February 2021: A Shot of Real Cold

A new month meant sustained cold. Only 10 of the 28 days got above freezing and most of those were on the front end of February. Lows were routinely in the teens or single digits, and we even dipped below zero on a few occasions. While we speculated whether we'd even get "walking ice" or a sustained stretch of "real winter," both ultimately came -- and in earnest.

Toledo tied an all-time record with 19 inches of snow on the ground on February 18, 2021. Most of that was thanks to a single event that brought more accumulation in a single snowfall than any other in my life's history (even more than the fabled "Blizzard of '78").

Most of our attention turned to planning for the upcoming field season. But even as the marsh froze solid, there were tons of opportunities to see the strong pulse of life alive amongst a persistent blanket of snow and ice.

Big ducks (mainly mallards with a few pintails) rise above a mostly frozen early February marsh to a rising sun and a setting moon.

"Our eagles" start to show consistent nesting behaviors in the massive tangle they have carefully constructed in the cottonwood next to the estuary.

It must be even colder up there in that seemingly constant wind.

Pretty hard to miss the nest (or even the protruding head/s of eagles) from afar
(as always, click to enlarge).

Despite sometimes biting cold, Roy never misses the opportunity to take advantage of conditions to keep the place up. Here, brush mowing helps to maintain dikes and access while not interfering with nesting songbirds.

Even a stark haircut will grow back fast, but it keeps large, potentially destructive trees from getting established on dike slopes and it also gives visual evidence of spots that need special attention.

We were able to take advantage of a completely frozen dike and a few thousand residual dollars in an open grant to carry on the erosion protection we started last August.

This work took place to augment the installation and operation of Structure 2, could be squeezed in between major snowfalls, and can be tidied up as needed this coming summer (although something tells me Roy will find a way to get it done before then).

During the coldest of the cold, Roy spent a couple days exploring with his camera. His finds are worth highlighting here (including this active seep on the edge of the West Marsh, a groundwater spring that remained open all day and night despite temperatures well below zero).

Roy caught these candid shots of a coyote crossing over the south dike with a snowy package of mystery meat -- maybe a muskrat? -- being downwind with lots of fresh snow must have helped keep Roy "concealed" from the distracted canine. 

Coyotes are plentiful at Standing Rush (as evidence from our active trail cameras), but it's not very often we even catch a glimpse during broad daylight.

A couple cool shots of another common (but largely nocturnal) mammal of the marsh.

Even in bitter cold, moving water near Structure 1 kept small areas open with shad (in beak above) swimming beneath. This made for some distant (and therefore grainy) images of canvasbacks.

Speaking of grainy, we're still yet to get a good crisp image of one of my favorite marsh birds, the "marsh hawk" or northern harrier. Roy saw individuals scanning the fresh snow on several occasions. 

Unfortunately for this mouse, it was oblivious both of Roy and of the dangers lurking from above. Maybe it was distracted by the sub-zero temps that had it out feeding in the sun when this image was captured.

Roy's return to the same vicinity the next day gave evidence that the mouse (or at least a mouse) and the marsh hawk (or a marsh hawk) were "introduced." (Click to enlarge)

December 2020: Wrapping Up a Year Like No Other

December is customarily a whirlwind -- not just at the marsh but everywhere else. 2020 was no exception. Despite 31 days, it all seems to get condensed down to about two weeks professionally (if you're lucky), so we did well to complete two finite goals involving outside contractors (in addition to wrapping up the duck season, winterizing the shop and the bunkhouse, and tying up end-of-year accounting).

Project #1 took a fair amount of planning and prep because it took place in the county right-of-way along our NE property line. We needed the blessing of the USACE (which we got with our permit issued in November) and the County Engineer (a $10 driveway permit), but essentially all we were doing was rebuilding a pull-off that existed until a previous owner thought it made sense to remove it -- to try to eliminate trespassing by fishermen. The work was completed essentially in one (LONG) day.

Nothing like squeezing one last project in before the end of the calendar year. Our restored driveway access on the NE corner of the property.

The restored driveway access in process.

Guardrail installation makes for a safe, secure entrance.

