Moment of Truth

I had built up so much anticipation over the outcome of this next moment of truth that by the time the day arrived, I could hardly recognize it, or any other associated feeling for that matter. It felt like a dream loading equipment into my pack, hiking up my waders, and strolling with the team along the boardwalk towards our entrance path onto the marsh. The site had changed so much since I was last there, on that fateful day of my injury, with tall reeds now crowding each other and spilling over the edges of the boardwalk.

I eased myself gently off of the boardwalk with my trusty hiking poles, and kept a slow, steady pace, while intently watching where my feet would fall, in spite of being unable to see anything through the murky water. So far so good, as little leg lifting was required over this well-worn path. I was determined to make it to the end of the path, but after having accomplished this, I then set my sights on checking a nest only 100 meters from where I now stood. Seeing my first Aquatic Warbler nest was too much to pass up. Approaching the plot, I had to pick up my legs more, in order to get over the higher, denser vegetation, to which my knees began to protest.

Finally, I found the marker and after a brief search, I parted the litter to find five pairs of tiny eyes gazing up at me with upturned pale yellow beaks resting on the nest’s edge and their gray bodies huddled together in an area no more than ten centimeters in diameter. I quickly recovered them and walked away, as mom was chipping frantically from a willow bush a few meters off.

I was certain that my knees would be mad at me tomorrow, but the journey was well worth it, and even now they are only sore from the intense, unfamiliar workout. I’ll see how much more progress I am able to make the next time!

Corncrake (Crex crex) Sighting

Since that first day, I have often hiked on that marsh, gradually increasing my distance and duration to build up my strength and endurance, carefully testing the limits of my knee.  A couple of days ago, the wind finally died down, so that I was able to see and hear all of the dusk activity.  Aquatic Warbler trills and Corncrake creaks seemed to surround me.  Barn swallows and Snipes swirled overhead.  The island’s willows were bustling with Whinchats and Marsh Warblers. 

Nearly every time I had come to the island, I would hear a Corncrake calling from a short distance away.  Tonight was no exception, and I was determined to find him, especially as I still remembered my missed opportunity one evening on our way back to the car from a plot in May.  Stealthily, I tracked the origin of the sound to the edge of the island, close to where I had come from.  The call remained in the same general vicinity, but the Corncrake was definitely on the move.  I stopped and strained my eyes to see through the tangle of grasses surrounding me. 

Suddenly, a loud creak sounded from behind, startling me.  I slowly turned and saw an eye peering back at me through some dried vegetation, only a couple of meters from where I stood.  Presently, he stretched out his neck and let out another call, so that I was able to get a better view of him.  He quickly retracted back into the vegetation for further observation, as he was still unsure what to make of me.  Once I returned my attention to the original individual, who I had been pursuing, I heard the one from behind dash out across my path and into the grasses that I now searched.  He became silent after that, perhaps from the shock and terror instilled in him by my presence.  Having little success tracking his friend, I decided that I would leave them be and head for home with a brilliant red-orange sunset lighting my way.

On the Marsh Again

After a long day of walking around Bialowieza, I felt that my knee was ready to try a slightly more intensive hike. Just outside of Gugny on the grounds of Biebrza, there is a birding tower at the center of a marsh, a short walk from dry land. A week or two ago, I determined that reaching this tower would be my first step in reconditioning myself for work in the marshes, as it seemed a reasonable distance and the marsh was more like a wet meadow.

Now, my moment of truth had arrived. I set my sights on the tower and plunged in. I immediately noticed the difference in this environment, as the water level was so low that Wellies would have sufficed, instead of waders, and the vegetation was shorter and sparser than out at the plots. These conditions were even better than I had anticipated for a trial run. My knee made a few complaints along the way, but nothing serious enough to keep me from setting foot on that island oasis. I felt as if I were on top of the world stationed in the tower, and the thrill intensified, as a strong wind whipped by, drowning out all sound and causing the structure to sway.

Białowieża versus Biebrza

For a change of scenery, we all took a day trip to Białowieża National Park. We passed by rapidly changing landscapes of dense forests, fields, and small villages. The most significant shift occurred in Białystok, the major urban center in northeast Poland, composed of high-rise buildings and a confusing web of highways, some of which were not even on the map. Our first stop was to the bison reserve, where patrons are guaranteed to see these endangered animals, if they are not so lucky to spot them in the wilds of the park itself. As we wandered, it became clear that this was more like a zoo with each species on display, rather than a mimicry of the animals’ natural ecosystem. It was particularly dispiriting to see the caged elk and deer, when they are so commonly seen within Biebrza. Outside of the gates, a string of vendors had set up shop, selling everything from tacky souvenirs to baked and farm-raised goods.

At the park’s southern entrance, we were further struck by how tourist-oriented the park was. Clear, paved or cobbled walkways led to an education center, a natural history museum, and a restaurant, but there was no obvious access to hiking trails. We birded as we walked, catching glimpses of species that we had not come across in Biebrza, owing to the drier, forested habitat.

A short drive away was Białowieża’s old-growth forest, which had been salvaged by default through the preservation of royal hunting grounds. All of these trees were named in honor of Poland’s and Lithuania’s most beloved royalty. We strode along a well-kept boardwalk, which made such a short loop through the forest that we retraced our steps back again.

Public access to the park is largely restricted, unless one is willing to invest in hiring a guide. It was difficult to conceive how inaccessible the park was having come from Biebrza, where much trust is put in the public to engage with nature responsibly. However, this is stance is certainly influenced by the fact that Biebrza is not a major tourist attraction, receiving far fewer visitors than Białowieża. Needless to say, it felt wonderful to be back in the wild and rugged Biebrza and homey Gugny.

