Making waves

 

It may seem odd that I consider the picture below to be special. As a shot of a muskrat swimming, it is distinctly ho-hum. But, as a shot characterizing water waves, it is long-sought superb. This demands an explanation. 

Almost any disturbance of a water surface, such as that caused by wind, swimming animal, or boat, will cause waves to travel out from the disturbance at some speed that is dependant upon the wavelength. For most of the waves we see — ones that buffet our boats — gravity is the restoring force and the longer the wave, the faster it travels. For the ripples (wavelength less than 1.7 cm), surface tension is the restoring force and the shorter the wave, the faster it travels. 

This dichotomy of wave behaviour has some strange consequences: 

Real water waves (heavy line) are a combination of gravity waves and surface-tension waves. They must travel at greater than 23 cm/s.

• As the wave speed decreases owing to one mechanism, the other mechanism takes over and increases wave speed. Consequently, wave speed never drops below some value: 23 cm/s. So, something moving across a water surface at less than this baby crawl cannot produce waves that keep pace with it and so do not build and spread. The result is that such a slowly moving object leaves no spreading waves on the water surface. This behaviour was explored in a posting about katabatic winds, 23 cm/s.

• A disturbance moving faster than 23 cm/s will produce two types of waves: gravity waves and ripples. They are easily distinguished by having markedly different wavelengths, one much greater than 1.7 cm, the other much less. Mind you, if the speed of the disturbance is quite large (brisk wind, fast boat), the wavelength of the ripples may be so minute as to pass undetected.  

I have wanted to get a picture showing both types of waves simultaneously. A rapidly moving object, such as a dragon boat, would produce inconspicuous ripples and so won’t do. What is needed is something that moves only a bit faster than the no-wave cutoff: a muskrat. This misleadingly named aquatic vole is an inveterate surface swimmer as it searches for delectables to eat. It typically swims at slightly under its hull speed of about 70 cm/s (see, muskrat hull speed) and so is accompanied by easily distinguishable gravity waves and ripples.

Even though both wave forms are always present, it has proven difficult to obtain a picture that shows them equally. It is strictly a problem of good lighting and reflections to provide the necessary contrast needed to highlight both at once. Such a picture was achieved last Tuesday and is shown here.

A muskrat is swimming at nearly its hull speed of about 70 cm/s. The black bars on the right, and (not as striking) on the left are the crests of the gravity waves in its wake. Superimposed on these waves are the ripples. They are seen as the fine filigree ahead of the muskrat’s bow wave and nearly at right angles to the wake. A close examination of these ripples reveals their characteristic behaviour: the shortest wavelengths have travelled farthest as a result of having travelled fastest.

Posted in mammals, weather | 2 Comments

Swan harassment

 

When we are lucky, we are visited by swans twice a year as they migrate to the Arctic in the spring and return south in the fall. By the time they arrive here, they have flown far and need to stop in the shallows of the Lake to refuel on aquatic plants. 

Two different species will stop by to rest and feed: the smaller Tundra Swan and the larger Trumpeter Swan. I believe that today’s visitors were trumpeters. 

Something I have seen frequently when swans visit is their harassment by dogs. It is as if some dog owners view sicking their charges on weary swans to be good exercise for the dogs and good fun for all. 

Three adults and a juvenile stopped by to rest and feed before continuing their journey.

This is one of three dogs that beach strollers loosed on the panicky swans. What amazingly good fun.

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Cattle Egret

 

The Cattle Egret is a small heron that is a rare visitor to this region. Yet, given its expansionist history, it just might become more common in the future.

The Cattle Egret is remarkable in the way, in modern times, it has increased its range. Initially it was adapted to feeding among the large grazing herds of Africa where it picked up disturbed insects. However, it began to take advantage of ranches where cattle now provided the insects, both by disturbing the grass and by having parasites. In its search for new cattle herds, this egret spread to the ranches of South America by the 1930s, to North America by the 1940s, and eastern Canada by the 1960s. Along the way, it discovered the similar advantages of mechanical grass munchers, such as lawn mowers.

The Cattle Egrets shown here were not photographed here, but in time they maybe could be.

A Cattle Egret had been foraging on a cow’s back when a tail flip drove it off.

This egret waited for a passing lawnmower and after a brief chase, grabbed disturbed insects.

“If you have lawns to mow, I have a service for you.”

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No lollypop

 

I tried, but I didn’t win the lollypop — but I did manage something almost as good.

I rarely fly anymore, but when I do, I ask for a window seat away from the wing. There are things that one can see from the air that one cannot see from the ground (and they aren’t the inflight ads or movies). A view from either side of the plane holds delights, but on this occasion I was on the shady side.

A promising feature delivered a remarkably undistinguished picture: the shadow of a contrail from my own aircraft travelling across a water surface far below. Low flying jets do not make contrails, but when seen from the ground, neither the plane nor its contrail will cover the whole sun. The shadow of the plane is too small and diffuse to be seen here, and even the larger contrail appears diffuse. But, it was a start. Now, I would hope for a glory.

