Falls Afterglow

As I waited for the bus Monday morning, I gave serious consideration to calling in sick. The air was cool, the breeze pleasant, and the sky absolutely cloudless, a condition we don't see often in July in the Ohio Valley. However, duty called and I got on the bus when it arrived. To my amazement, the same weather conditions held when I got home after work, so we jumped in the car to spend the evening at the Falls of the Ohio.

A man sat on the shore with a spotting scope, so we asked what he had found so far. "Not much," he replied. We were heading to the Point to look for Ospreys, and he and his wife decided to come along. Lucky for us, this was an experienced birder and member of the Beckham Bird Club in Louisville, and he saw more little birds than I ever would have seen on my own. His good scope came in handy too for the Cedar Waxwings, and other smaller birds. We found a Pileated Woodpecker heading into the nest for the night. At least, we saw it go in and not come out for about 10 minutes.

A beaver swam downstream, and a groundhog spied on us from his creek-bank den under some roots. The Osprey was sitting in a branch waaayy downstream. I don't know how Tom ever found it, even with the scope. We hoped to see the Screech Owl along the edge of the woods as the light faded, but no luck there. Tom also told us about a wetlands on the other side of the levy which I had not heard of before. We climbed the 1,000 foot levy (well, it felt that tall to me) to see several acres of wetland, backed up by at least two small beaver dams. Come back in November and see all the ducks here, Tom invited.

The sun turned the sky red, orange, and purple as it dipped below the horizon, with the color combinations changing every few seconds. It seemed that the water itself caught fire. A dog and his best friend waded in the flaming shallow waters, and Canadian Geese paddled serenely. As we drove out of the park, I talked about coming back another time with my tripod to take photos of the Louisville skyline at night. Well, no time like the present, tripod or not, so we parked the car at Ashland Park, where all good photographers go for skylines at twilight. I never knew before that the upstream side of the McAlpine Dam has a large, lit sign that says DANGER. Sometimes boaters a little the worse for their day on the river, float down pasted the bridges, too close to the dam. I hope the sign is enough to get their attention.

Peregrine Falcons on the Ohio

We have had a pair of Peregrine Falcons nesting in the old Big Four Bridge on the Ohio for several years. The Big Four is a railroad bridge that goes nowhere, since the approaches on each side of the river were removed at least 20 years ago. Unlike other cities where the falcons nest in boxes on a skyscraper ledge, we do not have any sort of live cam to track the falcons. Sometimes you get lucky, though, and see them flying around downtown.

Occasionally, we get really lucky and see them flying over the Falls of the Ohio too. Saturday morning was the first time I've seen them this year. I had walked up near the dam, trying for some good shots of the herons and egrets in the shallow water. Suddenly, I heard a kakkak-ing noise and looked up under the railroad trestle. One falcon swooped overhead carrying something in its talons almost half as big as it was. Close behind was another bird, about the size of a crow, chasing it. In the rear was another falcon, trying to chase off the crow. Given the size and apparent weight of the prey, the lead falcon eventually had to drop the prey. It was just too much to carry and maneuver at the same time. The crow went away, and both falcons landed on the trestle to re-group. Finally, a chance for me to get some photos of them, since the ones I got during the flight were pretty blurry. One seems to have a more buff colored belly, while the other clearly has stripes on the belly. I don't know if this is gender related, but I suspect that one of them may have been a juvenile.

One of the other volunteers said he had seen two falcons the other day over the river. They were calling loudly back and forth, and one had something in its talons. At some point, the lead bird dropped its cargo and the second caught it mid-air. Falcons teach their young how to hunt by such practices, so I think this was the parent and fledgling playing catch with a small bird.

PS: I heard from Adam Smith with the Kentucky Department of Fish and Wildlife about our falcons. He confirmed that the buff breasted one was the adult, and they more striped breast belongs to a juvenile. He also said that the Big Four pair fledged four youngsters this year, but one of the is in rehab for a while, and should get well enough that he can be released. Good news!

