A photographic amble through a prairie marsh

Battelle Darby Metro Park, as seen from Google Earth. This is just a snippet of the sprawling 7,000 acre park, but this patch is my favorite spot. It is a recently restored wet prairie, and the transformation from barren croplands to vibrant prairie has been remarkable to watch.

A few times a year, I'll get here and always take the "Teal Trail", as outlined in red. It's about a mile and three-quarter hike, and passes by great habitat. I always find interesting animals along this path, and today was no exception.

Fog-enshrouded prairie just before sunrise. A distant pair of duetting great horned owls and a pack of singing coyotes provided the soundtrack. Lapland longspurs were passing overhead, giving their melodious whistles and dry rattles, and a pair of northern harriers was hunting the meadow.

While shooting animals was my main mission, the early morning light and fog was just too beautiful to not fully drink in, so I grabbed 16-35mm and 70-200mm lenses (Canon, of course), and set out to make some images of the landscape. It was still too dark for good animal photography work, anyway.

Last time I was in this spot - many months prior - cattails were starting to dominate this marsh. Not now. Muskrats have stepped up to the plate and opened the marsh back up. Their conical lodges were quite conspicuous, and so were the aquatic mammals as they swam about harvesting plant material and mud as they labored on their lodges.

After taking this shot, I returned to the vehicle for some heavy artillery: my tripod-mounted Canon 800mm lens linked to the Canon 5D IV, and attached to a Black Rapid strap around my neck was the Canon 5DSR and 500mm f/4 lens. The latter setup is so light it can easily be handheld for birds in flight, or that are within the 800's minimum focusing distance of 19 feet. The Black Rapid strap makes carrying a camera much easier, even a fairly heavy one. It distributes the weight in a balanced manner, and takes all the pressure off the toter's neck and shoulders. More about these straps HERE.

While gear like that isn't cheap, the big telephotos are worth their weight in gold when stalking wildlife. My main game when out on solo missions like this is to try and locate the quarry before they see me, or at least approach subjects in a way that doesn't overly disturb them and allows me to get fairly close. With big lenses one doesn't have to get too near, and thus the critters will often go about their business as they normally would. This always leads to better shots, and is better for the critters.

A muskrat melds glop from the marsh bottom into his lodge. When it dries, it will help anchor the cattail bulwark in place. The industrious little beast made about a trip every two minutes, returning with construction material.

Muskrats are much maligned (like chipmunks), and that's a shame. Much of the vitriol directed at them is due to problems they create with people's structures, such as dikes. Muskrat can be enthusiastic tunnelers and over time their burrows can undermine levees. But in the big picture these mammals are an important part of a mixed-emergent marsh community and a keystone species. Their handiwork creates diversity in a wetland's plant community, thus increasing habitat diversity. This in turn spawns a spike in the abundance and diversity of other animals, everything from dragonflies to ducks. And it's no mystery why mink abound here - the large weasels prey on muskrat.

A muskrat takes a well-earned break, chewing on a cattail tuber at the base of his gargantuan lodge.

I was hoping for waterfowl, but we haven't yet had a big push into this area. All I saw was a smattering of mallards, northern shovelers, gadwall, ring-necked ducks, and a few other species. This is a pair of trumpeter swans, and I must confess I wasn't overly thrilled to see them. Our Division of Wildlife began an ambitious introduction program in 1996, and the birds are clearly taking hold and expanding. There's no indisputable evidence that trumpeters ever bred in this region, and as we've all learned by the disastrous introduction of "giant" Canada geese to areas where they didn't historically nest, large fowl can run amok and quickly become semi-domesticated. We shall see how the swan saga plays out, but I will not be surprised in the least if problems eventually arise. All that aside, trumpeters are spectacular birds, and their throaty bugles provide interesting aural ambience to the marshscape.

Sparrows abounded in the marsh and prairie, including plenty of song sparrows like this one. Swamp sparrows were at least equally numerous, and small flocks of American tree sparrows harvested grain from the prairie grasses.

I had already heard the harsh chaks of two marsh wrens when I encountered this aggressive little fellow. He took umbrage to my presence and followed me along the trail for a good 100 feet, cursing me in wren-speak from the dense cattails. As is typical of these feathered busybodies, he mostly kept to the dense growth but did reveal himself a few times and I was ready.

The spot where I shot this marsh wren was a goldmine. A late common yellowthroat popped up, and sparrows were everywhere. A quick movement down the trail materialized into a mink, which briefly bounded down the path in its slinky-like gait. Longspurs whistled overhead and as a finale, a merlin rocketed low over the marsh, spotted me and juked slightly off to the west, depriving me of possible photos. No worries, I was mostly interested in my diminutive but sassy stub-tailed wren.

