Up and Down, and All Around

Shivering in the 40 degree temperature on our final morning at Carter Caves State Park, we joined Evelyn Morgan on a bird hike. Only a few of the roads along the ridge tops are even close to flat, so we hiked down to the stream, then up again to another ridge.  It's strenuous, but beautiful.  All the streams emerge from caves, or another small opening in the sandstone cliffs, then run down the hillside eroding smooth paths from layer to layer in the rocks, growing larger as they are joined by smaller streamlets on the way down. The high muddy levels from yesterday had all gone down, so we enjoyed clear water again. 

After you follow the stream bed for a while, enjoying the splashing sound as it leaps from one rock to another, suddenly the splashing grows louder, as the water swirls around and dives underground! Sometime it seems to sink right down, but in one spot, the water circled around like bathwater in a tub before disappearing! We climbed a steep ridge, then down the other side, and guess what -- the same stream emerged again. The water has an easier time, I suppose, since it only has to go down, and never climb up again!

When you get out of breath from climbing those hills, you can always stop for a little bird watching, and no one will notice the huffing and puffing as everyone scans the trees for that elusive warbler singing just above you!  Today, we focused on the woodpeckers.  Loud drumming on a nearby tree sounded like Pileated, but when we saw one fly across the trail, calling "wacka-wacka," our guess was confirmed.  We saw the pair of Pileated inspect the nest hole in a tree, then climb right in.

The Red Headed Woodpeckers chased each other all through the woods, calling loudly.  I've always wondered why most of the woodpeckers are colored black, red and white in some combination. Think about it...

 

As we entered the steep valley on the Horn Hollow Trail, it reminded me of our trip to the Pacific Northwest. It seemed to be a mature forest, with lots of dead trees laying on the ground, slowly decaying.  Moss and ferns covered the trees, and other plants got a start in the moss, just like the nursery trees in Olympic National Park.

The moss was ready to produce spores, just as the flowering plants are reproducing, but moss grows its own little forest on top of a log!

Then the trail turned up the hill for the longest, steepest climb of the day.  Moisture stayed in the valley, and sandstone sparkled in the sun, but very few flowers bloomed in the dry upland conditions.  Signs at every sinkhole advised visitors that special permits were required to enter these caves.  In fact, many caves in Kentucky will be closing soon because the White-nose Bat disease is now officially found in Kentucky, along with all the other states nearby.  This fungus infects hibernating bats, and some caves have had almost 100 percent fatalities, so everyone is very concerned. On the uplands, the sandstone is worn to this lattice like appearance, but I couldn't guess if it was done solely by wind, or if water used to flow here.  Can you picture little bats peering through these windows in bat condos?

A Little Rain...

We've all heard the phrase..."Into each life, a little rain must fall."  Well, I must say that we've certainly had our share of rain or more lately.  Last Monday, it rained all day and all night.  An stream runs under our house, and when it rains without stopping, the creek rises and floods our basement. Tuesday we found 4 inches of water in the basement.  Sigh...  So the carpet is gone, and the blowers were still blowing when we headed off for the spring meeting of the Kentucky Society of Natural History on Friday morning.  And...you guessed it, more severe weather in the South, including another inch + of rain. But what's an inch of rain to dedicated Naturalists in a wonderful place like Carter Caves State Park in Kentucky!

John Tierney, park naturalist for many years, leads us to Box Canyon. Water drops from the branches, and hangs from the leaf tips as rainclouds finally blow away and the sun breaks through.  After a short but steep climb, we turn the corner to find Box Canyon with a waterfall leaping over the edge, something which would not have happened without all the rain of the last 24 hours.  There, we found some good from all the rain after all!  Water dripped, dropped, and slid over every rock face, so I was glad to have my rain coat to keep the camera dry.

As we drove up the hill into the park, I had to stop the car and jump out to see all the wonderful white Trillium growing under the cliff faces!  Since we only have Sessile Trillium at home, I was excited to see these.  Although the petals are white, look at the maroon center - characteristic of Erect Trillium, John says - but Tavia's book says they are Sweet White Trillium.  Hmmm, I'll have to double check with her.

As an added treat for having survived all the rain, we also see hillsides full of the Large-Flowered Trillium, Trillium grandiflorum, where the white flowers turn pink as they age and are about to fall off. I asked John why we never see these white trillium at home.  Could elevation have something to do with it?  Olive Hill is about 1060 feet in elevation, and I bet many spots in the park are much higher.  He says they have to have a particular pH level in the soil, and here it is just right.