Wrens Wrule

A friend who is a cross-word puzzle freak says that a recurring clue for a "songbird" is always answered as "wren." Being unfamiliar with birds, she didn't know why this was such an obvious answer. One of the basic birding rules says "The loudness of the birdsong is inversely proportional to the size of the bird," and I believe the rule describes all wrens. This small brown bird with the short upturned tail, wins the prize for Loudest Singer around. Although diminutive in size, wrens are not shy about defending themselves. This little Carolina Wren sat and scolded me for about 15 minutes while I took pictures of him. A pair nested under the eaves of our garage, flying in and out through an open space we left in the window. I saw the parent once, bringing a twig, and never saw him again, or the babies, except when someone closed all the windows and doors. The parent flew back and forth frantically until I opened the back window for him again. Last fall, we bought a large gourd with a hole drilled in it to use as a bird house, and in the spring we hung it on the back porch light where a robin nested last summer. I was afraid that the hole was too big and the house would be used by sparrows or some other larger bird. To my delight, a pair of House Wrens moved in. Cavity nesters have a lot of common sense. The babies have no risk of falling out of the nest while they are still small. The nest is always sheltered from the wind and rain. My only question is how will the babies stretch and exercise their wings before fledging? There is no room in the gourd for that! Mama Wren is a feisty little thing. Her mate sits in the tree singing his heart out to defend his territory and delight the Dennis family. Mama Wren, however, will come up with a bug in her bill, and chase him all over the yard. I can almost hear her saying, "Get off that branch, you good for nothing songbird, and go catch some bugs to feed the children!" Since then, I notice that both parents are very active in bringing bugs to the gourd. At first the babies were quiet, but now we hear them chirping whenever one of the parents arrive. I hope we are home when they start to fledge. Wouldn't want to miss that. In Washington on our recent vacation, we heard many Marsh Wrens and Winter Wrens. The Marsh Wren is famous for hiding in a tree or a reed, right next to you, singing at the top of his voice, and remaining invisible the entire time. It was a challenge to get the camera to focus on a small brown bird in the middle of all the brown reeds in the marsh. I'll have to look for a camera accessory that focuses on the sound of the bird. I could make lots of money with it among birders!

May the Forest Be With You

The Pacific Northwest is renowned for its temperate rain forests. Usually we associate rain forests with the tropics, and most rain forests are tropical in locale and nature. There are half-a dozen coastal strips meeting the requirements for temperate rain forests: wet, cool, acidic soils; copious networks of flowing water; relatively little disturbance by wildfire or insects; coniferous trees, primarily, with many ferns and mosses, in layered growth; large amounts of organic debris; LOTS of rain.

Olympic National Forest receives over 100 inches of rain each year, caught from the Pacific winds by the tall coastal mountains. You can't walk without stepping on many kinds of lifeforms growing on top of each other.

The forest is a green cathedral - a cliche, no doubt, but very true. As a nature lover, it is a wonderful experience to walk through the cool shady paths, looking at the fern and moss varieties beyond counting. If I didn't like birds so much, this would inspire me to become a "fernologist", or whatever you call someone who studies ferns and mosses. Some ferns grow stems like bushes, then branch out, while others stay close to the ground. You need a magnifying glass to really see the mosses distinctly. This primitive plant life was dominant on earth for millions of years, and still dominates the forests in my view.

As a photographer, however, the forest is frustrating because it is usually too dark to get good photos. It is hard to make the camera pick up the height and sheer mass of the trees. Either the trees are too tall, or too big around, or too crowded against other trees. Trees die from wind damage, most often, but they contribute more to the life of the forest after death than while they stood upright. A "nurse logs" supports the growth of ferns, mosses, and tree seedlings of all kinds. More importantly, when they fall, a space in the canopy is opened to let light in, allowing young plants to sprout and grow as they could not do successfully on the shaded forest floor. Some trees have roots growing in an arch above the ground. They started growing on a nurse log, and reached the ground as the nurse log rotted away.

The cascading forest streams are great photographic topics. Not only is there enough light, but you can make the water blur or stand out in stop action as it tumbles down the mountainside. Mosses and other plants growing on the tree trunks and branches hold water gathered from the air. Rufous hummingbirds feed directly from this stored water, since there aren't many blooming plants. What a thrill to find a salamander under a wet rock or a Banana Slug on the trail. After a wonder-filled, awe-inspiring day in the forest, we drove back to our lodgings outside the park. Unfortunately, most of this drive is through areas that have been heavily timbered. In Washington, this means clear cutting of the forest. In many areas, only piles of branches remain on the ground. The larger companies make an effort to replant as soon as possible, but the smaller tracts lay bare for years. Replanting helps some, but trees that are all the same age do not make a forest, even when they become 30 or 40 years old. The death and varying sizes and ages of the trees are essential to many life forms in the forest. As we drove past these areas, I still had to ask myself if I wanted to give up books and newspapers, paper towels and toilet paper and paper towels, and 2x4's for houses. Isn't there some other way to provide wood products without such devastation? I'm sure greater voices than mine have argued this for years, without much influence apparently.

