Let's Get Wasted

To celebrate the start of my trip in style, I joined none other than Neil Gilbert in Grand Rapids, Michigan. This time, we raised bins alongside his companions Jonathan, Joseph, and Neil’s binocular-wielding lady love, Alyson. After a morning of poking around some dunes and hucking rocks at cormorants, it was time for some serious birding.

A trip to Muskegon Wastewater was in order.

Many are surprised to learn that birders spend considerable time at wastewater facilities, or as we call them, sewage lagoons. Yes, these are havens for migrating shorebirds and waterfowl (not because they love shit – but invertebrates), and naturally where you find birds you find birders.

Muskegon Wastewater, however, is no ordinary sewage lagoon. Let me attempt to give you a small feeling of the horrors we were about to experience.


A whiff of a billion well-digested meals wafted into the car and our unprepared nostrils, cloaking us in a stench that seemed inhuman. Our clothes would reek of sewage for a time if not permanently. If you were going to fart, now would be the time.


Green water lapped at the feces-caked shore, while a golden-plover hid amongst a gang of killdeer, rummaging in the invertebrate-rich algal sludge. In the main pond, Frisbee-sized patties floated on a stagnant, green film. Driving further into this evil place, we encountered an abomination: an entire section of lake cloaked in crap patties, with the odd tampon, that one could almost walk on, had they not been made of human feces.


But the worst atrocity was to follow: in the main pond, huge pumps blasted jets of sludge into the air, while the denizens of this hole made their daily living: a flock of northern Shovelers shoveling through the shit.

By that point, Alyson and I had lost our respect for birds. But we birded on, finding 17 Eared Grebes, 2 Lesser Black-backed Gulls and a Baird’s Sandpiper.

As we binged on honey-roasted peanuts, my likewise-scented toots thus far went un-noticed.

And that was the day we visited Muskegon Wastewater.

Bird on.

PS, we also saw Kevin Welsh for like 15 minutes in the Meijer parking lot: amazing! The first time we've been together since Camp Chiricahua in 2006!! We wish you a swift recovery from your mono Kevin and don't go smooching any more girls!

The Toothed Ones

Lately a common phrase at the staffhouse has been "where did Tim go?". RAGING, THAT'S WHERE!



This time, a special companion joined me on my quest. DOUBLE RAGE. Grace has the skills of a naturalist, the body of a zebra clubtail, and the voice of a male nightingale. In Alqonquin, we joined an elite team of idiots for some old-time geeking. To Whiskey Rapids, where Lev promptly molested a Zebra Clubtail.



THAT IS SO RARE!





(incidentally, it was Lev's Zebra Clubtail virginity).



Shortly after, Peter had a genius idea of creating a new hybrid with a forced copulation. Combine the curves of a Zebra Clubtail with the sneakiness of a Fawn Darner! "It should work, they're both hooved." commented Ian.





Peter, they're both males...



At the P Store, we rocked out to some Ode beats!





Then, it was time to meet an old friend. One of the most influencial men of Algonquin, David Legros. David is LEGENDARY. Indeed, our reunion was long overdue, but many old sayings were still in regular use. "hark, a robin!"; "look, black bear...habitat."





These days David is monitoring amphibians on the logging roads. Thank god for those logging roads, or else wildlife research people would have half as much to study! We joined him and his babe Courtney, as well as Vincent for some trap checking. But amphibians were not the only creatures foolish enough to fall into his traps.



This jumping mouse is not letting death get it down!







And, an old favourite, Nicrophorus sp.







Tim, David, and Grace - and Gretchie the loonling, my car mascot. Courtney behind the camera.





Farewell old friend.



MIZZY



Two spruce grouses and 1 white-winged crossbills were slaughtered, respectively. Boreal chickadees were detected, but not slaughtered.





GREAT SPANGLY FRITILLARIES!

A day with Patrick

There are some who call him the red wolf. Others, salamander slim or simply Patty. Whatever his name, he's one red-haired bastard.

This past weekend I was honoured to join him on the tranquil waters of Lake Sasajeewan on a quest for the snapping ones.


We erected several traps of this nature, using fish goup as bait.


WHAT KIND OF BEAST ARE WE TRYING TO CATCH?



The entrails of a fish attracted more than just the snapping ones. A navy of leaches undulated toward the expanding cloud of goup.


An antlered beast wallowed in a nearby slough.


We ventured on, knowing well that today we would not see the fruits of our labour. It mattered not. Patrick's optimism raged on as he piloted our vessel gondola-style.


None man woman or beast can resist his sunny charm.


We gathered companions for an afternoon of bridge-jumping.


And to end this adventure, I finally wooed my first Red Damsel into my net.

The days of old

Like the days of old, I'm on a solo quest. Like the high school times, when there was no one to raise a pair of bins with, no one to swing a net with.

Then, I spent three glorious summers with Algonquin Park naturalists, oh those times! Almost nightly odeing trips...

Here, we just got satellite at the staffhouse. On the TV: Anne of Green Gables rerun on CBC. Outside, a bear with two cubs, baby foxes, and dragonflies up the hamules! An Exodus of turtles, Hallelujah! You almost can't walk anywhere without stepping on a Blanding's.

But solo naturalists, take this message. Leave your companions behind, grab your net, camera or bins, get out there, and suck the teet of life to the last drop!

The den of the vixen

The old, abandoned park office building. Once a place of smiling faces and childrens' laughter, it is now a place where small creatures go when they die.


