alter my opinion of them altogether. The young, adventurers of Raptor Rapture were playing in the amphitheater when a fragile garter wiggled through the game. Safely held in a mixed nuts jar, I took time to familiarize the little fellow, and, yes, even hold a snake for the first time. More delicate than an earthworm, he did not even match the width of my pencil. I measured him at approximately 8.5 inches; newborns (born live!) range in size from 6-8 inches, and are typically born between July and September, explaining the presence of such a tiny one.

While studying and building my relationship with the species, Mattie and I discovered that garter snakes are indeed poisonous. They simply lack the means to inject the venom into us, due to an unfortunate pairing of overly large gums and miniscule fangs.  After sharing my snake adventures with my family I learned that a rather unusual gene runs in the family: a fear of snakes. Perhaps the gene stops with me, and I will become the first crazy snake lady produced by a clan of squealing snake-phobics. 

Photo courtesy of Creative Commons

By Chrissy Webb, High School Naturalist-in-Training

(Not) Seeing Red

Photo courtesy of USFWS

As I wandered through the field adjacent to the road into Norm’s Island, I heard a strange call that was entirely unfamiliar to me.  It sounded like a weak Bald Eagle call, but, upon locating the bird that had made the call, I instead observed brown and gray plumage and a brown head.  Making an educated guess (not so educated as a later found out) I immediately thought of a Golden Eagle.  That was a truly amazing moment as I filled myself with (false) hope and excitement that I had chanced upon such an amazing find!  It was then that I heard the famous screech of a Red Tail Hawk fill the air as the raptor took flight overhead.  As I observed the magnificent Red Tail Hawk take flight and find the nearest thermal air column to utilize its perfectly designed wings, I could not help but to look for the distinct red tail.  But, to my surprise, it was not there!  Now I was truly stumped, for this particular Red Tail Hawk had not only made a strange call that I had never heard, but it also did not have the red tail as described in its name.   

Intrigued, I followed the Not-So-Red Tail Hawk as it made its way to the next dead cottonwood tree to search for prey.  Being a raptor, it had a curved beak and keen eyes, a perfect combination for hunting small mammals and birds.  I was able to see it in action as its long and wide wings helped it ride rising air columns and circle over a field full of prey without even flapping its wings.  Then, as if out of thin air, a second one appeared!  Now this one was practically the same bird, about 2 feet long with a wingspan of 4 to 5 feet and still no red tail!  It too made the mysterious eagle-like call in addition to the famous screech, and had seemed to join the other one in the hunt.  Now this was quite a sight, two elegant raptors in the hunt!  I was even more surprised when I observed one perch on a branch overlooking a field while the other circled overhead, as if they were spotting for one another.  I continued watching them as they worked their way through the woods, until, after what seemed like moments since I first spotted them, they flew off across the road over towards Lake Josephine, most likely in search of a young duckling.  

Photo courtesy of USFWS

 As I walked back to the ACEC, I could hear the Red Tail Hawks distant calls in the distance as dozens of questions and theories ran through my head to explain what I had just seen.  Upon returning, I quickly looked up the different calls of the Red Tail Hawk, and was rewarded when I happened upon the same call that I had heard.  The call that I had heard was the Red Tail Hawk’s mating call, thus solving the mystery of the unknown call and why they were hunting together. However, this still left the absence of the red tail unsolved!  But, as usual, a little more work revealed the truth.  As it turns out, Red Tail Hawks begin reproducing at the age of 2, but do not reach full maturity until the age of 3 or 4.  So the two that I had stumbled upon must have been old enough to mate, but not entirely mature, resulting in two very bland colored hawks and one thoroughly confused me.  All in all, I felt pretty good about my detective and reasoning skills.  After all, I did identify it as a bird pretty quickly, if I do say so myself.   

~ Jeremy Brooks, High School Naturalist in Training

Writings on winter

Last week at our monthly evening lecture series at the Audubon Center, the flames of my passion for nature writing were fanned during a presentation by Dr. Bernie Quetchenbach, professor of English and writing at MSU-B. Afterward, I revisited some of my old journal entries, and am posting one here that I previously shared on the Teton Science Schools graduate school blog in 2008.