Vacation Bird Count

While we saw and heard many birds while on vacation in the state of Washington, we didn't really see the kinds of birds we expected at the ocean. It seems that Florida or Carolina always have lots of birds on the beach, including different kinds of gulls and the small wading birds that go down to the ocean and back. In Washington, we learned that large numbers of shore birds appear in early to mid-May for their migration back to Alaska, then they all disappear. This is a valuable lesson: check first to see what birds are in season, so you don't miss them by only two weeks. Inexperience gauging the tides affected our birding success too, since the birds apparently prefer some water rather than just mudflats. We did not realize that high tide is different in the marsh up the bay than it is on the ocean itself. The real surprise was the number and variety of birds at the Sewage Treatment plant ponds!

We saw Herring and Ring Billed Gulls (I think. They never came as close as the Florida gulls for a sure identification). Once I saw some gulls with black heads that I decided were Black-headed Gulls. There were Northern Shovelers, Mallards and Scaup. There were a few Great Blue Herons in the bay, and once we saw a group of Dowitchers. They were back-lit and in silhouette, so we only ID'd them when we saw more at the Seattle Aquarium. Surprisingly, we saw many American Crows wherever we went, whether at the beach or inland. I thought they were Ravens at first, but a Fish and Wildlife officer said they were just crows. They still looked like the trickster, sneaking up and spying on you. Signs prohibited driving on the beach to protect the Snowy Plover.

Small birds were everywhere, especially the White Crowned Sparrow and the Song Sparrow, singing in the trees. I think they must have been having a battle of the songsters, to see who could sing the loudest and longest without stopping. We would see a White Crowned Sparrow in a tree as we started a hike, and he was still in the same tree when we came out over an hour later. The Winter Wren gave them a run for the money too.

Many birds were recognizable variations of Eastern birds. We heard one that sounded like a Nuthatch, and when we finally found it, it was in fact the Red Breasted Nuthatch. This bird can be found in the East, according to the book, although I've never seen one here. There were many Towhees, a Chestnut-backed Chickadee and a variety of Junco with rufous sides, identified by Sibley as an Oregon Junco. The Marsh Wren sang from the marshes waiting for the tide to come in, while the Winter Wren rivaled our backyard Carolina Wren in the volume of its song. Swallows twittered and darted about no matter where we went, ocean, forest or town. They seemed to love the seaside cliffs especially. Although I did not identify a Cliff Swallow, we photographed the Barn Swallow and Tree Swallow when they stopped flying for a minute's rest.

Happily, we saw some of the more Western birds as well, including both Gray and Stellar Jays, and Clark's Nutcracker, which looks more like a Mockingbird in size and coloring. Like Jays everywhere, they have a reputation as a camp thief and signs warn people not to feed them, or the gulls. One clever sign warned the animals not to accept handouts from people who give them food unfit for animals to eat! The Rufous Hummingbird darted at us from behind a huge tree in the rain forest. I'd never really seen Hummingbirds except around feeders. The biggest thrill in our birding was at the beach. We noticed a shadow of something overhead, looked up and saw a juvenile Bald Eagle swoop down to the water, not 10 yards away, grab a large fish in it talons, and fly back up to the cliffs to have lunch. When is someone going to invent the camera that fits in your eye glasses and activates instantly!

No Such Thing as Being Safe

"It's a dangerous business going out of your door." --Bilbo Baggins How was your vacation? Pretty good, I reply. We didn't have to use the the tsunami evacuation signs. We didn't feel any earthquakes and the volcanoes did not erupt creating landslides, mudflows and pyroclastic clouds. I must admit to looking over my shoulder at the volcano the entire time we were there, wondering if today would be the day it erupted again. It rained a bit two days, but you expect that in the Pacific Northwest. That's why they have rain forests. In spite of being afraid of heights, I managed not to panic over descending the mountains we drove up, and we only got a little turned around once while driving, not really lost.

