Whitefish Point

 Once Lisa and I had recovered from our five mile hike from the Lower to the Upper Falls at Tahquamenon State Park, we decided to make the best of what looked like might be the only dry time left to us that weekend. We decided to drive up to Whitefish Point, a place that can be decidedly nasty when the weather takes a turn for the worse.

There are any number of reasons to visit the area. Number one for us of course is it's a great place to go birding. Michigan Audubon runs the Whitefish Point Bird Observatory there, where they do owl banding, among other things. There is also the Shipwreck Museum, gift shop, and several other buildings as well as, of course, the Whitefish Point Light Station. (Get more info about the place at Michigan.org).

Lori and Lisa with Mr. Pickles at the Whitefish Point Light Station.

The geography of the place lends itself nicely to birdwatching--any bit of land sticking out into a big body of water is going to attract birds looking for rest and shelter. Whitefish Bay also attracts lots of boats and ships (I will not enter the debate about what's a boat and what's a ship), and happens to be the place where literally hundreds of them have met their demise. The bay offers shelter, but the point can also create confounding waves for captains to try to navigate. The most famous sinking here was on November 10, 1975, when the ore boat Edmund Fitzgerald sank only 15 miles or so from Whitefish Bay, taking with it a crew of 29. Storms in this part of the world can blow up quickly, and the huge expanse of Lake Superior can allow for waves over 25 feet.

Reference for those unfamiliar with Lake Superior.

We decided to forgo the museum in favor of the wildlife refuge adjacent to the observatory, which apparently is part of the Seney NWR unit. I guess the place was "officially" closed as we were there during the government shutdown, but there were no gates, and the two older fellas who were sitting watching the bird feeders made to attempt to stop us.

Sign at Whitefish Point

The habitat here is very brushy--high winds and brutal winters keep most vegetation low to the ground. It's very shrubby, which is great for birding--they can't escape to the tops of tall trees here!

Woods, Whitefish Point-style.

The woods were abuzz with birds, but we didn't have a lot of time to linger and identify. We did see Swainson's and Hermit thrushes, Ruby-crowned kinglets, Cedar waxwings and Yellow-rumped warblers in this part of the refuge.

Swainson's thrush--note the paler color and buffy markings on head.

 
The trail ultimately lead towards the beach. This area was populated by scrubby pines, probably all that could live in this sandy environment. The space between the woods and the dunes was scattered with palm-sized stones, which are found pretty much everywhere along the south and east shores of Lake Superior. My guess is this area used to be the shoreline, where stones get piled up by the waves, then it was cut off either by the dunes piling up or the lake level dropping--or both.

Dunes between woods and shoreline.

Down on the beach I spied bird prints in the sand, probably made by a crow.

The big lake was lively that evening, but not frighteningly so. The sun had come out and while the wind was pretty cold, the day was pleasant.

Lake Superior's famous rocky beaches.

At the bird observatory building we had seen a list of recently sighted species, which included two not normally seen in the area--a Parasitic jaeger and a petral (we couldn't remember which one). So of course we were certain that every bird flying by was one of these exotic creatures. It turns out that we didn't see either bird, though I did see my first adult Black tern (I am pretty sure I saw a juvenile in North Dakota).

Black tern fly by--NOT a petral!

I do not know my gulls and terns, and thought this one might be a jaeger, but it turned out to be an immature Herring gull. Poo.

Young Herring gull.

I did get to see one of my favorite birds, the Sanderling, working the beach over for supper. This one caught what looks to be some kind of shield bug.

Sanderling.

 Just to the west of the light station are rows of what I can only imagine are breakwaters. No one in their right mind would have tried to build a pier or other structure here. I liked the color of the wood against the deep blue of the cold water. The land mass in the distance is Canada, on the Eastern shore of Lake Superior. To the left, around a bend, is Lake Superior Provincial Park.

Oh Canada!

 As the sun began to dip below the dunes we headed back to the parking lot. That's when I noticed, there on the beach within view of the light station, a memorial to the crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald. And as we prepare for a late autumn storm here in the Great Lakes (winds gusts up to 50 mph!!) we will keep our fingers crossed that we don't see another tragedy like this in our lifetimes.

