Over the last three days, I’ve given three presentations and led a workshop. I think I’m running out of words. There’s no question I’ve run out of the desire to be around people. I say this in defense of what is going to be a late and very short post at the end of this long week.
I scanned quickly through my February photos tonight and found two that are very different in scale. One from early February is a close up of a grazed plant in the snow. The other is a shot of Sandhill cranes that have been pouring into the Platte River this week as part of their annual migration. I hope you enjoy this very brief (and admittedly lazy) overview of February on the Platte River of Nebraska. I’m going to bed.
Some aquatic insects can survive being encased in ice – water boatmen, for example, or dragonfly larvae. But what happens if they are frozen near the surface of a pond and the ice around them melts (or sublimates), leaving them exposed to the air when they thaw out? This is what I was wondering last weekend, as I poked around the icy wetland at our family prairie.
As I wandered around our wetland, I found several dragonfly larvae and a couple other aquatic insects frozen at or near the surface of the ice. I’m still trying to puzzle out how they got there. My best guess is that they must have been swimming near the surface as the water around them neared its freezing point. Maybe they got cold enough they couldn’t swim back down before the water around them froze? Regardless, there they were, right at the surface. In some cases, they were partially exposed to the air as the ice was melting and/or sublimating from around them.
Dragonfly larvae breathe through gills, which I assume means they can’t survive for long out of water. They can apparently survive being frozen, at least for a while, but I assume they only survive if they thaw out underwater where they can breathe. If they thaw out on top of a frozen pond, that seems like a really bad outcome… If so, the larvae I was seeing were either already dead or doomed to be so.
I’m still not sure why the larvae would have been swimming near the water’s surface as it froze, or if that’s what actually happened. It’s not an isolated incident – I find insects near the frozen surface of wetlands and ponds pretty frequently. Anyone have a great explanation for what’s happening?
Earlier this week, Alex (one of our new Hubbard Fellows) and I spent some time exploring a frozen wetland in our Platte River Prairies. Thin clouds diffused the sun’s rays and created wonderful light for photography. The wetland was mostly iced over, but there were a few areas of open water (we flushed a few dozen geese and ducks as we arrived), and we had to step carefully and listen for cracking sounds as we walked…
In some places, leaves and stems warmed by the sun had melted the ice around them, creating fascinating patterns and textures in the ice. Cattail seeds blew softly in the breeze, and a few perched gracefully where they had landed on the ice. Intriguing branching patterns of crystallization were also scattered about on the surface of the frozen wetland. About an hour after we arrived, the bright light dimmed as the clouds above us thickened. We took our cue and moved on to other places and tasks.
It’s a good ol’ fashioned blizzard here today. As I’m sitting snugly in my warm house, I’m feeling a little badly for some of wildlife out there in the snow and wind. The boys went outside to play in the snow for a little while, and both of them spent most of their time building shelters from the weather. Many wildlife species, of course, migrate to warmer places or find/build themselves underground burrows to overwinter in, but there are some animals out there in the prairie right now, and this has to be a bad day for them.
Sitting here on my comfortable couch, I’ve been thinking about the prairies I manage or help with, trying to remember what kind of cover is out there. Overall, I feel pretty good about the situation. Our shifting habitat mosaic approach involves providing a wide range of vegetation structure types in each of our prairies, including everything from short sparse vegetation to the kind of thick dense cover wildlife are probably seeking out today. Nelson (our Platte River Prairies land manager) and I have periodic conversations in which we try to envision ourselves as creatures that prefer various habitat types. How far would we have to travel to find cover? If we burn one patch of dense cover, where is the next closest patch of similar cover, and what would animals have to travel through to get to it? We have a lot of factors to consider and balance as we discuss management plans each year, so it’s always helpful to see the world through the eyes of the various species that will have to live with (literally) the decisions we make.
To be completely honest, I probably don’t think enough about winter cover as I’m trying to consider the perspective of various creatures. I’m more often thinking about nesting habitat for birds, breeding cover for small mammals, or sunning areas for invertebrates and reptiles that need to thermoregulate during the growing season. Days like today are a great reminder that while all those considerations are important, at least some species will probably live or die based on what kind of shelter they can find during winter storms like the one roaring outside right now.
