Tracks in snow

Animals don’t cover their tracks.

Now that we have received a light snow, a trip around the yard reveals a remarkable range of activity that normally takes place when you are not looking.

Herein is a collection of a few tracks in the yard seen on walks yesterday morning and this morning.

The most frequently seen tracks in my yard belong to raccoons. Raccoons have a distinctive pattern whereby each side-by-side pair of prints shows one hind and one fore paw. In this picture, the hind paw, with its longer heel, is at the top, and the fore paw is at the bottom. Note the finger-like toes.

Another mammal that is omnipresent but rarely seen is the Deer Mouse. Named for the similarity of its colouring to that of the White-tailed Deer, this mouse has a sufficiently long tail that when it bounds across the snow, it leaves a tail mark. This is the short horizontal mark between the foot prints.

A striking thing about Deer Mice (and Voles) is that they make tunnels under the snow. These Deer Mouse tracks vanished into a snow tunnel.

which then proceded across the landscape.

I cannot be sure that the next picture shows vole tracks rather than mouse tracks, but there is no evidence of a tail dragging and the vole has a much shorter tail than does the mouse, so these are probably the tracks of a Meadow Vole. The animal is moving from left to right. It brings its fore paws down (the inner spots) and then its hind paws arrive overshooting the fore paws.

Yesterday, I went out expecting to find deer tracks everywhere; there were none. This morning, they abound. Clearly deer forage in different places on successive nights. As is typically the case, this deer left drag marks from not lifting its feet enough to fully clear the snow.

Of course, one sees birds. A staple of the region (or at least of my yard) is the Stellar’s Jay, the tracks of which are shown in this next picture.

There is no avoiding goose tracks. The webbing on the feet is clear here. It is interesting that these geese pick up and lower their feet so as to leave no drag marks (unlike the mallards, below).

The mallards, like the geese, have webbed feet. Apart from the tracks being smaller, they seem to differ in another way: Mallards seem tip their feet such that their central toe or nail can drag in the snow. So, the Mallard has a long drag mark from its front central toe and a slight mark from its rear toe. This Mallard is moving from right to left. The webbed feet are evident.

This leads one to this picture of Mallards landing and walking away. The birds flew in from the right. I suspect that it was the downstroke of their wings that produced the first mark on the left. I like Bill Baerg’s explanation of these marks (see, comments) better than what I wrote. Then there is the smudge where the birds skidded to a landing. This is followed by the two mallards walking away to the the lower left.

These are some of the things I see as I walk around my snow-covered yard.

 

 

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Iconic birds

A news story surfaced this last summer about Nelson’s acquisition of a heron sculpture by Jock Hildebrand, an illustration of which appears on his website. When installed, it will join Nelson’s osprey sculpture and a heron atop a weathervane in Procter.

Procter already has its own heron sculpture atop a weathervane.

A recent article in the Nelson Post discusses the quest to pick a location for Hildebrand’s heron. A comment to this story, prompted me to think about the matter of birds as local icons. Claus wrote of “Denis Kleine’s realistic osprey in a nest on top of a wooden post [in Duck Bay]” and notes that “this in the osprey’s natural environment. While the osprey is iconic here—the heron is not!”

There is a good deal of truth in what Claus says: the osprey is iconic here while the heron is not. This made me wonder why that might be. Notice, he didn’t say the one was more common than the other, but that people have chosen the osprey as representative of the region. Why should they have done so? Why do we have such things as the Osprey 2000 (the Main Lake ferry), and the Osprey Foundation (a philanthropic organisation). Why don’t we have, say, a Heron Foundation?

The two birds share many characteristics: both are large, common, eat fish, and are frequently seen flying over the Lake or sitting atop pilings. However, there are differences that probably contribute to one having become an icon while the other did not.

Consider:

  1. The heron is common and seen here year round;
  2. The osprey is also common, but only seen in the summertime (roughly May to September);
  3. The osprey will attack the heron and this prompts the heron to be more secretive in the summertime;
  4. People flock to beaches in the summer and so become familiar with the highly visible osprey but not the seasonally somewhat less visible heron.
  5. During the rest of the year, the heron is easily seen, but people are absent from beaches.
  6. People are the ones who choose icons.

My suspicion is that the osprey became a regional icon largely as a consequence of our summertime enjoyment of beaches and boating when it is the more visible of the two birds. For the rest of the year when the heron frequents the lakeshore, people do not.

Actually, I am a great fan of each of these birds. Indeed, the Kootenay Lake website has a page devoted to pictures and a discussion of both the osprey and the heron. Further, I do find it appropriate to have sculptures of each in Nelson.