A glory is a set of concentric pastel coloured rings seen around the antisolar point (your shadow) then the shadow falls on a cloud of fairly uniform water drops. This glory was seen a few years ago.

So, with the contrail shadow as the stick and the glory as the candy, one gets the uncommon sight of a lollypop moving across the landscape as it chases the plane. This is the only picture I have ever managed of the lollypop, and it was taken so many years ago that it was on film and had to be scanned. This is what I hoped to see again.

I failed: No lollypop emerged. The plane did fly over clouds, but they were (mainly) composed of ice crystals. Yet, being at a high altitude, they presented a sharper shadow. The contrail has resolved into two vortices and the fuselage, wings, and tail of the plane are visible. There is a faint brightening (a hint of a glory) behind the wings, where I was sitting.

Posted in scenes, weather | 2 Comments

Fairy ring

 

He wha (who) tills the fairies’ green
Nae (no) luck again shall hae (have)
And he wha (who) spills the fairies’ ring
Betide him want and wae (woe).
         Traditional Scottish verse

 It is now difficult to recapture the mediaeval mindset of those who saw doom in stepping inside a ring of mushrooms. These fairy rings were presumed to be places inhabited by fairies, pixies and elves, all of whom lived, danced and carried on inhuman rites therein. A human who stepped inside, or damaged, the ring was doomed to want and woe. 

There are about sixty species of mushrooms capable of producing such rings merely by starting somewhere, depleting nutrients at that spot, then propagating outward to nutrients beyond the depleted zone. This simple natural process would seem an unlikely one to produce widespread and long-lasting supernatural angst. Yet, it did just that. 

In the spirit of tomorrow’s date, I caution trick-or-treaters who might come my way: Entering the ring on Halloween (even inadvertently) was considered especially dangerous.

The mushroom may be the Violet Webcap; the architects are undoubtedly the (invasive) Celtic pixie.

Posted in commentary, wildflowers | 2 Comments

Muskrat food

 

Last Saturday, I spoke at a symposium and showed many portraits of local creatures. I noted that the muskrat, the smallest of our three semi-aquatic mammals, is often unjustly maligned. It is not actually a rat, but an aquatic vole, and substantially a vegetarian that feeds on aquatic weed. 

I did a bit of digging to see if I could discover why this little creature gets demonized. Apart from the misconception that it is a rat, it seems that farmers don’t like that it burrows into pond banks and dock owners don’t like that it gnaws on some materials used for floatation. These rather narrow concerns don’t impress me. I like muskrats.

A muskrat swims back to its den with a mouthful of aquatic weed. You go, muskrat!

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Pushing off

 

One’s reaction time — typically about 0.2 seconds — isn’t small enough to photograph some fleeting events: once something interesting is seen, the press of a camera button always comes too late to record it. Inevitably, some pictures are little more than mistakes where an attempt to capture one thing results in another.

The instant a dipper pushed off was an inadvertent, if delightful, capture.

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Sunny crossing

 

Yesterday, I had occasion to cross Kootenay Lake on the M.V. Balfour on one of the few sunny days in the last few weeks. It offered the opportunity to take a couple of panoramas.

The first view is a scene as the ferry is pulling out of Kootenay Landing in the late afternoon. The route will take one across the Lake to the gap in the mountains and the low sun. To see right around the horizon, click down on the panorama and drag in either direction.
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The second view was taken as the ferry was entering the narrows between Balfour (the town) and Procter. This (polar stereographic) mapping has been given the cute name of the little planet. The fall foliage of cottonwoods along the shore and larch higher on the mountains adds colour.

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Snow Goose

 

Snow Geese are an uncommon sight around Kootenay Lake. 

A year ago, when I saw one (Snow Goose), I suspected that the juvenile I saw had wandered far off its coastal migratory course to have ended up here. That is probably also true of yesterday’s juvenile Snow Goose, a bird that I would have missed had not Paul Prappas told me that there was one hanging out in a field near my home.

Snow Geese usually travel in huge flocks. This local juvenile was alone.

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Meadowlark

 

The rains this October have offered few opportunities to wander about. These same conditions may have impeded the movement of some birds, which could account for yesterday’s late-season observation of a Western Meadowlark. 

The meadowlark is a grasslands species that forages on the ground for insects and seeds. So, it is not surprising that sightings are uncommon in our mountainous and heavily forested region. It is usually seen around May when it passes through the region to breed farther northwest. Starting in August, meadowlarks head south again. 

It was unexpected to see some between showers yesterday (late October), especially as they were foraging in a forest alongside a mountain road.

This Western Meadowlark, seen in May, is included merely to show the bird in its breeding plumage.

The meadowlark seen yesterday in a forest high above the Lake is in its muted non-breeding plumage.

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