Oddly enough, we saw some very early bloomers still in bloom, while other flowers which I would expect to see in another month (such as Dwarf Iris, Wood Betony and Hoary Puccoon) were starting to bloom too.

Limestone is the favorite habitat for many flowers, including this small Stonecrop, which seems to grow in solid stone.  Moss and lichen are the first to grow on the limestone cliff faces, or on boulders fallen to the ground.  Then Stonecrop, Bishop's Cap, Ginger and ferns root in the moss.

Quick, there's a Newt dashing between the wet leaves. For a little guy, he runs really fast. The 3 inch long slug we find on a damp log waves his eye stalks, but is in no hurry to go anywhere.

Bird song echoes off the rocks- an Ovenbird down in the creek bed, Cardinals in the trees, a Towhee in the brush.  This Chipping Sparrow perched on a fence at the lodge, singing back and forth to another Chippie at the other end of the building.  Isn't he a beautiful little guy!  Tomorrow, we will brave cold temperatures for a bird hike.  With this group, there is always on expert on hand for anything you find!  I just hope the smell from the basement isn't  too bad when we get home.

Whose Fault Is It?

We joined the Kentucky Society for Natural History on their fall conference at Reelfoot Lake this weekend. As we packed the car on Thursday morning, a quick glance at the weather map showed bright areas of green, yellow and red between Louisville and Colorado. It's going to be a rough weekend, we agreed. Indeed, as we explored the New Madrid fault region, we drove through miles and miles of rain. In addition to being wet, we spent the weekend without technology! Our T-Mobile phones had no signal at all, and the resort where we stayed, although very nice otherwise, had no Internet connections. This was truly a test of our dedication to nature studies! If you aren't familiar with history of the area, New Madrid, MO, was the epicenter of the worst earthquakes in the United States, in 1811 and 1812. The fault was created by a rift that failed about 500 million years ago, and the rift valley filled with sediment. The actual fault is about 25 miles underground, so you don't see evidence of faulting as you would in California, for instance.

Fortunately, the center of the country was relatively unpopulated at that time, when earthquakes exceeding 7 and 8 on the current Richter scale struck over a 3 month period. The fault crosses under the Mississippi River in several places, and uplifting caused the river itself to flow upstream for a while. Liquefied sand erupted in large geysers. The quakes were felt as far away as Canada. I-55 has a rest stop at the site of the epicenter, although they don't publicize it.

Will there be another quake here? Sure, but no one knows when. The damage will be catastrophic when it hits this time, given the size and nearness of cities like St. Louis, Memphis, Nashville and, yes, Louisville. A relatively small quake in April 2008 was centered in Illinois, felt in Louisville, and arose from the New Madrid fault system. Seismometers in the area show unfelt earthquakes occurring regularly. NOVA has a good online video about the New Madrid fault system.

The river itself is not exactly what I expected. The Army Corps of Engineers has turned the Ohio River into a series of lakes using dams and locks. Their goal is to maintain a navigation channel nine feet deep at all times. We call it the Ohio Lake here in Louisville.

The Mississippi River also has dams for navigation, but in between the dams the river twists and turns as it did in the days of Mark Twain. We watched a fully loaded coal barge turn almost sideways to make a turn around a large sand bar. A towboat pushing a full load of fifteen barges is like trying to steer three football fields, 365 days a year, in all kinds of weather. The map above shows some of the channels from the last 250 years. Oxbow lakes, such as Reelfoot, are left as the channel changes directions. The land is perfectly flat and fertile, so farmers plant great fields of corn, soybeans and cotton. Migrating Tree Swallows swoop after insects we can't even see, then perch on the power lines. I saw more Kestrels this weekend than ever before.

We drove downstream to the nearest bridge, then up the Missouri bootheel through the fault zone. Not wanting to drive that far again to get back to Reelfoot, we got to ride the Hickman Ferry across the river, back to the Kentucky side. The small boat you see on the side of this photo is on a hinge. When we pulled away from shore, this part swung out and around, so it could push across the river in a forward direction, just as it did on the way to pick us all up.

My next postings will all be about our weekend at Reelfoot, and the cypress swamps and wildlife we enjoyed.