The stench of decaying rabbitsfeet hangs in the dank, fly-infested air. Bits of fur and random vertebrae lay scattered about the dirt. A squirrel chatters in the distance, unaware that it will soon die. But this is also a place of life.

Jimminy-crickets! home cookin, creek baths, chunkheads, nanner pudin', swimmin' holes, chickarees and chuck wagons in the great smokies y'all!

April 21

Tim, Steve "Spike Daddy" Pike, and the open road, headin for the hills o' Tennessee y'all, to meet up with three great folks Dan and Sarah Wiley and Tom Penney YEE-HAW Here we Go!

This is a great first sign:


Stop in at the quicky mart for an e-smoke and latest issue of "just busted".



April 22

Roll out in the mornin, dogwoods a-bloomin'. Good breakfast with big ol' cornbread patty covered in prickly pear cactus syrup and momma's churn butter.

Found a swimmin' hole. I did a flip and met some lovely old folks from down in Chatanooga, the man greeted me with a toothless smile while he spoke the language o-the-hills.

Now, here is a of essential supplies for camping with Steve:

Camp Shower
Road Bike
Mountain Bike
Spare tires and wheels with carbon fiber deep-dish rims
Camera with macro and regular lens
Extra filters for lenses
Binoculars
Foldable, disassembling bug net
Fishing rod and net
Fishing vest with tackle
Electric bike pump
Bike tools
Biking jerseys (x5)
Flashlight
Headlamp
High-powered spotlamp
Tripod
Cooler with beer and ice
Camp stove
Extra camp stove
Pots and pans
GPS watch
Ultra speaker system
Car tools
Maps
Dr. Shoal’s deodorizing foot powder
Power Juice
Shades
Bug envelopes
Hypodermic needle for injecting ethyl acetate into moths
Killing bottle
Bug vials
Expresso maker with expresso coffee
Sleeping bag, therma-rest and pillow
Phone
Laptop
Spare tire and select spare parts
Extra coolant
Oil
De-ionized water in case the radiator overheats
Field Guides: birds, trees, moths, herps
And a positive attitude

April 23

Today I thought I might have a broken rib. I wish there was an exciting explanation for this, like I was in a dangerous sky-boarding accident, but there’s not. What with this handicap, we decided we would only hike 8 miles today. The bugs were on the move: like a big momma blister beetle and a pleasing fungus beetle. Hundreds of male swallowtails stocked their groins with amino acids from the plentiful horse shit. Soon they would give this nutriment to females as part of their load, to provide for the young'ns.


At one point, Steve started going off, not an unusual event but he was particularly startled this time:
“LOOK TIM”
I stopped and excitedly scanned my immediate environs to see what awesome arthropod stirred Steve’s particular excitement (Stevometer = 6). To my disappointment, the source was not a six-legged jewel but a bear 10 m up the trail. For just a few seconds, we enjoyed the bear as it foraged in plain view. Then, he released “the beast” (EOS 7D 77mm EF lens) and all hell broke loose.
“Hey Steve, take a picture of me with the bear.
- Not now I gotta get this!”
Stevometer = 7

We hung out with our friendly companion for some time as it munched on leaves, then let it be. Then we reached the waterfall, where I plunged into a pool that would render even the hardiest mountain man’s nipples hard as granite.





On the descent, we discovered a fortress of salamanders. Stationed upon parapets of moss-topped rock, they were untouchable as they grabbed any insect that crawled out of the water.




Stuck behind a big ol' chuckwagon.



Steve had his mind set on viewing the sunset at Clingman’s Dome, a 6500 foot mountaintop vista. I pitched tent in the parking lot. I eagerly awoke from my alarm at 630, only to behold a scene similar to the bathroom after my sister just wrapped up a shower: a dense fog concealing all view.


But our ascent had not been in vain. Thanks to Steve’s good instinct, we spotted a wet cliff with a seepage in a small ditch, which we besieged. It was a moated fortress where moist dragons dwelled, gobbling helpless invertebrates in their mossy, well-oxygenated walls. We raged 4 blue ridge spring salamanders, the most badass amphibian I’ve ever beheld. Look at this Grampappy spring salamander with his nasal cirri!!

Whilst this great life moment unfolded, Steve entered rage mode. He hastily gathered up his camera setup for several minutes as I guarded the salamander and contemplated the meaning of life. At last I was about to abandon my post, lest it die of old age, when he arrived armed and ready. He began his amphibious assault: flash, lens and filter. But something was wrong: the flash was broken. What was possibly the trip highlight one moment has suddenly become a moment of despair and misery. The rage was building.
Stevometer = 9
Thank the heavens, the flash worked again and Steve was able to save the day with some nice shots. Otherwise, things could have gone sour.

April 24-25

What new wonders will today bring? In the heart of hillbilly country, amusement is never far.

Here, local villagers have erected a river wall with recycled automobiles.



We encountered some fellow hobbyists enjoying natures gifts.



This mountain town was a hub of native-american culture


There's Injuns in thar hills!

Some views that make Algonquin look like the prairies:





Now the rawt back just wouldn't be the same without a stop at The Dog Patch for some nanner puddin'. I swear I managed to keep it in the whole time, but when a large southern gentleman beside me asked the server for some "sour kraut n' weiners", I LOST IT COMPLETELY.

Bellow: nanner puddin' (Stevometer=4)


Until next time Steve!