We tend to think of life as being safe and ordered most of the time, and instead, we are just really, really lucky. Our visit to Mt. St. Helens National Volcanic Monument emphasized how quickly life can turn completely upside down. 27 years after the eruption, this volcano seems a peaceful place, but the evidence of absolute destruction is everywhere. The horseshoe shape of the crater can be seen from satellite pictures, along with the snow covered peaks of neighboring volcanoes Mt. Rainier and Mt. Adams. This picture is taken from the Johnston Ridge Observatory, five miles away, and the devastation is still everywhere. If you click to view an enlarged version, you can still see a plume of steam rising from the lava dome.

The ranger talks to visitors made it very clear. If you are in the path of an eruption, you will suffocate or bake to death, even if you go to a shelter. There's nothing you can do about it. Debris traveled down the Toutle River, carrying a wall of mud, trees and rocks at speeds of 110-115 miles per hour, endangering the I-5 bridge many miles downstream and filling the valley up to 150 feet. The lateral blast, traveling at up to 670 miles per hour, quickly over took the initial landslide, affecting land up to 19 miles away. The sound of the explosion, however, was not heard locally, but only by those at a distance, strangely enough. Those 57 persons who died mostly suffocated in the hot ash. Two weeks after the eruption, scientists measured the pyroclastic deposits at temperatures of over 600 degrees, so they were much higher when actively flowing. Click to see the amazing pictures of the initial minutes of the eruption.

As volcanic eruptions go, Mt. St. Helens was moderate in size, but compared to other volcanoes in the Cascades range, it is much more active. The damage was from land and mudslides, rock and ash. Any lava that actually flowed was the consistency of toothpaste, we were told, unlike the Hawaiian volcanoes. This eruption was unique in that it has been closely studied by modern scientists. Past eruptions of this and other volcanoes were in non-populated areas, or in a time when people just ran for their lives instead of watching to see what happened. In addition to the eruption itself, scientists have explored the recovery of the area in different ways. Timber companies, such as Weyerhauser, experimented with replacing trees which had been destroyed, which I appreciate since the hills are green again, even if the trees aren't all that tall. In the protected areas, scientists are letting nature take its course to see what happens, and have been amazed at the speed of the recovery. Spirit Lake was completely sterilized and filled with dead trees, mud and ash. Yet in no more than 3 years, bacteria were bringing the lake back to be supportive of life, and within 5 years they were almost back at pre-eruption levels for the water chemistry. Plants and animals moved back in faster than anyone anticipated.

27 years seems like a long time, but geologically, it is only the merest fraction of a blink of an eye. Mother Nature will take all the time she needs to restore this area. The question is, when will this volcano, or any other in the Cascades range erupt again? When Mt. Rainier blew the last time, its flow went all the way into Puget Sound. It is so surprising to a Kentuckian like me, to be able to see three snow covered volcanoes while standing in one spot. The area is active. There ain't no place safe.

Pacific Ocean Breezes

We recently returned from a vacation to the Pacific Northwest, specifically, Olympic National Park, both Rainier and Mt. St. Helens volcanoes and Seattle. I took lots of photos, and it's hard to decide where to start. The ocean always puts me in a philosophic mood, so let's give it a go.

First, I know the Pacific Ocean is bigger than the Atlantic, and you wouldn't think that should make a difference in the kind of beach, but the beaches we saw are so much wilder feeling than those on the East Coast. For miles up and down the coast near Gray's Harbor, the beaches are huge. The sand extends for at least a quarter mile from the water's edge to the dunes where plants start growing, and they are hard packed enough that people treat them as roads. We expected to see lots of shore birds, but there were more crows than gulls or other birds walking around. We missed the northward migration of the shorebirds by about two weeks, and saw very few anywhere. The driftwood is enormous as well, usually big conifers that fell in the mountains somewhere, washed down a river and into the ocean, before washing up again on the beach. Even on a day with nice weather, the waves looked rough and dangerous. I'd be really intimidated by them on a stormy day in January.

The wind blows hard all the time onto the shore. Between the waves and the constant wind, erosion makes some dramatic scenes. Sea stacks are big rocks left in the ocean, when the rest of the shore has worn away. Birds use them for safe roosting, away from predators and humans. Eventually, they will wear away too. One stack is now three miles out into the water, but used to be part of the shoreline. I felt a real sense of time on this ocean, watching the cliffs and thinking how long it took for them to be worn back by tiny bits of sand in the never ending winds, helped by the ebb and flow of the tides.

