 Courtesy cnn.com Here’s a nice article from CNN on the opportunity that exists to restore the world’s forests. As the article states over three quarters of the world’s forests have been degraded, however, the article highlights the work by the World Resources Institute, South Dakota University and IUCN, to identify the global opportunities for reforestation and repair of degraded forests. This research work was done on a global level and now their goal is to push it down the country level.
I personally believe the real opportunity that was anecdotally mentioned with the story on reforestation around villages in Tanzania in the article is actually at the local level. What is each community going to do? What this average American homeowner going to do? Driving through suburban Wisconsin where Oak Savannahs used to exist but have now been replaced with manicured lawns, I believe the local opportunities everywhere is simply tremendous. Just imagine what we could collectively do if we just added one native tree to every suburban lawn where there used to be forest? No, of course, this isn’t rebuilding a forest, but its a step in the direction against global warming while providing additional cover and food for local wildlife.
 Sandhill Cranes Seen Through the Forest Canopy As the forest moves towards the winter’s slumber, only a flock of Sandhill Cranes pierced the pre-winter stillness of yesterday’s hike through Lapham Peak. I enjoy hiking in winter for the quiet it usually affords and this first really cold day of November it was no exception. Except for the one flock of cranes and the occasional defiant chickadee, the only noises that accompanied me were my own foot falls and the creaking of some trees in the wind.
I remember years ago when I was growing up sitting on a deer stand during a brief ice storm. It only lasted about 20 minutes but coated the forest floor with a thin glaze of ice. I was fortunate enough (perhaps dumb enough) to sit through the storm. As fast as it came in, it passed and left sunshine in its wake. I enjoyed the sparkle of the ice everywhere I looked for the next hour or two. The forest then was a still as I had ever seen it. Nothing moved and there were no sounds save an occassional creaking tree or the rustling of the few oak leaves remaining on the branches that hadn’t been silenced by the ice.
When it came time to leave, I slowly stood and took one step forward. That first step through the crunching ice and leaves seemed to be the loudest sound I had ever heard. I stood still for a few more moments, before continuing. It seemed rude of me to make that much noise through the forest.
In this modern era, I don’t believe we realize how much background noise there truly is. Whether is the freeway, airplanes, cell phones, or whatever, there’s always a din of noise around us. However, a trip through a forest in Winter can show us how quiet the world used to be.
 Charlotte holding a captured Northern Saw-whet Owl My daughter and I took a trip up to Stevens Point to observe the nightly banding of Northern Saw-whet Owls that occurs as they migrate through this area every October. The program is hosted by the private foundation, Linwood Springs Research Station directed by Gene Jacobs who has made raptor research much of his life’s work.
We only caught one owl last night, but apparently their nightly record is seventy seven in a single night. How do they catch so many? They lure them in to mist nets with an amplified mating call. The larger-than life call can apparently be heard for a mile and half which still speaks to a lot of owls moving south.
Since the 80s over 11,000 Saw-whet owls have been banded at the station. Apparently its the females that primarily migrate south with the males staying mostly put for the winter. Over 90% of the owls captured have been females. The trip lasted about 2.5 hours and was sponsored by the Natural Resources Foundation of Wisconsin. For anyone interested in seeing Wisconsin’s smallest owl or understanding the basics of bird banding and bird capture, I would highly recommend the trip.
 Great Egrets roaming the marsh Horicon Marsh is a special place. Easy to find, but hard to explore. Marshes don’t lend themselves to travel. They’re in between land and water. Walking is hard and boating equally so. The Marsh Skis and ‘Marsh Shoes’ for horses on display at the Visitor Center are a testament to the challenges in moving through the marsh. From Highway 49 or along the few hiking trails that skirt the marsh, one can get a sense of what lies within, but only a sense. Its easy to spot the flocks of geese honking their way to and from the marsh or the Great Egrets in their snow white display, but there’s so much more to see.
As with many natural haunts the trick isn’t just
knowing where to go but being able to sit and sit still, letting the marsh come to you.
 American Bittern A few minutes sitting the the grass yielded a few American Bitterns, a Kingfisher, and some Grebes that I couldn’t quite identify. Even more tantalizing were the sounds that I didn’t know.
Horicon may be a challenge to explore, but its definitely worth the try.