These musings suggest that we have chosen this icon more as a consequence of our own behaviour than that of either common bird. To round out this thought, I attach a favourite shot of each. To these, I added last Friday’s picture of a heron, merely to underscore just how common this bird is around here (and it also hung around for over an hour this afternoon).

I have taken hundreds of pictures of our ospreys, but this one with its wings outstretched while holding a sucker is my favourite.

I have photographed our herons on pilings, in trees, and while wading. It is less often that I manage a close shot of one in flight—but, this one was satisfying.

This was the second heron I watched last week. It stopped on a piling and watched for fish. The heron is one very photogenic bird.

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Lacunosus and…

Lacunosus means hole or space, specifically one in a wave cloud. The root of the word is the same as that of the word, lake (which is a hole filled with water). It is therefore good etymological fun to show a picture of lacunosus over our Lake.

The main website has a page devoted to wave clouds and this blog has also featured them. But, why do holes, the lacunosus, occasionally appear in such clouds. The holes are caused by bubbles (thermals) of clear warm air from below the wave cloud rising and penetrating the wave cloud. This happens when the mountain wave causing the wave clouds is unsteady—when its amplitude is decreasing.

The first picture shows wave clouds without lacunosus, but as they are in the vicinity of the Sun, they do show iridescence. Iridescence in a cloud results when light waves passing around opposite sides of a cloud drop interact. More pictures and a discussion of iridescent clouds appears on the Kootenay Lake website page, coronae. This blog has also shown pictures of iridescence in a hummingbird’s gorget, and the feathers of a wood duck.

Slightly to the east of the wave clouds showing iridescence were some showing lacunosus. I don’t see this very often around here, so it was quite a treat to spot.

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Surface hoar

Surface hoar is frost that forms on the surface of snow. Strikingly, this frost is not formed from water vapour deposited from the atmosphere, but from that which came from the snow, itself.

Uncharacteristic for this time of year, the snow in the valleys is found in patches. While surface hoar can form on any snow, the patches are ideal for exploring its behaviour.

Usually when one sees frost on a cold surface, the source of the water vapour that was deposited (or condensed) onto that surface came from the atmosphere. For example, if you see the outside of your car’s windscreen covered with frost, the vapour that condensed to form that frost came from the surrounding air. The frost on the windshield is not surface hoar (although some sloppy websites assert it to be so).

With surface hoar, there is another—almost always far more important—source of water vapour: the snow upon which the frost forms. Water vapour diffuses to the surface from within the snowpack. This behaviour has some interesting consequences for skiing and avalanches, but for the moment, the only concern is recognizing and understanding it. For this, the present patches of snow found on a beach, or a lawn, are ideal.

The first picture shows a patch of snow on a beach. There are a few striking features: the surface of the snow appears granular as if covered with frost—it is, as we will see. Yet, there is no frost on the surrounding sand. As the temperature of the surface of the snow and surface of the surrounding sand are virtually identical, if the water vapour had come from the atmosphere, frost would have formed equally on both surfaces. Another feature of the picture: the snow patch, oddly, seems to be elevated above the sand.

A closer examination of a snow patch reveals that it is indeed frost on the snow, although there is none on the adjacent sand.

The next picture, a side view of the snow patch, allows for an easier explanation. Although the sand and snow look different in the visible, they are almost identical in the portion of the spectrum that counts when the Sun is not up: the infrared. The sand and the snow both emit similar amounts of infrared radiation and both receive the same lesser amounts from the sky. So, the surface temperature of, say, the top millimeter of the exposed sand and snow cool similarly; if the water vapour came from the atmosphere, both would bear frost. However, as the base of the snow remains warmer, the vapour pressure there will be greater, and this results in a flow of vapour up through the snow pack. The warmer bottom of the pack evaporates to supply the vapour that then condenses on the colder top. The result is the ablation of the snow pack at the bottom and the formation of frost on the top.

The frost formed this way is called surface hoar and, when it is seen, the snow just below it has been weakened. It is easy to see on these isolated patches of snow, but on a larger scale, it clearly will have consequences for skiing and avalanches.

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Border ice

This is a good time of the year to admire border ice—the ice that forms along the calmest portions of the lakeshore as the air temperature drops.

On a cold, clear night, the top few millimeters of the lake surface will be cooled: by conduction to the colder air, by evaporation, and by (infrared) radiation loss. But, whether this cooling is sufficient to produce ice depends upon what is going on just below the surface. Is the cooling from above counteracted by warming from below. Still water is not a very good thermal conductor and so the temperature of the water along the shore can drop without being warmed from below. Far from the shore (or at the shore if there are waves) the cooling of the surface water is counteracted by heat moved up from below by both convection and waves. So, ice forms preferentially on the borders of a lake, or stream, where the water is still.