Photos which appear to be out of focus are simply blurred by the sand in the air. The sand looked like flakes of gold as it filled in the sinuous patterns just out of reach of the waves. Sometimes the pattern was snake-like and sometimes it resembled a diamond-shape. I found myself pulling a hood up around my head to block the wind, while other beach goers wore shorts and tee-shirts. The Snowy Plover nests on the bare sand, and there are signs restricting access to those areas where this rare bird has been found.

Finally, once you get past all the sand, you find rocks which shelter small animals in tidal pools. but you must be careful climbing around on them. The surfaces are covered with small barnacles, while larger barnacles, mussels, anemones, sea stars and other invertebrates abound, whether the tide is in or out. We later learned there are no green anemones. The ones that look green harbor an algae that makes them look green, but they are all really white anemones. While we scanned for a path among the boulders, a shadow flashed by, and a juvenile eagle swooped down to capture a large fish, not 10 yards away from us, then returned to the cliffs to devour his lunch.

I love vacations. You get to see so many things you don't find at home.

Lost River, Lost Lifestyle

The Karst landscape of southern Indiana's cave country is overwhelming in Orange County, near Orleans. The fields are dotted with sink holes of many different sizes. One study found 1,022 sink holes in an area one mile square, and this is deemed to be typical. Although the focus of our trip was the Karst, I enjoyed the birds too. In the country, the Red-winged Blackbirds were abundant. I was excited to see so many Meadowlarks perched on the telephone lines. Purple Martins lived in apartments at every farm house. On the river, large black water birds, which I thought some sort of domestic goose, ended up being Mandarin ducks, 32 inches long with red feathers on their faces. I only saw one Kestral, although this looked like ideal hawk territory.

The Lost River starts above ground, winding its way through the fields, providing water and homes for fish and wildlife. After a while though, the river disappears altogether, sinking into swallow holes, leading it to underground caverns and streams. When it rains hard, the underground system fills up and the stream overflows into the normally dry river bed for a while. It may even boil up into a spring as it escapes the pressure of confined passages. Millions of years of flowing water are in action here, molding the topography.

The Gulf, as the locals call it, is where two caverns have collapsed, leaving a big footprint in the ground. At one end, it is about 10 feet tall, while at the other end it is closer to 90 feet tall. When it rains, up to 10 feet of water can collect in the bottom of this natural pit. Drains at the other end allow it to all seep away in a short time into the underground system. Minute fossils of the Mississippian era have been worked loose from the dissolved limestone and gather like sand along the drain areas. Around the Gulf we saw and heard a Northern Parula, Eastern Towhee and Prairie Warbler.

The river is only one vanishing feature though. Many of the well kept farms are owned and operated by Amish farmers. During our tour of the river with the Naturalist @ Heart group from the Falls, we paid a stop at one such farm, where the women were selling fresh strawberries on the front porch and just happened to be removing fresh-baked bread from the oven. We saw entire families working in the garden, and laundry hanging on the line. It reminded me of my grandmother's house and garden, and the long hot hours we grandchildren spent picking strawberries. Our guide said that when the Amish bought a farm, they took the satellite dish off the roof and the phone out of the wall. I saw no power lines going to the house. We discussed the dangers of pesticides and pollutants entering the water supply and how those risks affected farm wells almost immediately. A large portion of at risk babies at the regional hospital are from Amish families because of the untreated water.

Sometimes I fear the consequences of losing touch with the land. If some catastrophe struck, our urban/suburban society would fall apart in short order and violence would be the rule rather than the exception. We would be unable to feed ourselves, through lack of land but mostly through lack of knowledge. We depend so much on technology, and I don't think the technology will be reliable in an emergency. Too many of us no longer know how to be self-reliant. Even the small towns are dying all over mid-America, and have been for years. If I had to live on a farm, with little communication with the world, working from dawn to dusk just to keep my family going, I could. Do I want to? Not really. But I'm glad someone still can. They may be our hope at some time in the future.

The Woods are Alive with the Sound of Birdsong

The overcast morning skies were not encouraging for either birdwatching or the upcoming Kentucky Derby on Saturday. As the day progressed, the skies lightened and the sun broke through. The birds sang louder than I've ever heard them at the Falls. Although I saw Great Blue Herons, Black Crowned Night Herons, Ring Billed Gulls, and a few Caspian Terns across the water, the real find of the day was over 100 Double-crested Cormorants standing on rocks or on the wall of the dam! I counted them and was amazed at the total.