I’m thinking today about meadowlarks, for example. As I’ve walked our prairies during the last month or two, I’ve seen a lot of meadowlarks flying around in small groups. My understanding is that meadowlarks that breed around here head south to Kansas or Oklahoma, and the ones we see during the winter come from up in the Dakotas. In other words, meadowlarks don’t migrate en masse to one general destination. Instead, each bird just goes a little southward from where they spent the summer. I wonder if they each wait until they start seeing birds from the north show up and then head south to get away from the crowd…
Regardless, birds like western meadowlarks need some kind of shelter out in the prairie on days like this. We know a lot less about the winter habitats used by grassland birds than we do about summer habitat use, and as far as I know, no intrepid biologist has yet gone out to see where meadowlarks or other birds are hanging out during blizzards. (If you’re an intrepid biologist who HAS done this, please let me know!) I think it’s fair to assume that most birds (and any other wildlife who aren’t underground) try to get out of the wind during this kind of storm. It’d be interesting to know whether they stay in open grassland and look for tall dense vegetation or venture into brushy or wooded areas where they might not normally go.
Not knowing much about individual wildlife species and how they each choose to shelter from winter storms, I guess the best strategy is to provide as many habitat types as possible so they can all find what they need. That way, meadowlarks can forage in short or “weedy” areas during pleasant sunny days, but move to a nearby patch of dense grass (or whatever other cover they like) when they need to nestle in thatchy vegetation and get out of the wind.
Here in our comfy house, we’ve been talking about trying to fix the drafty corner of our kitchen, where one of our walls needs a little better insulation. Our poor little feet get cold when we’re making toast on windy winter mornings! It’d be really nice to get that fixed. On the other hand, it’s just the kind of hardship that helps me understand what meadowlarks are going through on days like this. I bet their feet were cold at breakfast time too…
Kim and I spent a few days at the Niobrara Valley Preserve this week, something that has become an annual holiday tradition for us. As always, it was beautiful, peaceful, and we were alone in a big wild place – the three components of a perfect getaway. We saw plenty of wildlife, including multitudes of eagles and deer, as well as flocks of meadowlarks, robins, tree sparrows, and grouse. In addition, tracks of many other animals were abundant in the recently-fallen snow. I kept hopeful eyes out for mountain lion tracks, but didn’t see any – though I did have a strong sense of being watched one night, while out photographing night scenes under a half moon. It wasn’t just the cold temperatures that made me shiver a little.
I spent one particularly nice hour or so exploring the partially frozen river one morning, and was able to get some photos before heavy overcast skies took over. The temperature was hovering around zero, but it was nevertheless a pleasant calm morning. I enjoyed the solitude and sunrise and then walked back up to a hot breakfast before Kim and I headed out for a longer hike. Here are a few photos from my sunrise walk.
I wish you all a wonderful and happy new year; something I’m very much looking forward to myself.
We finally got our first measurable snowfall (4-5 inches?) of the year here in east central Nebraska. I took my camera for a walk at our family prairie yesterday evening, enjoying the way a little snow really transforms a landscape. I found and followed tracks of coyotes, mice, birds, and deer, and flushed flocks of meadowlarks and tree sparrows. As the sun started to drop quickly toward the horizon, I wandered through one of the areas we grazed particularly hard last summer, enjoying the broad expanse of whiteness, punctuated by scattered plants poking up through the snow.
I spent the next half hour mainly lying prone on the snow, tripod legs splayed flat to the ground, photographing heath aster and sideoats grama plants, and having a great time. As you look through these photos, you’ll be able to see how the quality and color of the light changed as the sun approached the horizon. Shadows became much less stark and more blue in color, and the plants and snow both reflected increasingly golden-orange light from the setting sun.
The opportunity to watch sunrises and sunsets is a big perk of living on the Plains, where we get an unobstructed view of the sun from horizon to horizon, without pesky trees or mountains in the way. On many nights, the combination of a low sun angle, expansive sky, and scattered clouds can provide spectacular views. Other times, however, the best way to appreciate a setting sun is to turn and look in the opposite direction at the changing colors of light and shadows.
I haven’t done much photography lately, and that always makes me cranky. I spent a couple days at the Niobrara Valley Preserve this week, but between the short day length right now, a busy meeting schedule, and cloudy/windy conditions, I didn’t even get my camera out of the bag. This morning, I just couldn’t stand it anymore, so my camera and I took a short walk in one of the small prairies here in town. I needed to be on a conference call, but I managed to multi-task fairly effectively – participating in the call with my cell phone and earbuds while photographing dead flowers. My colleagues are pretty understanding…
By the time my conference call ended and I headed back to the office, my hands were cold, my knees were wet, and I felt better about the world. Even in the winter, prairies can provide inspiration and solace to those who go looking for it, including photographers with cabin (office?) fever.
