September 2020: The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

As summer evolved to "Indian Summer" and eventually full-fledged autumn, the seasonal cycles continued to play out at Standing Rush, independent of a vastly changed outside world.

I'm struck at how many of our 2020 photos are like the one above, void of people. Site tours were put on hold for all of 2020 unless absolutely necessary, school groups did not assemble for field trips, and even contractor activities were minimized unless we were absolutely sure we could operate safely given the backdrop of an ever-changing public health crisis.

I was lucky to have averaged a trip to the marsh every month in 2020, as opposed to the 50+ times per year I averaged for the first five years of the project. I deer hunted once (for an hour), duck hunted a grand total of three evenings, and had specific need to be on-site for work no more than a handful of times -- although I came up with excuses to make it out maybe twice as much. Roy became my eyes and ears even more than before (the vast majority of 2020 photos were taken with him on the other end of the camera). I focused on strategic planning, grant administration, financing, supporting Roy . . . and keeping myself, my family, and my immediate circle healthy. 

One habit I tried to keep was taking a short walk every time I made it to the marsh.
This image was captured on the lane behind our bunkhouse. It is wild asparagus loosing its photosynthetic green for the season. Like so many things in 2020, I found myself appreciating it in a different way -- pausing to notice rather than just walking by.

One silver lining of autumn was that duck hunting could carry on amidst COVID,
a familiar ritual and a seasonal bookend for those who live to rise early and keep eyes to the sky.
As this double-limit of teal attests, things started off strong and
-- fortunately for everyone's collective and individual morale --
stayed that way throughout the 2020 waterfowl season.

Off to the blind . . . 

A Picture-Perfect Night in the Tree Stand

A view of the West Marsh -- looking W/NW -- from one of my favorite perches
(as always, click to enlarge to enjoy more of the detail)

It's amazing how perspective changes 16' off the ground. This might be especially true in marsh country, where topography changes are just as often measured in inches rather than feet. But as a deer hunter who has spent countless hours each autumn for decades now in a tree stand, I can attest that it really doesn't matter where you are, if you are up in the air.

Last evening was one of those unanticipated but memorable nights on this remarkable land. A full morning of meetings in Sandusky fostered some pretty exciting discussions about the possibility of future improvements not only to our site, but to neighboring land and water. Roy and I then reconvened back at the bunkhouse to talk through the details of a tree planting effort that is slated to happen around our field office this weekend (more on that in a post hopefully early next week). He then gave me just the nudge I needed to get suited up for my first official deer hunt of the season. I was on the fence about going (so much to do), but boy am I glad I went.

My preferred shooting window; never a bad way to spend an autumn afternoon
(note Phrag patch in the upper-left, as mentioned below)

While last night's hunt took place about two months later in the season than it would have four kids ago, it was worth the wait. [Spoiler alert: I never released an arrow. But it was still just what I needed.]

I have found real rejuvenation in sitting quietly in the elements, especially -- for whatever reason -- when it's cold. Fishing and hunting are often my chosen means to put "some extra fresh air on my face," as I like to say. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I loved the heart-thumping anticipation associated with the approaching movement in the nearby Phragmites stand that methodically started five minutes after I sat down. There is not much better than intensely watching and listening to nature.

And of course, I loved seeing the six deer that walked unknowingly beneath my statued gaze -- first, two does and two yearlings at ~60 yards, then (<5 minutes later) a seasonally-excited 4-point buck in hot pursuit, and finally (just before sunset), a mature 8-point.

The view over my right shoulder just as the sunset is hitting a golden mulberry and a sea of autumn dogwoods --
truly awesome!

But what I maybe like most of all about deer hunting is the quiet and the solitude. I love observing nature being natural. I also love that my brain can quiet itself, and decide whether it wants to think about a challenge at work, a situation on the home front, or whether or not it's a rabbit, a squirrel, or a 10-point buck creeping up behind me. I get to choose.

I have come to use my time in the stand not only as an avenue to put choice protein in the freezer while culling a population that has unintentionally ballooned way beyond its carrying capacity in much of Ohio. I also use it as a means to really focus on the things most important in my life.