I've always had trouble identifying warblers, so small and well camouflaged in the leaves. They dart away just after I've focused the binoculars, and I have a hard time noting any field marks. As you might guess, they are not among my favorite birds. I've always thought that I'll be a real expert when I can recognize warblers the way I recognize Herons! Derby Day brought plenty of warblers to the Falls. Even better, Brainard Palmer-Ball, our expert, dropped by while I was out on the Bird Deck and right away he identified two warblers I'd spotted. A little black and white bird with yellow near the shoulders and on the rump was a Myrtle Warbler. It hopped around in the cottonwood tree long enough to get the scope on it for a close view. Another bird in the nearby tree was a Palm Warbler. Watch for the rufous cap on his head, Brainard said, and sure enough I saw that slight distinction. Later on, I saw a bird that resembled a Towhee, but was much smaller, and Brainard mentioned that he had seen a Bay Breasted Warbler on down in the woods.

I was unable to get photos of any of the warblers, but was thrilled to hear and photograph many other birds. The Oriole taunted me from the branches all morning, but finally made a break across the parking lot and landed where I could truthfully say I'd seen him. The Indigo Bunting came down to investigate some bugs on the ground, his blue feathers bright against the mud colored stones. A Wood Thrush flew just in front of me before landing in a nearby tree and singing E-o-lay. I got some good pictures of a bird I thought might be an Oven Bird, and sent them to Brainard for verification. He says it is a Swainson's Thrush. There were lots of them in the woods, and I have seen them on other occasions too.

The dead trees along the river bank always have good nesting cavities, but most of them seemed inhabited by Starlings. One old tree had at least three holes with nests right above each other like a high-rise apartment building. A Northern Flicker flew back and forth to that third nest with food for the babies inside. Heard but not seen were a Red-eyed Vireo, White Throated Sparrow, Downy Woodpecker and PeeWee. Just as I prepared to pack up for the day, a black and white Eastern Kingbird bird did some loop-de-loops and landed in the top of a tree. I don't know what horses ran in the Derby this year, but I had a winning day birding at the Falls!

Balloon Glow

Derby Festival is the two weeks before the Kentucky Derby, and in Louisville, everything is a race. Runners run the Mini-Marathon. All's fair in love and steamboat racing in the Great Steamboat Race. Waiters and waitresses compete over an obstacle course to spill the least amount of wine in the Run for the Rose, while students lure their whiskered steeds with Cheerios to win the Run for the Rodents. The Great Balloon Race is a hare and hound competition hosting 51 hot air balloons this year, whose pilots try to judge the speed and wind direction aloft to follow the hare balloon and drop a bag of Bluegrass grass seed in a designated spot.

Since I am not fond of fighting through large crowds, I've never been a great participant in the Derby Festival, but this year I made an exception and had a terrific time at the Balloon Glow. On the evening before the Great Balloon Race, all the competitors bring their balloons to the Fairgrounds (the starting point for the race the next morning) where they fire up their burners and fill the balloons with enough hot air to inflate, while not actually taking off the ground. When the sun sets, these balloons rise up like brightly colored mushrooms in the night. The Oldies radio station provided music that I actually knew, and many of the pilots would light up in time with the music. My son came along, and I think he was amazed at how excited I got. We talked to a man trying to hold his balloon on the field with a rope. He said he was "walking the balloon," and it pulled him around just like an exuberant dog. Extra police are posted on the Interstate to keep traffic moving along.

I'm taking a photography class now, and decided to make the Balloon Glow the site for my class homework of taking pictures of people. There were many others with their good cameras, and even more people trying to record the moment with their cell phone cameras. I think mine came out better, of course. This may have been the first year to help for this youngster, as he struggled to keep the mouth open while hot air blew into it. By 10:00, the Energizer batteries had run down, and this small balloon fan was ready to take a rest.

Surprise Switch of Seasons

March went out like a lamb, and the temperatures rose to shorts and t-shirt levels by April 1. Mother Nature took out her palette of pale spring greens and started to color the trees with miniature leaves and dangling catkins. The flowering ornamentals rapidly swelled and prepared to bloom now that Spring was here. Then on Wednesday, a storm front swept through and the temperatures plummeted back below freezing overnight. Today is Easter Sunday, and although ladies wore their pastel Spring outfits, a winter coat and gloves hung in the church vestibule for each of them.