I feel nostalgic reading it because it seems we have missed out on winter this year. Yes, we had a few days of snow and some intense cold, but it was nothing like a real Montana winter. We did not experience the length and intensity of cold that makes us feel hardy and strong as we brave the outdoors to shovel walkways, ski down powdery slopes, or simply get from home to the office to the grocery store. Surrounded by brown lawns and warm air, there was no reason to feel extra cozy and snug, no reason to take refuge in warm homes with hearty meals of stew. Without the toughening exposure of winter, spring feels unearned and less joyous. So, for the sake of a love of writing and a love of winter, I share with you the following.

Solitude. It creeps into the spaces between stillness and silence, framed by snow-covered branches in aspen groves. It seeps into my cells with each step that I take deeper into the forest, away from cabin warmth and human merriment.

The trees are slumbering, in a state of semi-frozen rest, which allows them to tolerate winter in Wyoming. The conifers with their evergreen needles, and aspens with their chlorophyll-laden bark, will jump at the first chance to photosynthesize in the spring. For now, all available water is frozen hard, and the trees have fortified their defenses against the biting wind and cold of winter.

I ski east toward the Gros Ventres under an ever-changing canopy of falling flakes. Stellar shapes dance earthward around me. I am seeking quietude this afternoon prior to my flight to join my family for the holidays. Over the last few weeks between Thanksgiving and winter breaks, the landscape around Kelly has changed remarkably. We are now entering the heart of winter, an especially quiet time of year. I have long been an avid fan of winter. Its harshness feeds the drive to survive and exposes the innermost nature of its inhabitants. All is laid bare, at the mercy of nature’s chilly grasp.

I stop short in my kick-glides as I enter the bottom of Coyote Gulch. The silence is overwhelming in contrast to the scrape and creak of my skis. My breath pools up in thick clouds of condensation in front of my face. On the hillside to the north above me a sizeable herd of elk have gathered. Standing motionless, I wait. Listening. Admiring the elk. Their strong limbs guide them through sage thickets and snowdrifts in search of the edible bitterbrush and willows. Several conjoined circular beds of matted grass dot the hill, evidence of a night spent huddling close together for warmth. A high bugle breaks the calm. I have startled the elk, and they are watching me with tense muscles, voicing their alarm and discontent with my presence. As if in agreement, a raven pair caws loudly as they swoop by directly overhead. Turning my head skyward, I glimpse the sun’s rays beaming from low on the western horizon. Pink, violet, and vibrant orange color the clouds that layer the sky.

I am witness to a truly wild scene. The power of this moment sends me into a reverie. I exist in a timeless trance, rooted firmly in place. Throughout the fall months I have become increasingly at home here in Kelly. I have delved into ecology, geology, and the development of my sense of place. Winter now brings a new perspective to my appreciation of these woods and meadows.

I realize I have stood here long enough in -12 degree Celsius ambient temperatures. The heat my body had generated while skiing has been rapidly lost through conduction in the frigid, calm air. I start moving again, blazing a ski trail that follows the fence-line along the boundary of the US Forest Service lands and Grand Teton National Park. I shiver deeply as the cooled blood in my extremities is re-circulated to my core with my motion. I am propelled forward faster by the drive to keep warm.

Rounding the bend to the north I realize that I am mid-way down the infamous After Work Bowl. There appears to be just enough snow to put my cross-country ski gear to the test with some telemark turns. I guide my ski tips downhill until gravity gently pulls me onto the slope. I weave through sage and exultantly yip-howl with joy. The freedom and grace of skiing is unparalleled. As I glide onto the flats, I turn to admire the scene once more.

I know I will be back soon to explore the enchanted world of winter. These afternoons spent alone in the woods transport me into a state of powerfully centering solitude. For now, it is time to return to my cabin. I whisper my thanks, and slip down the trail between lengthening shadows towards home.