By now, temperatures were in the low 40's, sluggish western chorus frogs and spring peepers slowly creaked out their songs, and, amazingly, a few fall field crickets and striped ground crickets were attempting to sing. Four hours had already passed by, and it was time to head for home.

Mink punks muskrat, scares ducks!

The tranquil waters of the pond at Char-Mar Ridge Park in Delaware County, Ohio. I made my second visit to this site yesterday, and left scratching my head as to why I've not been here more often. It's only 20-25 minutes away, and the place can be a goldmine for bird photography. There is a fantastic roofed observation blind - where I made the shot above - and it's one of the best-sited blinds that I've seen. Not only is it in a great location, but is positioned such that the light, especially in early morning in spring and fall, is ideally suited for lighting subjects on the pond.

UPDATE: A little while back, I wrote a piece about another Preservation Parks of Delaware County site, Shale Hollow Park. That column, which appeared in the Columbus Dispatch and which I shared on this blog, HERE, touted the virtues of the park district and its holdings. I am pleased to say that one week later, Delaware County voters overwhelming approved passage of a park levy continuation, along with a small increase, by a 62% to 38% margin. People do like their parks and wild spaces and we need to do all we can to support effective conservation organizations.

Back to the subject at hand. A stunning quartet of hooded mergansers - two drakes bookending a pair of hens - steams along between underwater fishing forays. They, and numerous wood ducks, were my primary quarry on this day. Persistent autumn foliage is still tinting the water with color, making for nice waterfowl photo ops.

When I arrived at the blind shortly after sunrise and cast my eyes on the scene out front, one of the first thoughts that I had was "this looks perfect for a mink!" These aggressive weasels love to hunt along shorelines of ponds, lakes, and wetlands, and I've seen them in such settings numerous times. Here would be a great potential photo opportunity if one of the tubular beasts would make an appearance.

Sometime later in the morning, a fellow photographer, Victoria Koroleva, appeared in the blind. I had not previously met her but had seen her work on Facebook. One of the great things about Zuckerberg's massive social media outlet is it often "introduces" people before they actually meet for real, and this was one of those cases. At some point I verbalized my mink-aura feelings to Victoria, and it wasn't much later that she exclaimed "look! a mink!"

The mink appears, just across a narrow arm of the pond. This was a wonderful opportunity to observe the beast without it being alarmed, as it didn't know we were there. Mink, for all practical purposes, are raging psychopathic homicidal well-furred mammalian slinkies. They rapidly bound about with an exaggerated undulating gait, exploring all nooks and crannies and prepared to pounce with murderous intent as soon as a victim shows itself.

The mink rapidly moved along the bank, poking under logs and occasionally pausing to scan its surroundings. Interestingly, on a few occasions it dove into the shallow water along the pond's edge, temporarily disappearing from sight. I think I know what it was looking for.

Soon after the mink turned a corner of the pond and vanished from sight, we saw a muskrat rapidly swimming towards the middle of the pond from the immediate direction of the mink. Once it got out there, it paused and just floated motionless low in the water for five minutes or so. I'd not seen this behavior from a muskrat before, but it wasn't hard to decipher what was going on.

I imagine the mink's underwater dives were to search out and enter the burrows of muskrats. The latter often create subterranean lairs with the entrance under the water. Mink are said to be quite fond of muskrat meat and are more than capable of killing them. I suspect the mink nearly caught this 'skrat unaware, and the rodent fled to deeper water and a strategic advantage. It's probably a very lucky muskrat.

After a while, the muskrat paddled back to shore and hauled out on a log. And there he sat for quite some time, not moving a muscle and casting wary glances about before finally disappearing.

As the mink continued its shoreline rampage, it eventually got into a sheltered cove at the rear of the pond where many of the ducks retreat. The fowl apparently didn't like the ferocious weasel either, and suddenly a cloud of ducks skittered out of there and onto the pond's open waters, including this pair of gadwall.

It's fascinating to watch the dynamics of a situation when a dangerous alpha predator appears. Just about all of the animals go on alert, or outright flee to safer spots. The mink was a wonderful addition to an already fantastic outing, and to watch it in action, acting naturally, was a huge perk.

Life in a drainpipe: How to make photographic lemonade from lemons

As always, no shortage of material as I prepare this, my 1,708th blog entry since beginning this blog almost exactly ten years ago. Mothapalooza was held last weekend and it was a smashing success. I want to put up some pics and commentary about that soon, but for now, an adventure from yesterday.