Dick and I decided to take a trip to Bernheim for some birding before the leaves became too thick to see well. We dressed in long johns, gloves and hats, as we did last January for the Eagles trip, so it wasn't uncomfortable. Spring, however, had definitely retreated. Some trees starting to leaf out now bore only limp frozen little leaflets from their branches. The green seemed to have crawled back inside the branches to stay warm. The Canopy Walk, a 75 foot pier into the sea of tree tops, was deserted by both man and bird. By the way, it did sway when we walked on it, I noticed.

A walk down the Rock Run trail was much more encouraging though. The trail goes down one side of the creek and back up the other. The upper part of the creek was dry, but then the bed filled with water from a spring bursting forth beneath the rocks and singing gaily as it moved downstream. Other smaller springs crept down the hills from the rock layers as well, dry above, and running water below. In fact, many of these small springs were frozen into icicles hanging down the sides of the overhanging cliffs. (click on the picture to watch the drops falling). We don't think much about how water erodes the rocks and shapes the landscape. In this steep creek valley, the evidence is overwhelming, from the overhanging limestone shelves, to the smoothly rounded shale pebbles.

We saw some early wildflowers blooming, such as phlox, rue anemone and tiny, tiny bluets. The hillsides were covered with Trout Lily leaves and on one side we thought they had not yet bloomed, while the other side gave evidence of faded flowers, so we never were sure. We agreed that you would have to come to the same place every other day to be assured of seeing all the wildflowers of the season. Fortunately, Bernheim places helpful markers with pictures of the common flowers along the trail. We were amazed at the varieties of moss growing from the rocks, and the small flowers growing among the mosses. The old fern fronds looked pretty frozen, but the new ones poked their fiddleheads through the leaves. By summer, the ferns and moss will be dominant, as the wildflowers die back when the trees shade the valley too much for them to compete.

After a quick lunch in the car, where it was warm, we moved down to Nevin Lake and enjoyed the Tree Swallows, Barn Swallows, and Purple Martins swooping down to the lake's surface to grab an insect without getting wet themselves. A Song Sparrow fluffed his feathers to stay warm, but kindly posed to have his picture taken, while a Carolina Wren serenaded us. I suppose throwing your head back must make the song louder somehow! The Visitors Center held a surprise too. Dick's picture is featured in an invitation for everyone to volunteer at Bernheim! Of course, he's the best advertising that can be had....

High Water Low Water

The Ohio River is frozen 3 months of the year, flooded 3 months of the year, and dry the rest of the year. ........Ohio Riverboat Captain

Chuck Parrish worked for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers as a historian for his entire career, and he loves talking about navigation on the Ohio River. The river was the Gateway to the West after the Revolution, and the Falls consisted of a series of rapids which dropped the river level by 26 feet in a little over two miles. If you were traveling in a dugout canoe or a flatboat, you could navigate around the sand bars, tree snags and other impediments along the way. However, when the first steamboats appeared in 1811, river commerce became much more important. Before the first canal was built around the Falls of the Ohio, a traveler's only choices were to risk "shooting the rapids" with skillful (and lucky) Falls pilots or to unload the boat and transport everything over land to the other side. Today, the Ohio River is really a series of lakes between dams built by the Corps of Engineers over the last 100+ years. Most of the original Falls are under water permanently by virtue of the McAlpine Dam. We can still get a flavor of what it must have been like in the early days of river travel when the river is in flood or drought. From the deck of the Interpretive Center, the wall on the other side is about 30 feet tall and we conduct hikes during the dry summer months to the fossil beds under that far wall. In the winter and spring, the gates are open on the dam and all the water comes pouring through and over the dam. You might think that the high water doesn't look so bad. At least you wouldn't have to unload the boat to get through. But take a look at the flotsam coming downstream! Summer visitors ask how high the river gets. Sometimes we point to the mark on the sidewalk for the 1997 flood, the biggest flood in recent years. Sometimes we talk about the 1937 flood and point to the third floor windows in downtown New Albany. Usually, I just say to take a look at the large trees along the river bank. Those trees were stripped of bark and branches, traveled over the top of the dam, and were deposited along the shore, quite far from the banks they are standing on. A tree with a circumference of at least 12 feet arrived last spring and was carried away again by the next October. The river giveth and the river taketh away. Be respectful of the powerful river.