Photo credits: mountain and stream shots by Pippi Fisher and Jill Fineis, elk by n fiore (creative commons)

Bald and Beautiful

Bald eagles (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) flew over several classes as we hiked along the Yellowstone River this month (photo at right by USACEpublicaffairs). One group even listened as the eagle chirped! To listen for yourself visit Cornell Lab of Ornithology's All About Birds website. For such a large bird, the eagle's cry is rather weak and unassuming. When eagles appear in movies, usually in Westerns, the red-tailed hawk's piercing cry is played in the background instead of the eagle's quiet warble. Thus, many people identify the hawk's call with the eagle.

Eagles are common along the river and other bodies of water. They mainly eat fish. They grab fish with their strong toes and very sharp talons that are adapted for hunting. They also have strong and sharp beaks to rip the flesh of their prey.

Eagles mate for life, and only seek a new mate if their original partner is lost. They build huge nests out of sticks, and use the same nest from year-to-year. Their nests may grow to weigh hundreds of pounds as they put new branches on each year.

The bald eagle is not truly bald (see photo at left by Pen Waggener). They earned their name because the white feathers on their head shine in contrast with the dark brown body feathers. Young bald eagles are mostly brown (even on their head) with white spotting on the body. By their fourth birthday, they take on the characteristic adult plumage.

We have seen both juveniles and adults at the Center this month. Two of the eagles are paired up and spending time by the trail under South Billings Boulevard. If we are lucky, they'll build a nest where we can watch the young eagles grow up!

Nordic Center Tracking

Last Saturday I spent the morning at the Red Lodge Nordic Center with beginning and expert skiers alike to learn about animal tracks. We started the day with a ski lesson for those who were new to the sport. More than half our participants hadn't been on cross-country skis before! Three great volunteers from the Nordic Center, Les, Marci, and Ellen helped to teach the newbies. After an hour of practice, they were at least able to stay up on the thin wooden skis... well, most of the time.

After a brief break and hot cider, we were refreshed and ready to learn about animal tracks. Barb Pitman from Custer National Forest joined us to lead an introduction to track patterns and animal gaits. She taught us some of the tracks we might find there in Red Lodge, including fox, wolves, weasels, mountain lions, deer, and moose. Luckily, it had snowed a couple of inches the previous day so there was a fresh pallet for animals to leave their tracks on overnight. We headed down the trail to see what we could find.

First up was a nice set of cottontail rabbit tracks. Their large back legs wrap around the smaller front legs when they hop through the snow; sometimes the full back leg doesn't touch the ground so the track won't look as long as the foot really is. In the photo at the far left, you can't tell the difference between front and back legs prints. However, the photo at left with a succession of track groups helps us to visualize the movement of the animal (a track group means a set of four prints, one from each foot). The front legs are staggered from each other, as are the back legs in many of the track groups. A close inspection leads us to the conclusion that the rabbit was heading up the photo, so the front feet made the two tracks closest to the bottom of the photo in each group.


Later in the morning we came across some moose tracks that disappeared into the brush. While moose are common in Red Lodge, we were tricked by these tracks. Barb had made them earlier in the morning by using a rubber mold! Here she is showing one of our young trackers how she made them.
By the end of the morning we had found several sets of fox tracks, many cottontail rabbit tracks, and even one set of weasel tracks. There were even signs of the North American Human post-holing through deep snow without skis! What a fantastic way to spend a sunny winter day.

Alien Creatures at the Audubon Center

As Heather noted in the previous post, the Audubon Center has been enjoying the company of local students including those from as close as Blue Creek Elementary all the way out to Laurel.Their field trip to the Center includes many new discoveries. Every class brings in new questions, new ideas and a new set of eyes.

It was a cold day with a crisp wind, but rosy cheeks were not going to keep us from spotting a few birds on Wednesday.
Winter is a great time to take a look at birds. The leaves on the trees have fallen making it easier to catch a glimpse of a nest or two along with the birds that reside in Montana all year long.

Yet, it was not a bird that we spotted! We had made it to Wendel's Bridge and were looking at the water. It was iced over and I did not expect to see much of anything when an excited shout caused me to look closer. One of the students had noticed something moving under the ice.

To my best judgement it is a giant water bug.A giant water bug is a true bug.