Here is a video with footage of the Edmund Fitzgerald set to Gordon Lightfoot's 1976 tribute to the sunken vessel (which, BTW, was the first single I ever bought. Come on--I was 10!).  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hgI8bta-7aw

Tahquamenon Falls River Trail

 We took advantage of a rare weekend with nothing on our schedules to take a three-day trip up to Tahquamenon State Park in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. We had debated for weeks about where to go--Pictured Rocks, Pigeon River State Forest, Sleeping Bear Dunes. The government shutdown eliminated PIRO and Sleeping Bear as options since both are National Parks, but even after we were on the road we did not decide for sure to go to Tahquamenon and not Pigeon River until we were in Gaylord, in Northern Lower Michigan. The forecast was for rain in both places much of the weekend, but warmer below the bridge. But Lori really wanted to go to the U.P. to do some research for her next book, so to Tahquamenon we went.

We planned on camping in the modern Lower Falls campground, but it was pretty busy (at least for October) so only stayed one night, electing instead to camp at the rustic River Mouth unit, where there were only four other campers. Before moving camp, Lisa and I decided to hike the four-mile River Trail, which links the Upper and Lower Falls. Lori, who was feeling a bit under the weather, agreed to meet us at the Upper Falls at 12:30. Leaving around 10:00 we felt we had plenty of time.

Map of the Upper and Lower Falls area at Tahquamenon State Park

 

Well...here's the thing about trail distances. They don't always tell the whole story. We left from the campground and walked down to the eastern side of the Lower Falls and the concession/boat rental area, about .2 miles. We lingered by the falls, taking pictures, then walked down along the river to the viewing area of the western side (the river is divided by an island at the Lower Falls), where we lingered longer.

East side of the Lower Falls, Tahquamenon State Park

River geology.

 

West side of the Lower Falls. There seemed to be a lot of water in the river for autumn.

Lower Falls from viewing platform.

We had probably walked a half mile, and been gone about 30-45 minutes, when we came to this sign just past the last viewing area for the falls:

Sign marking the start of the River Trail.

We stopped and stared at the sign. This marked the beginning of the trail, the "official" start to the four mile trek. We considered not doing it--we weren't sure we would be able to meet Lori on time. But the weather was good and I was concerned that we would not have another opportunity the following day, so we pushed on.

Along the River Trail, Tahquamenon Falls State Park.

 
Because we had to maintain such a fast pace there was not much time to stop and rest, much less take photos. The day turned from cloudy to clear and we both found ourselves to be over-dressed, and it wasn't long before I was sweaty and over-heated. I really don't like to hike like this. To me the point of hiking is not to get from point A to point B but to immerse myself in my surroundings. But there was no cell service and no way to tell Lori if we'd decided to turn back, so we had to march on.

We did catch a glimpse of this sparrow--either a Chipping or Clay-colored, I can't decide which--along the river's edge.

Yet another mystery bird....

Despite feeling rushed, we enjoyed the beautiful afternoon and gorgeous scenery.

The blue blaze indicates this is part of the North Country Trail.

At each mile there was a marker, so we were able to track our time and pace. We managed 30-minute miles, more or less, and arrived at this sign, marking the other end of the River Trail, at around 12:45. Of course, this is not at the parking lot, or even at the Upper Falls--there's still another .3 or .4 miles to the parking lot, so in reality the hike, from parking lot to parking lot, is probably closer to five miles. It felt like it, too--we were tired, hungry and thirsty, being in terrible shape after a summer crammed with busy but devoid of much exercise.

We paused briefly at the nearest overlook to take in the Upper Falls, then continued our march to the parking lot, a half hour late. Lori was waiting patiently, although she had considered driving back to the campground in case we had changed our minds about the hike.

The magnificent Upper Falls, Tahquamenon State Park.

Back at the campground we hooked up the trailer and drove down to the River Mouth campground, where there were no barking dogs, no children, and virtually no neighbors. After setting up camp there, we drove up to Whitefish Point to do a short hike, see Lake Superior and whatever birds may be around.