Project #2 was orchestrated by ODNR's Office of Coastal Management, or technically a sub contracted by one of Coastal's engineering firms working to advance the Sandusky Bay Initiative. Theoretically, the job was going to involve the drilling of one bore hole, 40-50' into the ground (with the idea of the results confirming constructability for potential improvement projects down the road). That ended up being the easy part. The challenge was keeping the drill rig from falling into the marsh and then getting it out of the mud and back on the road. That ended up taking the better part of a second day, but we (and by "we" I mean Roy) got it done!

The "easy" part of the drilling job (the actual drilling).

The "hard" part -- the caravan of vehicles it took to extract the drill rig.
Ultimately, no harm done.

Last "tailgate portrait" of 2020 -- final duck hunt of the season.

Several dozen trumpeter swans lined the highway across from the bunkhouse as I headed back following my last visit to the marsh for 2020. Not a bad way to be ushered home.

Life Abounds -- Even in Winter . . . An Explosion of Mallards

Check out a new video just posted to our YouTube channel -- make sure you turn up the volume to enjoy the satisfaction in Roy's simple narration; also click the square in the lower right (after clicking the Play arrow) to see the video in full-screen mode (click Esc to leave full-screen)

This was another week dominated by time behind a computer. It was also another week dominated by constant cloud cover and temperatures cold enough to give the illusion of being cold without being consistent enough to produce frozen ground (much less much frozen water or snow). It continues to be muddy, damp, and dark.

That's why the video -- taken by Roy late this afternoon and sent to me just this evening -- made my day. It can be tempting to hole up indoors when the weather does what it is doing . . . especially when it does so for days (and even weeks) in a row. Because the lush greens of spring and summer still seem like a lifetime away this time of year, it is also easy to convince oneself that all of nature is dormant for these dark months of winter. But the explosion of life captured over one single minute at Standing Rush -- yet another "Moment in the Marsh" -- is a good reminder that life abounds in a wetland -- 365 days out of every year.

P.S. People often ask "How many ducks just took off there?" Roy is pretty good at estimating, but I haven't had a chance to ask him how many he would guess were in front of the camera. Without being there in person, I'd really be guessing. But I'd say north of 1,000, and probably more like thousands. It was likely enough birds that you could literally FEEL their wing beats as they took flight. One thing that I can quantify is that all the birds in this video -- likely mostly mallards with a few black ducks sprinkled in -- were all using an area less than 20 acres in size. That's some duck density.

A Glimpse of Winter

The few weeks following Thanksgiving weren't kind to the waterfowl hunters at Standing Rush; "hard water" formed fast
and before we knew it, we were almost to "walking ice" stage -- never ideal with a closing date rapidly approaching

With today's temps already approaching record highs (near, if not surpassing 60-degrees . . . before noon!), I thought it made sense to share a few winter scenes from last week at the marsh.

Ohio's Christmas was anything but white -- and the extended forecast looks more like Spring Break till well after the New Year -- but we still enjoyed a great holiday.

Thanks to all who contributed to a great 2019 at Standing Rush and all the best for an even better 2020.

Happy Holidays!

Blind #16 (upper right of center) suspended in a couple, few inches of clear ice

A few inches of (unexpected) snow early last week really brightened up the property
(and made it easier to see where the deer have been moving)

What was a nearly completely frozen Sandusky Bay just a few short days ago may be completely open water
again by the New Year -- hoping we get back to seasonable temps by January . . . 

January Thaw

West Marsh, late last Friday afternoon

The arctic grip that settled in on Christmas Eve loosened last week. We had one 48-hour bump above freezing during the first three weeks of January, but otherwise, we had legitimate and sustained winter. Highs were routinely in the teens or even single digits and lows had to drop below freezing a half-dozen times or more. Furnaces and boilers were working overtime. We never got big snows, but we had constant snow cover (3-8") and reliable "walking ice" (6-10" thick). Man, was it nice.

Common Goldeneye
enjoying the newly
thawed estuary

That said it was pretty inhospitable at the marsh. Snow drifts made access difficult without four-wheel drive, and at times wind chills were downright dangerous. Even Roy only ventured out every few days to check on the essentials.