The insect we saw moving in the water was large. Bo, an intern with CampusCorps at MSU-B, and I believed it to be about the size of our palm! It was a camel-tan color and had a distinct X-marking on it. We stood there with the students looking over the rail down at the water for sometime. The insect seemed to be crawling from one bank to the other with relative ease under the thick ice.

I became more confident in believing this to be a giant water bug as I found out that the insect is most active in the fall, but will move to deeper, slow-moving freshwater in the winter and be able to survive the whole year. It can range in size from 1.5 inches (3.8cm) to 4 inches (10cm) in length.

Even more interesting is that these insects are attracted to light and so will also be found on land near light poles or other sources of electricity which gives them the name "electric light bug." These insects are quite good at flying and use the light from the stars and moon to porch lights, to direct them through the night which is when they most commonly fly.

Additionally, the giant water bug has a powerful bite; using "piercing, sucking mouth parts, and a short, pointed beak on the underside of the head" to inject toxic enzymes which not only poison, but begin to digest the prey. Although not dangerous, humans have also experienced this bite and have named it "toe-biter" as well. The giant water bug is an adept predator. It will lay motionless, looking much like a leaf, until prey arrives and will ambush it. Or using its strong rear legs will scuttle through the water with ease and quickly grasp at small fish, tadpoles, or even salamanders and deliver its bite.

It really seemed like an alien experience to see such a large insect during the winter, but without the fresh eyes of our students a discovery like this would not have been possible. Getting to go outside and explore your surroundings with a new friend can bring a discovery that you were not expecting. So, make some time to do some birding and you may find more than you anticipated!

Winter Field Trips

Students from Canyon Creek Elementary School recently spent a day at the Audubon Center learning about winter twig identification, animal adaptations to winter, and basic bird identification. Canyon Creek's 4th grade is part of our year-long Audubon Naturalists in the Schools program, which introduces students to phenology (the study of seasonal changes in nature) and how to explore the outdoors with the tools of a naturalist. During yesterday's visit, they learned how to use binoculars, bird field guides, and dichotomous keys.

In the photo on the right Mattie Clark, a Teacher Naturalist and Big Sky Watershed Corpsmember, is showing students how to tell whether a plant's branches grow opposite or alternate from each other. Students then use a dichotomous key to determine the twig's identification. The first step on the key asks students to determine whether the plant is coniferous or deciduous. In identifying winter plants, the coniferous ("cone-bearing") plants stand out because they are still green with their leaves (which are needles or scale-like leaves). Deciduous plants lose their leaves in the winter and appear naked in comparison.

After the students decide which major group the plant is from, they continue answering questions with two choices, working their way down the dichotomous key until they arrive at the correct answer. Here, the students are looking at a branch from Red Osier Dogwood. Later, during a birding hike, they identify the dogwood because of its bright red branches, which stand out against an otherwise brown background of dried grasses and woody twigs. They also learn to identify the Ponderosa Pine, whose needles grow in packets of three, and the Rocky Mtn Juniper, with its scale-like leaves and blue-green berries. As a demonstration site for vegetation that is found across central and eastern Montana, the Audubon Center hosts a variety of tree and shrub species that are native to Montana.

After practicing how to focus binoculars in the classroom, students went in search of winter resident birds. Together we spotted 13 different species of birds, including an immature bald eagle, male and female downy woodpeckers, northern flickers, and black-capped chickadees. Upon glassing the waters of the Yellowstone for a few minutes, we noticed some black and white dots that kept appearing and disappearing into the cold river water. These turned out to be a flock of common goldeneyes, diving into the water in search of invertebrates for lunch. These ducks are named for their bright golden yellow eye, visible in the photo of the male duck below (female duck eyes are a paler yellow). Interestingly, their eyes are gray-brown when they hatch. They change color over the first few months of their life, from purplish to bluish to blue-green, and finally to green-yellow by five months of age! They are winter residents in Montana, and will migrate further north into Canada come springtime. For more fascinating facts about the goldeneye, or to hear the unique sound of their wings whistling in flight, visit the Cornell Lab of Ornithology's bird guide website.














Posted by Heather Ristow, Education Director