Next: Whitefish Point.

An Unexpected Hiatus--And New Artwork

Where have you been, you ask? Just busy with life, I guess. I had no plans to take a break from my blog, but this summer got pretty crazy, and the next thing I know it's October, and I am totally out of the habit of blogging. It's really a tremendous amount of work, especially when there's photography involved. Images have to be sorted, edited and arranged in a way that they fit into whatever story is being told. I would often spend over an hour writing one blog post, and as it turned out, I just didn't have the time or energy to do it these past few months.

My plan was to "take time off" this summer from a hectic show schedule and spend more time doing some things around the house, as well as getting out more, at least on a day to day basis. I dropped my show schedule down to 10 from 17, but I somehow had less time for "me" things than more. I did take two extended trips--my Isle Royale trip in June and a vacation with Lori and Lisa to Theodore Roosevelt National Park in August. Prepping for these trips ate up a lot of time, in addition to the trips themselves. I also spent much time editing Lori's third installment in her Holly Wild mid-grade fiction series, which gobbled up whatever extra time and energy I had. But now the book is printed, my last show for the year is this weekend, and I am out of excuses and ready to jump into some new artwork.

Artwork! Right! I'm supposed to be making art! I only managed four new pieces from July 2012 to July 2013, although in my defense they were all larger, time-consuming pieces. I have way more pieces that I want to do than I have time for, and now after our trip out West I have even more (wild horses!!). I did produce one new piece over the summer, a Ruby-throated hummingbird feeding on a rose of Sharron in our backyard. It was actually a female, but for the added color I turned it into a male:

"Ruby", colored pencil and ink on Bristol board. 7x10, framed to 11x14. $395.00

So it's time to get back on the blogging horse, but rather than go back to June and Isle Royale, I think I'll start with our most recent excursion, a four-day weekend at Tahquamenon Falls in Michigan's U.P., keeping these posts more timely, and save the summer vacations for something to write about this winter.

Upper Falls, Tahquamenon State Park

Yipee!

Euthanasia, Grief and the Big Dog--A Eulogy

It is said there are no selfless acts.  That everything we do, no matter how generous, is done for our own satisfaction.  We give gifts because it makes us feel good.  We feed the birds not because it is good for them and helps them to thrive (which it does) but because we enjoy their presence and are rewarded by the good deed.

Euthanasia is different.

As I write this there is a huge hole in my heart. This past Wednesday, right before we left town for an art show up north, we had our dog Jackson euthanized. (I don't like the term "put to sleep". He's not sleeping, he's dead.) Euthanasia means "good death". I am not sure how good it is to be killed by a needle and fluid pink as bubble gum, but I guess it's better than a myriad of other ways one could die.

 

Jackson, Christmas 2012

Jackson was old for a big dog. At 12 he had some physical issues, mainly arthritis in his back that was causing weakness in his hind legs, and at 74 pounds that was a real problem. He was starting to have trouble getting up, and he would eventually develop problems defecating. He had developed a distended abdomen too, and while the vet had not palpated any tumors and his appetite and bowel function were fine, we were concerned. But our finances didn't allow for a lot of diagnostic work--a full blood panel is expensive, X-rays are often inconclusive, and my experience with older animals is that even if you diagnose a problem, treatment is often ineffective, invasive, crazy expensive, or all three. So we elected to watch him closely for signs that he was in obvious pain.

Jackson was a lucky boy from the get go. He was a shelter dog twice--adopted as a puppy, he was returned at eight months old for reasons I no longer recall. At that time we had a cattle dog mix named Tucker, an odd dog to say the least, with whom I never really bonded. He was a stand-offish sort, wary of people, and probably with good reason--we can be real creeps when it comes to our pets.

Chillin' on his bed. He laid like this a lot, perhaps to alleviate the pain in his back.

We had been throwing around the idea of getting another dog as a companion for Tucker when Lisa decided on a whim to visit the humane society. She found a dog she thought might be a good fit so when I got off work we drove back out to the shelter. We walked that dog and several others but weren't real excited about any of them. Then she pointed out this hound mix who was laying quietly at the front of his cage, big soul-full eyes gazing up at us. He didn't have any information on his cage so we went up to the front to inquire.