Word has been circulating about great shorebird habitat developing in the easternmost big impoundment at Big Island Wildlife Area in Marion County, so I finally made it there late yesterday to check things out. The reports were not exaggerated; plenty of mudflats and shallow water bode well for waders. We're early in the fall migration for shorebirds - yes, fall migration in mid-July! - and there weren't a lot of birds. Killdeer were most common, probably mostly birds that bred somewhere in the general region. Others included Lesser Yellowlegs, Pectoral Sandpiper, Least and Semipalmated sandpipers, and Solitary and Stilt sandpipers. Most of these birds have already been to the Arctic to nest, but probably experienced nest failure. The brief Arctic summer does not always allow for a second attempt, so the birds head south and begin to appear at our latitude in July.

I took the photo gear, but conditions were not great for photography, so I mostly just watched the birds, and life in the marsh. I've always enjoyed watching groups of shorebirds, and their feeding dynamics. For birds that seemingly always have their bills buried in the mire, they don't miss a trick. Several juvenile Bald Eagles were making regular forays into this impoundment for fish, and if they got too near the shorebirds would often rise en masse before settling back in. Always pay heed to their behavior - they'll tip you to an incoming Peregrine Falcon or other predator long before you'll see it.

At one point, I decided I wanted another piece of gear from the Jeep, about a third mile from my hiding hole, so I trotted back for it. As I neared the parking area, I saw the grass moving and a brief flash of brown. Juvenile Muskrats! After spending some more time with the shorebirds, I stealthily crept up on the muskrat ditch. That's it, above, after I had settled in with camera, tripod, and camo chair. You can see a culvert at the far end of the ditch - it connects with the big marsh which is about 30 feet or so to the left. Most of the photographic action on this day centered around that pipe.

Immediately upon peeking into the ditch, I saw an adult Muskrat grazing on plants. I'm not sure how well these rodents see, or if she just wasn't bothered by me, but she remained in the open for a bit while I made images. Nice as she looks, it wasn't the photographic plum that I sought.

This is the photographic plum that I sought - baby Muskrat! Not long after I settled into the vegetation, this little fellow dropped out of the drain pipe and clambered up onto the adjacent bank. Here, he scratches an itch, while a large bullfrog looks on. The little mammal was not a lot larger than the frog! There was another juvenile 'skrat, and I was hoping to get images of both together - maybe even interacting - but no cigar.

For most of the time that the youngsters were out and about, an adult Muskrat - female, presumably - was around although sometimes hard to spot. Here, she keeps a watch from the entrance to one of her burrows. Muskrats are prolific burrowers, and thus draw the ire of marsh managers as their tunneling can greatly undermine the dikes that hem in many managed wetlands. But we've pretty much invited them into our all too often highly managed world, so what would we expect, especially seeing how we've destroyed most of their natural world. Ohio has lost an estimated 90% of its pre-settlement wetlands.

After the Muskrat family retreated back into the drain pipe and probably into the big marsh on the other side, I turned my camera's attention to the large Bullfrogs by the culvert's mouth. Here, a lunker stares inscrutably at the camera. I once saw a huge Bullfrog sitting just like this, with a much smaller Green Frog's head poking out of its mouth. I didn't have a camera then, but would have loved to photographed that scene.

As I was photographing the frogs, I noticed a roiling from within the culvert pipe, with noticeable waves coming from within. I thought that perhaps the Muskrats were in there, but the wave action seemed to extreme. A few seconds later, this absolutely monstrous Snapping Turtle emerged!

As I was above and behind the pipe when the turtle exited, it didn't see me and I ran around to the other side to get this shot. At that point, he/she did spot me and froze, allowing for some close up portraiture work of a beast that totally looks the part of its several hundred million years of evolutionary history.

I would not want to get my finger nipped by this brute. A turtle this size could and would do some serious damage if mishandled, and snappers are not known for their friendly temperament. They can live a long time - 50 years or more - and I suspect this one would have to be at least a few decades old. Note the numerous mosquitoes biting its head, and the leech on its shell. Maybe that's why they're ill-tempered.

Photo tip: A perfectly still subject such as this turtle allows for employment of techniques not often possible with animals. I had my camera on a tripod, and moved the rig in as close as possible. Then I used live view on the back of the camera, which keeps the mirror locked up, eliminating even the very slight "slap" caused by mirror motion. Using the two second timer allowed the camera to be totally still when the shot fired. This allowed me to use a very long exposure at a small aperture. Settings for this image were ISO 100, f/16, and a very slow one-third second exposure.

Muskrats deserve love as vital vole of wetlands

Columbus Dispatch

April 5, 2014

NATURE

Jim McCormac

In the beginning, Kitchi-Manitou, creator of Earth, populated the lands with the Anishinabe. After these original peoples descended into conflict and war, Kitchi-Manitou flooded the lands in retribution. Nanaboozhoo was the sole survivor, along with a handful of animals. One of them was a muskrat. From their log ark, Nanaboozhoo sent the muskrat diving below the floodwaters. It returned with a pawful of earth, and from that the lands were re-created.