Alas, an understanding of the places ice forms does not equip one to understand the beautiful patterns it assumes. About all that can be said is that in these conditions, the border ice always seems to take the form of needle crystals oriented randomly in the horizontal.

Ah well, even if we don’t understand these intricate structures, it is fun to admire them (two pictures, below).

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Fleeing fish

The first time I saw such a frenzy of fish breaching the water’s surface, I was kayaking on the Persian Gulf. What in the world prompted all those fish to adopt such an odd behaviour?

The next time I saw such action, I was on a fishing charter (as a non-fishing guest) on our own Main Lake. This time, Kerry Reed (of Reel Adventures Fishing Charters) explained: these are fish fleeing predatory fish; likely, they are Kokanee leaping out of the water in an attempt to escape the piscivorous Rainbow Trout. (Indeed, it is their diet of Kokanee that helps make our local Rainbow Trout so large.)

Neat! I wonder if I could take a picture it? The difficulty is that the behaviour is usually both distant and ephemeral.

On Saturday while on a beach at Procter, I again spotted a group of frenetically leaping fish. While the activity was well down the Lake, I just pointed my camera and clicked and clicked—maybe some pictures would work out. Two did—well, sort of. The distance made for rather low-resolution shots, but, they were good enough for plausible identification. Joe Thorley (of Poisson Consulting) has suggested that my pictures do indeed show Kokanee. Both the behaviour and look is characteristic of the smaller immature Kokanee during their lake phase, a time when they are silverly and somewhat trout-like in shape, albeit slightly more streamlined. Further, it is likely that the predatory fish are trout, probably large Rainbow Trout.

So, these marginal shots likely show the frenzied fleeing of Kokanee from Rainbow Trout.

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Great Horned Heron

Ok, I admit it: there is no such species of bird as the Great Horned Heron.

However, ornithologists have a habit of suggesting that a species is horned when it sports tufts of feathers on the head. They have done this with the Horned Grebe, Horned Lark, and Great Horned Owl.

Yesterday, as I watched the wind lift the feathers on the crown of a Great Blue Heron, I thought: what whimsey to pass the picture off as the rarely seen Great Horned Heron of Kootenay Lake.

Here is the inspiration for that thought.

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Bird counting

I am not a bird counter; but, I like to hang out with those who are. These are the people whose knowledge of birds is so good that they can identify a bird by a whispered sound, a distant silhouette, or a plumage glimpse. And along the way, these folk can often determine the bird’s age and whether it has amorous intents.

These are not skills easily mastered, but when in hand, they enable practitioners to move beyond the delights of watching the behaviour of individual birds to the behaviour and health of communities. It all comes to knowing, measuring and interpreting populations.

For counters at this stage of birding nirvana, seeing a large number of distant birds is usually sufficient—even ideal. This provides sufficient information to establish identity and numbers while presenting a rich range of species. For the bird photographer such scenes can be frustrating. Without disturbing the bird, the photographer tries to get close enough to capture an evocative image including feather detail, a bill stuffed with food, or even some intimate behaviour.

Saturday, I accompanied Janice Arndt on a count of waterfowl along the West Arm of Kootenay Lake. This is an early December activity that local birders have pursued since 1974. There were three teams; Janice and I covered the east end of the Arm. We counted thirty-three bird species of which eleven were waterfowl. I learned much as I watched Janice spot and identify various species. But, I also began to appreciate the difference in the agendas of counters and photographers. Granted that on a different outing, someone might switch agendas, it remains that these pursuits are different—something I underscore with a few images from Saturday, below.

From the point of view of those taking a census, this is a perfectly satisfactory view of five horned grebes. From the photographer’s point of view, this would have been a throw-away image were it not dominated by a mirage of the Harrop Ferry.

The next two pictures of Redhead Ducks were taken on the same expedition. This is the sort of thing a bird photographer seeks. Yet, from the point of view of someone counting species, these scenes might be fun, but they offer superfluous information. It is sufficient to know that there were two female Redheads.

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Just wanna be me

 

Consider the identity problem faced by a female wigeon within this mêlée of coots, wigeons, mallards, and scaups.

Hey, I’m me.

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Bobcat on dog walk

 

On Monday, Nelson’s dog walk along the shore adjacent to the airport was closed.

The reason was simple: along the path there was a Bobcat in a tree.

Derek Kite took this picture of it from the other side of the airport runway—a long shot indeed.


Picture courtesy Derek Kite

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