I bring my personal intentions to the tree and try to think hard and long for all those people and things in need of the most prayer. But the thoughts come more easily somehow in a tree stand. Over the last couple seasons, I've tried to really focus on one particular person each time out. Last night, it was an aunt, who passed away earlier this week. She died as gracefully as she lived for more than 86 years. And like every other way she touched my life, my interaction last night was yet another beautiful gift. I know it is my second informal memorial in as many weeks, but thank you, Aunt Mary Jo. You will truly be missed.

Mostly Cloudy (or Partly Sunny?)

While a "large" kinglet weighs about the same as a stack of three pennies (~8 g), these active, little buggers are
one of my absolute favorites; cloudy skies made their yellow-gold-orange crested caps more muted,
but they still put on a show in the tangle of dogwoods, grapes, and willows

After a full week in my office, I have to say I was pretty excited to be driving eastbound on Friday morning for a day in the field. Sunshine was in the forecast for the first time in days, so I had a full itinerary planned for photo-monitoring. Lingering low clouds and a northeast breeze made their presence known during a brief gas station stop en route. By the time I made my final approach to the property, it was clear that "mostly sunny" in Toledo was going to translate to something different on the marsh -- at least for the start of the day.

This is a phenomenon I've gotten pretty accustom to over the last few years, but I have to admit, I was pretty disappointed as "partly sunny" (at best) pretty quickly transitioned to "mostly cloudy." The lighting would be decent for wildlife photography, but I've found that sunshine is a nice addition when taking landscape shots for reference. So, as is so often the case, I audibled to a laundry list of other odds and ends.

Virginia creeper is nearing its seasonal end, but the vibrant crimson
seemed worthy of the visual memory

Peaks of sunlight kept tempting me to circle back to my original plan, but the power struggle between the temperature in the air (40s to mid-50s by late afternoon) and the temperature of the bay (probably on the lower end of that same range) -- with sustained northeast winds -- were a recipe for nearly constant clouds.

I took the opportunity to sit in one of our newly placed tree stands over my lunch hour (sans lunch), but the wind direction wasn't right for deer movement and it really ended up being more of an impromptu window into current bird activity. The list of observed species grew to more than 20 quickly, but the highlight for me was the nearly constant stream of passing golden-crowned kinglets. These miniature-sized insect-eaters came in twos and threes. And, as is so often the case, they were nearly constantly on the move. Of course, the only one that cooperated and sat still for more than 3 seconds did so about three feet from my right arm, when the camera was back in the truck.

Showy dogwood leaves in sunshine

[ASIDE: Make sure you check out the Cornell Lab's profile of the kinglet (see link above). Like all of their entries, they share so many "cool facts." Example: The tiny Golden-crowned Kinglet is hardier than it looks, routinely wintering in areas where nighttime temperatures can fall below –40° Fahrenheit. I can vouch for this. I first took note of the kinglet during my first winter in college -- in central Minnesota. The temperature that evening was definitely below zero!]

Ironically, it wasn't until about 30 minutes before I promised myself I'd get back on the road home Friday evening that the blue sky really made its full appearance. Better late than never.

As I scrambled around to capture what might be the last stands of certain peak autumn colors for this year (big winds in the forecast for Sunday), I thought to myself, this may also be the last day I could even consider working in a t-shirt. And just a few hours earlier, I had been wishing I had a winter hat.

We'll see though. "Normal" in terms of weather is hard to define anymore. While I really don't want to be, I could be back in short-sleeves yet this month -- or even in December.

The last remaining leaves on the largest cottonwood outside the bunkhouse; note the blue sky and that this was the same
tree that housed an oriole nest that entertained me back in May and June -- when the leaves were green and new

P.S. As the winds calmed and the late afternoon sunshine finally broke through, I heard both chorus frogs and peepers in the reed canary grass off the bunkhouse. Someone needs to tell those peepers that they are Spring peepers -- and it's November!