Northern Safari

 The other day, I decided to explore the “wet meadow” along a different path, and on the island, towards which I was heading, there was a large, brown lump of something.  Getting a better view with my binoculars was useless, since I dropped them in the marsh two days prior and they were still quite foggy.  My first thought was an elk, which I discovered to be correct, once I crossed the island and saw him frolicking through the marsh 100-200 meters away.  Maybe he was actually running from me, but it looked as if he was enjoying himself.

Another day, I was driving down the horrible, rutted dirt road to pick up the others from a work site, when four wild boar piglets popped out from the vegetation to the left of the road.  They didn’t seem alarmed at the intrusive presence and noise of the oncoming vehicle, simply standing in the road and observing it for a few moments.  I cut the engine and watched them until they disappeared into the grasses on the opposite side.  Mom was not in sight, but I’m sure that she was keeping a close eye on things, concealed within the overgrowth.

Several weeks ago, we took our day off to look for beavers, but without success.  I returned to the site with one of my co-workers earlier this month to give it another go.  We saw no signs of them on our walk into the forest, even at their village of dams and dens, yet on our return trip, there was a tree root in the stream that looked suspiciously like a beaver.  Presently, it began to casually paddle about and climb onto the shore occasionally to munch on some leaves.  Out of nowhere, another beaver came into view, and yet another, a bit further downstream.  They swam about paying us no mind for a good fifteen to twenty minutes, before one became spooked by some unknown, hastily diving underwater with a harsh splash of his tail.  And then, they were gone.

Angry Birds

Following a more successful trip to plot A last week, I decided to try wandering it on my own, in order to gauge the likelihood of searching the closest subplot solo on our next A day.  I only made it about 200m from the end of the main path along one side of the subplot, when I was greeted by the angry chipping of a female Aquatic Warbler.  I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to add another nest to our growing data set, especially since it is becoming a race against time to discover nests before the chicks fledge. 

From my place on the path, I watched her fly a few meters back and forth between two flowers, which grew slightly higher than the surrounding vegetation, chipping loudly and insistently all the while.  After some time, she began to quiet down slightly and even leave her perches for a few moments to rummage up some grubs for her babies.  I observed her duck down in several locations only a couple of meters apart, which made me think that her chicks had already left the nest and were now scattered about this small section of the marsh. 

But, when I finally left my post to inspect these areas, they were far too damp and the vegetation too sparse to be a hideout for a young fledgling.  Not to mention, she would occasionally pop back up with the same insect in an attempt, perhaps, to give me a false idea of her nest’s location.  She also employed other tricks of going down in one spot and coming up from another, or even flying in, from what seemed a distance away, with more food.  She never seemed to stay in one spot long enough for me to be certain that her nest would be there. 

Yet, my three hours of observation time did yield a deformed circle of a few meters’ diameter, which she frequented, so I am hopeful to find a nest within this area next time.

Settling In

Flashback to...7 April 2012

All I hear in the morning is the chorus of birds and the waves crashing into the shore not too far below me.  It’s a bit breezy this morning, but the sun is bright and the sky, cloudless.  And so much green!  There are trees on Sherkin Island, but they are not very large.  Some on the mainland seem more like home.  Yesterday was drizzling rain until I was on my way to Baltimore, when the sun popped out.  The peacefulness here reminds me of Plainfield, remote, lacking the harsh noises of development, but also, there is water. 

I do love the ocean, but I haven’t spent nearly enough time there as I would like.  It’s just one of those things that I keep coming back to as an interest, something I want to do, but then, the idea becomes buried underneath what I have to do, or drifts away for a time.  It’s kind of sad to think about not pursuing what one loves.  Perhaps, there is a time and a place for it, though since everything can’t be done at once, and it may take time to really develop a passion for something.  I’m here now though, neighboring the ocean.  There are no excuses.  I also wanted to return to Ireland after the last trip, since the island was so lovely and the trip was short and rushed.  It’s amazing what chances life gives to you and how many!  Until you learn the underlying lesson or make the most of an opportunity.

For the past few days, I have been exploring the beaches for intertidal sea life with two other rocky shore surveyors, in order to become acquainted with recognizing the various species.  This will certainly be a crash course in data collection and species identification.  The organisms that we will be surveying include seaweeds, shelled animals, sponges, lichens, and sea anemones, among others.  There is a small library in the lab to assist us with identification.  We’ve mostly been working with seaweed over the past couple of days and there are remarkable differences among them.  Yet, it has been challenging to match what I see with the descriptions and pictures in the books.  There are so many possible choices for what a single organism could be. 

Arriving in Ireland

Flashback to...4/6/2010

I’m exhausted, after lots of walking with a heavy pack.  I’m still waiting to get kicked out of the country for not having proper paperwork.  The entire computer system of the immigration department was down today, so I couldn’t officially be processed upon my arrival.  I have been given a month to take care of it, and I may have to take a trip back to Cork to do so, unless there’s something I can do from the island or a nearby town.  I tried to find out if the computers might be up and running by tomorrow, so that I could spend the night in Cork and get things sorted straight away.  But I didn’t want to try that without any certainty, especially being unable to get in touch with the marine station owner to inform him of the situation. 

In spite of this situation, I feel relatively at ease in Ireland.  It has a homey feeling and the people are rather friendly, just going about living their lives.  Not to mention, immigration and the exhaustion that I caused myself in trying to sort it have really been the only bumps in the road, so far.  I haven’t felt anxious, which I believe has helped to keep problems at bay, or at least, from becoming out of hand. 

I now have two hours to wait for the bus to Baltimore.  I already bought the ticket and it will arrive before the last ferry leaves.  I haven’t been able to access the internet, so that I can check for correspondence from the marine station.  So, I’m still not sure what I will do once I get to Sherkin Island.

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.