Every 4-7 minutes this House Wren returned to its nest (rather uniquely positioned inside the swing arm of a metal gate) with another insect for its young inside. In the span of about 40 minutes, it managed to procure:
- 2 grasshoppers
- 1 beetle
- 2 daddy-long legs
- 1 spider
- 3 unknown bugs
 House Wren approaching the nest  House Wren in its 'nest'
Here’s a few pictures from my recent trip to Door County. Saw a bunch of female Common Merganser’s hanging out with some seagulls in Peninsula State Park. Also, got the opportunity to witness a gorgeous sunset in Ephraim not to mention the goats of Al Johnson’s Restaurant roof. Thank you Al, rest in peace.
 Female Common Merganser  Sunset on a Dock in Ephraim  Al Johnsons' Rooftop Goats
 At the top of Baxter Peak on Mt. Khatadin Apparently in addition to being an Occasional Naturalist, I’m also an out-of-shape one too. My son and I hiked up Mt. Katahdin to Baxter’s Peak yesterday. While we made the 11 mile round trip in a very respectable 7 hours, it kicked my butt. Through the course of the hike, I heard numerous songbirds I have never heard before, but really struggled to look up let alone take the time to try and identify them. The trail was rocky and sloped the entire way. As I told my son, “I have never stared at my feet for so long before”.
On one of the few patches of even terrain, my son almost walked into this Bull Moose a mere 30 feet away from us. We followed him slowly for 5 minutes or so as he blocked our decent until later moving into the forest.
Baxter State Park is a georgous natural haven. Its National Park in size although maintained as a primitive wilderness experience.
The plant life on the tops of the mountains are endemic to Greenland and not found elsewhere in the Eastern US, but again, was too tired to try and stop and take pictures or do much contemplating of what was around me.
 Moose blocking the trail
 Minke Whale surfacing This is the only photo I was able to take of a Minke Whale on our whale watching tour. We never did get a good look at whale, but what will stay with me in my memory is its breath. I’ve smelled bad breath before, but never bad breath from 75 yards away.
It you would open up a can of tuna, stick it in a plastic bag and leave it out in the sun for a few days and then later stick your nose in it, you would have an idea of what the breath of a Minke Whale smells like. Whales are beautiful, intelligent and awe inspiring creatures, but this species, who apparently earned the nickname, ‘stinky minke’ sure does smell.
 The rapidly disappearing bridge behind me If I were more than an Occasional Naturalist, I would know a little bit more about tides. I’ve probably made 20-25 trips to the ocean over the years, but tides still vex me. I’ve lost most beach towel, clothes, and cooler to an incoming tide in La Jolla, California in the past and today I came back with numb, wet feet after failing to pay attention to a rapidly rising Atlantic Ocean. I walked out 1/2 mile into a bay near Brooklin, Maine. The little spit of land I was walking on seemed high and dry enough. I knew the tide would be coming in soon, but thought I had plenty of time to admire the view, but in a span of 10 minutes I proved myself wrong.
After staring out into the ocean for 5-10 minutes, I turned around and found my little land bridge rapidly disappearing behind me. I stuffed my camera in the backpack and proceeded to try and hop from rock to rock. I made it a few hundred yards but wasn’t fast enough. The next quarter mile was trudging through 55 degree water lapping at my calves.
I’ve since learned a few important things. Of course, tides are connected to the moon. Everyone knows that, but what’s the rhythm?
There’s two high tides and low tides every 25 hours. Tides occur about 50 minutes later each day. High and low tides are roughly six hours apart. Tides are more extreme the further you are away from the equator (which explains my cold wet feet here in Maine). High tides occur when the moon is directly overhead, with the tides lagging somewhat, or on the exact opposite side of the earth. This doesn’t intuitively make sense at first, but its the way it works.
Should I know more than this? As an Occasional Naturalist, yes. But at least now I got the basics and can also (and will in the future!) read a tide chart.
BP’s CEO, Tony Howard called the gulf oil spill a ‘major reputational issue’ on Monday. While wildlife in the gulf is fighting for their lives, fisherman and others who make their life in the gulf are fighting for livelihoods, BP is worried about their reputation. Sure their brand matters a lot to them, but com’on. Maybe if their existence as a corporation was in jeopardy they would understand and fight harder.
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