As anticipated, we have concentrated on a lot of the "inside priorities" that I alluded to in my last post . . . now over a month ago, somehow. We have made good headway on a variety of fronts. But amazingly, until last Friday, it had been since before Christmas that I had set foot on the property. That's way too long.

Trail cameras displayed little activity other than solitary coyotes, rabbits, squirrels, cardinals, and a stray cat. Literally no deer on camera since the first of the year except for a couple does and a couple yearlings by the bunkhouse -- one time. The only other thing of note on camera was the -16 degrees Fahernheit recorded a couple times in early to mid January. That's real cold, and activity was down.

All that changed last week. Snow was replaced by rain (my nemesis during winter months); winds shifted southwest and brought temperatures into the fifties. A couple consecutive nights stayed well above freezing and the combination of all these factors not only put an end to ice fishing on Lake Erie, but even to reliable ice on the inland waters that the kids and I enjoyed several times together.

But I have to admit, the sunshine felt good on my face on Friday. I found myself breathing deeply, trying to suck in as much of that spring-like air as possible. My long underwear was too much. My plans to close out the day in the tree stand (archery closes this week) were altered by both the lack of activity on the trail cameras and the near constant flow of geese overhead (also still open through this coming weekend). I audibled from my bow to a shot gun, a camera, and a walk down the dike.

Here are a few of my favorites from the more than 250 that Roy and I took Friday afternoon:

Several hundred geese were basking in the glory of mid-winter sunshine in the millet on the West Marsh

Somehow, these northern honkers are so much more majestic than the golf course variety we see for so much of the year

Ducks were also taking advantage of the heat wave; these loafing birds are mostly mallards, but there is diversity
among them, if they give you time to look -- I saw blacks, wigeon, gadwall, shovelers, and even pintails

Bird identification when they are bunched like this always reminds me of Where's Waldo

Cool to see these mallards crashing into last year's millet; note how they are concentrating on a band of
vegetation within the millet (cattail? softstem bulrush? nut sedge?)

Don't know why, this scene just jumped out as a favorite

We may be thawing, but winter isn't over yet; it will take a while for this bay ice to disappear --
particularly with sustained cold back in this week's forecast

Here Comes the Melt

A view looking back on Roy's tracks late last week (Thursday); moving toward "walking ice"
. . . at least if you weigh <165 lbs. (which I most certainly don't)

As cocky as I was in my last post about winter setting in "to stay for a while," the last couple days and the forecast for the next few doesn't bode well for staying white (or maybe even frozen). Such is winter in Ohio, I guess. Forecasts called for temps in the upper 30s for highs yesterday and today, but I bet we were closer to mid-40s yesterday and at least lower 40s today with a fair amount of sunshine. Things are getting sloppy. (Sigh)

Marsh or Swamp Rose Mallow (Hibiscus moscheutos L.)
in winter display
(note Phrag seeds draping stem/remnant flower parts)

Roy did capture some really neat images in the brilliant sunshine -- while the temps were still polar. I particularly like the one to the left, not only because of the visual interest of the remnant seed head, but also because of the contrast between this perspective and what you'd see of the bloom in mid-July.

Marsh Mallow, beyond being a great name, can be a remarkably beautiful plant. I've seen blooms in our marsh easily 6" across, and the colors can range from pale white to vibrant pink, with all of the color and complexity of internal flower "parts" that are a hallmark of the hibiscus family.

The good news is that these plants are native and can be really cool to look at -- singly and en masse. The bad news is, they tend to error on the "en masse" side, often growing aggressively (almost invasively) when conditions are right (or wrong). And the shrub-like growth form can definitely grow taller than me (6'5"), so they can be a force to be reckoned with from a management perspective. Based on what we were seeing toward the tail end of this past growing season, I have a feeling we'll be talking -- and tackling -- my good friend marsh mallow more next year.

A splash of summer color amidst winter blacks, browns, grays, and whites (when we can stay cold enough!)