Ghost Town

Since my arrival, the hostel has been bustling with people, as groups of students unloaded each week to count singing male Aquatic Warblers throughout Biebrza National Park.  For the first two weeks, only a few were present, as the project was just beginning.  I enjoyed their presence, even though I took little initiative to strike up conversation.  Fortunately, some individuals did initiate conversation.  They never failed to impress me with their understanding of English, and put me to shame, as I was unable to hold a conversation in Polish. 

The dynamic of the hostel shifted with the daily arrival and departure of volunteers, tour groups, biologists, and other random guests.  Everyone seemed to immediately connect, conversing easily and unifying as a group, particularly at the nightly parties.  Yet, with the language barrier, I could not be sure how deeply these connections extended and how well everyone related to each other.  So I was left with the impression that they had become like family in this short period of time. 

Last Wednesday, about thirty students from Lublin arrived and that night commenced the wildest party I had yet witnessed at the hostel.  Some individuals even clambered up into the attic and insisted on peering down through our bathroom vent with their torch and conversed there throughout the night.

Needless to say, it was a sleepless night.

By the next day, the crowd had drastically dispersed, and now, there are two or three people left on the property with my co-workers and me.  It feels like a ghost town.  The quiet is at times refreshing, as when we spent a relaxing evening congregated around the fire pit.  We were only joined by the mosquitoes, whose company that we could have done without.  Yet, during the day, when all are off working and I am left to myself, the hostel seems like a ghost town and the silence feels somewhat unsettling. 

Home-cooking

Over the past two weeks, I have assumed the role of cook, as it’s far too much work to cook for oneself upon completion of a day in the field and I find it to be rather therapeutic.  Generally, my recipes are either spur of the moment, written down on a scrap piece of paper in some drawer at home, or lost in cyberspace on a website that I didn’t bookmark.  In spite of this, a limited budget, and a lack of oven, I’ve managed to pull together some decent dishes.

My favorite meal thus far primarily resulted from an effort to make a dent in the jar of shredded beet root that had been sitting in the refrigerator for over a week.  I heated this up with fried onion and garlic, which are staples in every meal, par-boiled, fried carrots, and rosemary.  Mix all of this up with rice and a beet soup base, and, voila!

One of my co-workers had been going on about potatoes and his mom’s mashed carrots and parsnips, so this became dinner one night.  From the potatoes, I made home fries with garlic, onion, red pepper, rosemary, salt, and pepper.  I let them cook, covered, over a medium-low heat for about fifteen minutes, or whenever I remember to tend to them, so that the potatoes would soften.  Another fifteen minutes, or so, with the cover off and a bit more heat crisped them up nicely.

These aren't actually my pierogies, but they look similar.

I was feeling ambitious one day and decided to attempt pierogies.  Every time that I make them, I remember how time consuming and tedious a task this can be, so it takes a few months for me to forget the last ordeal and have the urge to make pierogies again.  My most recent experience was no different.  I didn’t measure ingredients very precisely, so I spent lots time kneading in extra flour to get the dough to the proper consistency.  I still don’t think I managed to do this, since I fought with the dough, as I usually do, to keep it rolled out with my makeshift wine bottle rolling pin.  The real kicker was when I wanted to count my stuffed and sealed pierogies, once I had used about two-thirds of the dough, and they were all stuck together in the bowl.  I couldn’t separate them, so I opened and gutted every one of them and re-rolled the dough.  I was fairly efficient with the boiling and frying process, probably because I was ready to be finished.  Although, in the end, my cabbage and mushroom and potato pierogies were enjoyed by all and I learned some valuable lessons, which I will hopefully remember for the next time...

Letting Out Our Inner Child

It’s fascinating how captivated a child can be with the world around him/her, even with the simplest or most mundane things, like hand-washing laundry, as two little girls sat watching me today.  Everything is fresh and new.  Perhaps, even though a child has dug in the same sandbox day after day, they notice the subtle differences that make this particular moment all its own.  Or maybe they eagerly anticipate changes, knowing that the world is in a constant state of flux.  They remain enthralled by all that they notice, which is quite a lot, as they are always watching, processing, and learning, during the peak years of their development.

It’s equally fascinating that not long ago, adults experienced the world in the very same way.  However, the magic that it once held has disappeared to be replaced by jadedness from our common daily tasks to the overwhelming negative forces at work in the world.  Perhaps, this childhood experience is influential in the decision of many individuals to start a family.  In some distant memories, they can recall the wonder and excitement that the world once held and find themselves secretly missing those feelings.  It seemed to be an experience unique to childhood, so the only obvious way to relive such moments would be through a child.  As the child discovers, the parents reminisce, reliving their childhood and sharing what they hold most dear with their progeny.

While it is important to be so engaged with children, I don’t believe that children are the only ones who get to have all of the fun.  It’s far more challenging to connect with our inner child, to push away the worries, doubts, responsibilities, and horrors of life, for even just a brief moment, to recognize the good that we once saw in it and that still exists.  We need to essentially unlearn much of what has been taught to us about being an adult and how we must conduct ourselves within society, always remaining reserved, keeping busying, and wanting more.  We need to remember how to appreciate the simple things in life and marvel at their existence.

It seems that we are so firmly rooted in these mind sets, these cultural and societal constructs, that it becomes difficult to identify where they end and where our own true values and interests begin.  Maybe, if we revisit our childhood a little more often, whether it be through our memories or through new experiences individually or with our children, we may be able to find some answers and rediscover the wonder and beauty of life.