— Ojibway legend
 
I’ve written natural history columns for The Dispatch for a decade — more than 160 pieces on almost as many subjects — but never about the muskrat. Given its prominence in creation lore, an essay on the “earth diver” is overdue.

Although muskrats resemble beavers, they are only distant relatives of the much larger rodents. The muskrat is related to mice and voles, and is essentially a supersize aquatic vole.

A hefty muskrat might weigh 4 pounds; a big beaver can be 70 pounds. Beavers also have a horizontally flattened tail, while the muskrat’s is laterally compressed, as if compacted in a vise.

Because muskrats are largely nocturnal, they aren’t often seen. But their lodges are conspicuous. The large domes rise from the water like small islands and are mostly composed of vegetation. Beaver lodges look similar but are typically much larger and built of sticks and other woody material.

Muskrat lodges are well-built and watertight. The underwater entrances allow the animals to slip in and out unseen. Secret passages don’t deter minks, and the ferocious weasels sometimes enter the lodge and slay the occupants.

The pelage of a muskrat is soft, sleek and water-repellant. Their furs are coveted by trappers, and current prices have soared to about $14 per pelt. Such prices spur more trapping, but muskrats remain abundant. Females usually have two annual litters averaging six kits each. During one three-month season, 10,191 muskrats were harvested in a 2,800-acre Lake Erie marsh.

Muskrats are an important cog in wetland ecology. They are prolific grazers of aquatic plants and help to keep marshes open and free of choking growth.

Semiopen marshes usually support greater animal diversity, including waterfowl. The lodges literally support ducks and geese, which sometimes nest atop the domes.

The muskrat plays a much larger role in nature than its lowly stature might suggest.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first and third Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at www.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.

Aqui-vole

I briefly espied one of our most - if not the most - aquatic mammals the other day, and find it necessary to post about them.

I took this aerial photo a few years back, of a wetland hard on the shores of Lake Erie's Sandusky Bay. Click the pic, and blow it up. You'll see lots of little brown dots in the water. They are the reason that I took the photo - muskrat lodges! Many, many muskrat lodges.

Not everyone likes these strange little beasts. It pretty much depends on your perspective, and what role marshes play in your life. If you are a marsh manager, and maintaining dikes that are leak-free is your business, you at the least will be irked by these reddish-brown rodents. Muskrats are prone to burrowing and often do so in convenient dikes next to favored wetlands, necessitating expensive repairs.

If you are like me - only a visitor to marshlands - you might like 'skrats. I do.

Over the years, I have heard people ask about these dome-like piles of vegetation many times. "Those are beavers, son", is a common mistaken identification. Nope - they are muskrat lodges, one of the classic symbols of a mixed-emergent marsh. Beavers do often make large mini-island lodges, but they tend to be wider and not so steep-sided, and make heavy use of sticks and branches. Not so with muskrats - they only use herbaceous material, and cattails are often the favored building blocks.

Tiny eyed and somewhat otterish about the face, a Muskrat, Ondatra zibethicus, peers inquisitively at me, the awkward landlubber. Believe it or not, Muskrats are closely related to voles, which are small mouselike rodents that typically frequent upland habitats.

Muskrats took to the water eons ago, and have evolved a host of features that allow them an aquatic lifstyle like few other rodents. Their fur is dense and water repellent, allowing them to spend most of their time swimming and soaking. The hind feet have webbing to aid in propulsion, and the animals can even close their ears off to keep water out.

It's the tail that is probably the most noticeable of the 'skrats' evolutionary design. This appendage is sort of a sideways beaver tail - laterally compressed, or thin and tall. It works well to propel the animal efficiently and gracefully through the drink, something that you'll notice if you get the chance to watch one swimming.

This is a Beaver, the mammal probably most often confused with a Muskrat. Take its tail and turn it sideways and shrink the thing a bit, and you've got an approximation of a Muskrat tail.

Muskrats have their fair share of enemies, and when this little fellow grows up, it'll be one of 'em. Mink, which are weasels, sometimes appropriate Muskrat lodges as their own, and upon staging the home invasion kill and eat the occupant should it be in residence.

Like them or not, Muskrats often play an important role in marsh ecology. They are voracious plant consumers, and tend to favor tall, aggressive species such as cattails (Typha) that can take over. Muskrats will keep such plants in check and create a better mosaic of open water versus aquatic plants, and thus help to diversify the flora and fauna of our wetlands.

Plus, Muskrats may be responsible for the very earth that you live on. Certain Native Americans, who knew far more about the natural world than do most of us, believed that it was the lowly muskrat that created dry land. A Muskrat, upon returning to the completely flooded earth's surface with a big dollop of mud, spread it on a large turtle's back. And thus, dry land and a home for creatures such as us was born.