To our surprise, we were told he was slated to be euthanized, and was in fact being taken back that very moment. They brought him up to us instead, and we took him outside, and his joyful enthusiasm won our hearts. He howled the whole way home, riding in the back of the truck (it had a cap), and pooped and peed on our golf bags. His name was Tyson, which we didn't like, so we changed it Jackson, after the country singer Alan Jackson thanks to the way he howled on the ride home.

Christmas treats.

While he had some habits that were annoying (don't we all) he was a great dog and a wonderful companion. We could let him out onto our unfenced property and he wouldn't run away. He knew not to chase skunks or deer but that the neighbor's cats, laying in wait under the bird feeders, were fair game. He loved to play ball, although we pretty much quit that last year as he kept coming up lame. But the thing I loved the most about Jackson was his obvious love and affection for us. And after Tucker died several years ago, I felt I finally bonded with Jackson.

This past Wednesday, July 3rd, I was in the basement matting prints for my show this weekend. The dogs (we recently adopted an elderly beagle, but that is another story) were passed out on the floor, exhausted from a car ride and walk we had taken that morning.  But around 11:30 I turned around to find Jackson standing behind me, head thrust forward, eyes sunken, heaving very short, deep breaths. My heart sunk. I knew something was seriously wrong, and that this was the beginning of the end.

Jackson and Mr. Pickles this spring

He sunk to the floor and lay in a rather awkward position, clearly in pain. His gums and ears went pale. I called the vet, who said yes, bring him right in. I tried to help him walk to the van with a towel under his chest as a sling, but his back legs weren't working right, so I picked him up and carried him out the door.

Our vet took one look at him and told me what I already knew--that this really didn't look good, and that even with a battery of tests the chances that this was something that could be repaired were slim. We will never know exactly what went wrong. Our vet suspects a ruptured tumor, perhaps on his spleen, and that we was bleeding out into his abdomen. Whatever the case, we decided then and there to end his life, and within 45 minutes of him collapsing on the basement floor, he was dead.

Knowing that we gave this dog twelve years he would not have otherwise had does not make having him euthanized now any easier. It hurts, plain and simple, and it is a deep hurt that has no remedy. While I am not one to drag out the life of an old, sick pet with surgeries and medications, I wonder if I should have done more for him. But then I stop and think, for whom would I really be doing this? Would it be for him, who now spent his days sleeping or just laying around the house, who no longer played ball, who seemed to me to always be in a state of discomfort, even with a daily aspirin? No, extending his life would not have been for his benefit, but for mine.


To keep a pet alive when they are clearly suffering, are past the point of finding joy in life, is repulsive to me. We extend the lives of our loved ones not for their benefit but for ours, because we can't bear the pain of being without them. We are cowards, afraid of our own pain and loneliness and heartache.

To me, choosing euthanasia is the one and only selfless act. Choosing to take the life of another knowing the pain it will cause us is perhaps the one choice we make that never, ever leaves us feeling good. No matter the degree of suffering a cherished pet may be enduring, euthanizing that pet will never make us happy or bring us joy. Yes, we can rationalize and say it was necessary, that they are in a "better place" or at least now without pain, but our hearts are broken, and will never be completely healed.

Part of me is glad it happened so quickly. I am glad that he didn't slowly decline, that we didn't have to make that choice, to wonder, is it time? Is it today? Tomorrow? The bad thing about it happening so quickly is that there was no time for special treats or long hugs or any of that stuff. Because what we're really doing, when we know in advance and can do special things, is grieving, but in a way that makes us feel good. We can grieve with love and affection, and afterwards we can remind ourselves of all the nice things we did, and maybe it hurts a little less. Now, with him gone, all the grieving is done in his absence, in emptiness. So the lesson here is to do those special things every day, because you don't know when the end will come. Don't let death leave you with regrets that you will have no opportunity to amend.