Gotta Love a Good Snowfall

This morning's view from the dock just outside our field office (a.k.a. the "bunkhouse"); just a couple-few well placed
inches of fresh snow make for a pretty stark contrast, considering this ice wasn't even formed a few days ago

Part of my job (and my life at this stage, for that matter) is appreciating the things that I love the most by seeing them through other people's eyes. My partner in crime, my manager Roy, often provides the lens through which I get to see the marsh. When the business of my responsibilities keep me at my desk or at least in town, I've become pretty accustom to living vicariously through his work in the field. Despite the fact that today brought some of my favorite weather -- reliable snowfall with not too much wind and just enough cold to feel relatively confident that it's going to stick around for at least a little while -- I spent today behind glass in my home office.

Even Phragmites can look attractive under a white blanket
(as always, click to see detail)

While paying bills, updating accounting, and working through administrative and project management priorities for our grant that will fund our new West Marsh water conveyance structure is a far cry from hiking through newly fallen snow, it was a good day. It's been a good couple days, actually.

Sure, I would have loved to have been on the other end of the camera. I would have loved to have witnessed shrinking openings in the marsh ice continue to shrink while watching the icy expanse over Sandusky Bay continue to extend so far off-shore that it is now hard to see an end from our shorelines. I would have loved to have felt the cold on my face, have had to blink a few extra times to melt falling snowflakes from my eyelashes. I really would have loved rounding out the afternoon and early evening in a tree stand. To me, few things rival a late afternoon bow hunt on truly fresh snow -- especially as a "storm" is coming in (as the climaterrorists now like to call the 2-4" we were forecast to get today through this evening).

But other priorities called. And as has been the case for a couple straight days now, I felt like I was relatively efficient and effective in my work. Through periodic phone contacts with Roy, I "moved the ball down field" (to use a football analogy) on several important fronts. I continued to make progress. And just like fresh snow, that's something that pretty much always brings me joy and satisfaction.

Roy's camera is facing west/northwest from the northwest corner of our main West Marsh dike; his perspective not
only captures the dwindling open water of our "estuary" (the connection between our marsh and Sandusky Bay),
it also shows how much the ice cover has expanded in the main bay (background) over just a couple short days

Hard to believe this scene would have been teaming with dragonflies and bullfrogs just a few short months ago;
the muskrat hutch (left foreground) is a not-so-subtle reminder that there is still plenty of life busy living
even under winter snow and ice

Witnessing the Freeze -- "Making Ice Weather"

For a guy who loves duck hunting and ice fishing, this scene presents inner conflict -- this past week's fast freeze may
bring an abrupt end to our hunting on the marsh (as ducks push further south toward warmer climates),
but as a hardwater fisherman, I always love consistent "making ice weather"

Somehow, almost three weeks have passed since my last post. After nearly nine months of journaling online (staying disciplined and posting 2-3 times/week, on average), I slipped off the wagon. This last month has most certainly been a time of transition, not only in day length and weather, but also in my work habits and routine. Seasonal changes consistently bring a shift in my priorities, and the change from fall into winter unfortunately typically has meant less time on site.

Removing a floating blind meant
breaking an inch of ice late last week

Fittingly, this is my 100th post. Just like the weather these last few days, it represents a turning of the page from fall harvest to winter cold.

These pages have been viewed more than 10,000 times in roughly three-quarters of a year. I've tracked readers from several dozen countries, pushed myself to write on dozens and dozens of topics, and really enjoyed not only the process but the feedback we've received. It's turned out to be a two-way opportunity for education -- one of the five "pillars" of our core mission.

While winter priorities mean things like accounting, budgeting, planning, designing, and grant writing, I'm making a renewed promise to myself not only to get to the marsh at least once per week, but also to keep writing and posting updates. (Trust me, there is still PLENTY going on!) This discipline of writing is good for me, and hopefully it's good for any of you who benefit from even a "moment in the marsh."

Thanks for reading, and thanks for the ongoing encouragement. This has already been one heck of a ride!

Truth is, last Thursday/Friday's cold didn't technically cue our first freeze -- the actual first was untimely in that low 20s
happened to coincide with dead calm for one night . . . the night before the second opener for duck season (November 11th);
while that ice cover was short-lived (<48 hours), this one seems to be here to stay for a while . . .
while a few solitary holes persist, I'd call today our official freeze-up date, and with a forecast of highs below freezing
for much of the next ten days, I think I better get my ice fishing gear dusted off