I was back at the Niobrara Valley Preserve last week to help with a little bison work and a board meeting. My wife was able to come with me, and we stayed an extra night so we could do some hiking Saturday morning before heading home.
Kim and I decided to hike up the bluffs north of the river where the 2012 wildfire transformed an overgrown savanna of pines and cedars into a burgeoning grassland/shrubland dotted with burned tree skeletons. Autumn is well established along the Niobrara River, and there have already been several hard freezes and some light snows. Despite that, we found plenty of color and texture to enjoy while we wandered, as well as a couple very pleasant surprises.
The weather has been extraordinarily warm for the last couple weeks, but it’s finally getting colder. While I’ve enjoyed getting outside to play soccer and other outdoor recreation activities, I’m also looking forward to seeing some ice again. A little snow wouldn’t hurt my feelings either. It’s been a pretty brown winter so far.
In the meantime, here are a few ice photos from a couple weeks ago, just as the last vestiges of ice were disappearing from the edge of a Platte River wetland. Let’s hope they aren’t the last ice photos of the winter…
And before you say it, yes, I recognize the delicious irony of yearning for more winter in this post exactly a week after a post in which I yearned for spring so I could photograph flowers. What I can I say? I like flowers, but I also like ice…
This post was written by Evan Barrientos, a Hubbard fellow during 2015 and 2016. Evan is currently working for The Nature Conservancy in Oregon.
(This is a post that I wrote in January 2016 while during my Fellowship but didn’t get around to publishing before winter passed.) On a sub-zero Saturday morning I got up early to catch some photos of the sunrise. I had planned to go to a prairie, but as I was driving I noticed a line of steam rising on the horizon like the trail of dust a pickup makes as it races down a dry gravel road. Curious, I headed towards the steam and realized that it was coming off of the Platte River. When I arrived at the bridge I was stunned; all along the river, vapor was rising from the surface and glowing in the sunrise. An endless procession of ice chunks slowly floated by, quietly scraping against the snow on the bank. I spent almost two hours photographing, filming, and recording audio, and I never even felt cold (which is saying a lot for me). There was something special about that morning, something about the stillness that made me feel content and peaceful. I wanted to share that feeling with other people, so I created a short video of how I saw the Platte that morning:
There’s really something special about the Platte and I don’t know if I can explain it. Maybe it’s my instinctive attraction to water. Maybe it’s the languid pace of the Platte that relaxes me. Maybe it’s simply the change in scenery and stark contrast between river and prairie. Or maybe I’m surprised by how beautiful it is each time I make a visit because no one ever seems to talk about it. It’s hard to take a trip in Nebraska without driving over the Platte, yet how often do we stop and explore what’s below those bridges?
Part of the problem is that there’s so little public access to the Platte. I know of a few observation decks and one tiny trail along it, but the vast majority is private property. Even if you set foot on the middle of the riverbed you’re trespassing! This is such a shame because in my opinion the Platte is one of the greatest recreation opportunities in southern Nebraska. On a sunny weekend it is my favorite place to sit and read, and every time a friend visits I make sure to bring him or her to a sandbar for a picnic. As an employee of The Nature Conservancy, I have the luxury of being able to access a couple sections that we manage.
Fortunately, even if you don’t have access to a section of the Platte the best option is still available to you: kayaking. I did this with a friend twice during the summer and it remains one of my favorite Nebraskan memories. When there’s enough water for a decent flow you can cover 20 miles in an afternoon while hardly paddling. And boy was I surprised how beautiful the scenery was! I expected the river to be bordered on both sides by corn fields, but the section between Minden and Wood River is actually surrounded by trees, creating the feeling that you are far, far away from it all. No place other than the Sandhills has given me that feeling of isolation in Nebraska. Kayaking the Platte requires two cars to shuttle and renting kayaks if you don’t own them, but it is well worth the trouble.
The Platte River has a long history of abuse, and now it is often taken for granted, in my opinion. But if more people had a meaningful connection to it maybe we would treat it better. I challenge you to find your own special place or activity on the river, if you haven’t yet; get to know this wonderful feature if you haven’t yet. The Platte deserves it.