Throw that damn ball, even if he limps, because for him, there may not be a greater joy, and for you, there may not be another chance.

Isle Royale...Some Day!

I have been back from my AMAZING trip to Isle Royale National Park for nearly two weeks now, and I have not had any time to look through my photos or even think about writing about this trip. I am in the heart of art show season, and the growing/fixing season, and on top of that I am working on the edit of Lori's third Holly Wild book, Packing for the Porkies. I just don't see me writing about Isle Royale much before mid-July. To make matters worse, we leave August 2nd for a trip out west, to Theodore Roosevelt National Park. If I don't get it done by then I don't know when I will!

The Ranger III, or "Barf Barge", the National Park's boat to Isle Royale. Taken with my iPhone.

But I am itching to get it done, so I will do my best to at least start sorting through the nearly 1000 photos I took next week.  Have a fun Fourth of July!

Searching for the Red-Shouldered Hawk

Last week Lori and I went out to Unit 4--the part of the Brighton State Rec Area that we've been managing--to look for hawks. We have identified a number of listed species in the area, including Blanding's turtles, which are considered a species of special concern.  On several previous trips to the area we have heard--and seen at least once--red-shouldered hawks, a threatened species in Michigan. We saw a red-shouldered several years ago in the huge cottonwood on the edge of our property, and I had one fly over me, calling, when I was in the chicken's pen last year. They have a very distinctive, descending call, that sounds something like figaro. Our property is nearly adjacent to Unit 4, so it is not surprising to have seen the birds in both places.

I made a report and sent it in to the Michigan Natural Features Inventory, who likes to know about listed species. However, they really only want to know about breeding pairs. Had we seen a nest or other breeding activity? they asked. Well, no. So, we set out last week to see what we could see. I didn't hold much hope--we are fully leafed out here now and the chance of finding a nest was slim to say the least. But it was a good excuse to get out and stomp around in the woods. I had also not yet photographed a red-shouldered in the park, and I wanted some concrete visual proof of their presence there.

We parked along the road near the trail crossing, and before I could even get to the trail this red-spotted purple butterfly landed on the road in front of me. We'd had rain recently, and this little beauty was sipping moisture and minerals from the roadbed.

Red-spotted purple butterfly.

Shortly after leaving the road but before the woods the trail passes through a small meadow. This is an area were we have heard the red-shouldered, and seen as many as three hawks flying overhead. So we stopped to watch and listen. Within 20 seconds Lori announced there was a cuckoo in the cherry tree next to the meadow. I found the bird and got a few shots (these are cropped quite a bit). I could tell she was right by the size of the bird and it's bright white undersides. I had heard cuckoos the last few times I'd been out in the woods, so I was thrilled to be able to see one. These are my first photos of the black-billed.

Black-billed cuckoo.

I noticed a second bird, and got a few shots of it, too. Lori was insisting these were black-billed, but I clearly saw a yellow bill on the second bird, and had not gotten a good enough look at the first to say for sure. So we debated--black or yellow??

Yellow-billed cuckoo.

The disagreement was ended later when we got home and realized there was one of each feeding in the same tree! The yellow-billed has more white on its tail and that distinctive yellow lower mandible, while the black-billed has a bright red eye ring.

Cuckoos eat caterpillars, and are one of the only birds to eat fuzzy caterpillars like tent and gypsy moth. Good thing, because we discovered we have an infestation of gypsy moth caterpillars in the park this year.

While I had my face crammed against my camera, photographing the cuckoos, Lori spotted a hawk overhead. I got a few shots of it as it circled, but I am not certain if this is a broad-winged hawk or a juvenile red-shouldered.

What are you?!?! I think it's a red-shouldered, but it is very similar to the broadwinged. We've seen both in the area. Will have to get better photos than this for a positive ID.

 On the way out of the meadow I spotted a blue-gray gnatcatcher working an oak along the edge...

Blue-gray gnatcatcher. You can see some of the freeze damaged leaves here. 26 degrees Mother's Day night....

 
...and this widow skimmer dragonfly. There were several other species there too, including common whitetail and twelve-spot skimmer. I have heard that some birders have also become dragonfly watchers, and I can see why.

Widow skimmer dragonfly.

Unit 4 is a pretty diverse section of the park. There's a creek that winds through it, leading from Chenango Lake to empty into the Hay Creek near our house, which then feeds the Huron River. The creek passes through a marsh/wet meadow, a low-lying area surrounded by steep, forested hills. There's a swamp (where we've done most of our work and have ID'd over 40 native wildflowers so far) and two small meadows, along with mature oaks, maples and black cherry and a few stands of pines. It is a perfect place to find all sorts of birds thanks to this diversity.

We did finally make it to the woods, and I did some climbing around, searching a few big oaks. But the hills are steep, and in this particular area there's lots of multi-flora rose (a nasty invasive) and so I gave up pretty quickly. But we walked along the trail and eventually came to a deer path that leads off towards the marsh. It's been there for years but we've never taken it, so we decided to see where it leads, and if we could get a view of the marsh, where we've seen the hawk.

Boy, could we!

Beautiful wet meadow/tamarack swamp.

I am a lover of open sky, having grown up on a lake, so I fell in love with this spot immediately.  Some flowers were blooming, and I could see there would be many more as summer approaches. I haven't had time to ID these yet.

I heard hammering in a grove of tamarack nearby, and looked to see a pileated woodpecker blasting away on a snag.

Pileated woodpecker. Look at those shoulders!

 While I stood still against a poplar the bird took off and flew directly overhead, into the woods to land on an oak. It started to move down the trunk into a spot where I would have had a clear view of it, but something yummy caught it's eye and it moved back up. Shortly after this it flew off.

 Clouds had started to build and it was close to lunchtime so we headed back. Good thing, because within a half hour it was pouring rain. We didn't see any more hawks, but I did find a spot where I am sure I will spend a lot of time watching for them.

I have a show this weekend, then I am driving up to the U.P. Sunday, and from there taking the slow boat to Isle Royale National Park. I am part of a volunteer crew working on the restoration of some cottages on the island. I am very excited about spending time on this remote, north woods island, and am sure I will have lots to blog about when I get back.

The Heron Gets Its Perch

Memorial Day weekend finally saw us out on the water for our first paddle of the year. Our friend Karin had come down from Traverse City, and I have found that having a guest is a great way to put the breaks on the daily routine and get us out of the house. She brought her kayak along, and we were lucky to have a spectacular day Sunday to get out on the water--warm, filtered sun, little wind.

I had decided to try out a new lake, one down in the Pinckney State Rec Area. South Lake is a place I where I have worked with a DNR volunteer crew doing invasive species removal. The north side of the lake is a fen, a globally rare ecosystem where groundwater wells up through limestone, causing the water to be alkaline. (You can read more about fens here.) Because of the pH, fens support very specific plants that don't grow anywhere else.

We paddled around and down to the far south end of the lake, where the few houses were situated. I could hear common yellowthroat warblers singing everywhere, but only caught a few glimpses. We watched a huge red-tailed hawk and an osprey, and were scolded by scored of red-winged blackbirds. I generally lagged behind, stopping to watch birds, hoping for some good shots.

A small creek led to Snyder Lake, a much smaller lake but one with near vertical drop offs 10 to 15 feet from shore. It was pretty amazing--on one side of my canoe I could see bottom a foot or less deep, on the other, blackness. Some fellows at the boat launch said it was about a 30 foot drop. That doesn't sound like a lot but that's a three story building!

I poked around for a while, and when I finally caught up to the girls a great blue heron took off from somewhere farther down the shore and flew past.

We'd been out for over two hours and backs and butts were getting tired. The girls had started paddling back but again I lagged behind. Then I saw the heron on the far side of this little lake, stalking prey. I paddled over but just missed getting shots of it catching and eating a small fish. But the bird continued to hunt, so I got as close as I dared, parked myself up wind so if the breeze came up I'd still be close, and waited.

The heron walked along slowly, watching...

...then it crouched down and tilted its head towards the water.

Then this happened: (remember, you can click this image to see a slideshow/full sized images)

**burrrrrrp**