British Columbia Beaver Ponds

December 19, 2014

Beavers have flooded the trail, diverting the waters of Stories Creek away from their dam. The western hemlocks in the background seem to be fairly flood-resistant.

I was born and raised on Vancouver Island, off the grey west coast of British Columbia. We seldom got snow and it seldom didn't rain. We called it a temperate rainforest, but it was far from tropical--mild winters and mild summers.

As a student in Florida, I missed the grey skies, wet forests, and short days. It was really made mandatory by my loving parents, but Christmas was always spent back home on the island. My siblings and I would fly up from Florida every December, just to be with family.

It proved to be precarious hiking over this trail-turned-creek. The deer ferns are evergreens that enjoy moist areas. Perhaps this is too moist.

I of course took this opportunity to get outside. My parents lived in a coastal fishing town called Campbell River and it rarely got snow. The forests surrounding the town were dark and wet, full of soggy, decaying wood and draped in mosses. Three colours predominated: brown, green, and grey. The grey sky sandwiched the green of the mosses and evergreens against the reddish-brown soil and tree trunks. I was looking for animal life, of course, but the forest was surprisingly quiet. It was late afternoon, but the sun was already setting somewhere behind the high, grey clouds. It made me feel alone, but not lonely. Rather, it was very peaceful. A quiet tit sound notified me of a thrush's presence. In the summer, it might be true that "birds of a feather flock together" but, in the winter, there is no prejudice. They seem to work together to flush up insects and watch for predators. This thrush was sending an early warning to someone about my presence. After several minutes of listening I could discern some other birds in the trees. Chestnut-backed chickadees, golden-crowned kinglets, varied thrushes, and even a few brown creepers. I walked another hundred meters up the trail and everything became silent again.

One of the Stories Creek beaver ponds as seen from the trail. It is amazing how much nostalgia can be associated with a place like this. Beavers and birds might be the only obvious critters here in December, but as early as January the long toed salamanders will be moving in to breed, superseded by a whole host of others, including northwestern salamanders, rough-skinned newts, red-legged frogs, and Pacific treefrogs.

The trail followed part of Woods Creek before taking an old, overgrown logging road across to Stories Creek. Both creeks were full and rushing from the latest rainfall. Some places on the island can get over three meters (ten feet) of rain a year. Soon, I was skirting the edges of the muddy trail to avoid getting anything past my ankles wet and leaning precariously over the trail to keep my scarf from catching on the wet shrubbery. The reason for the flooded trail had more to do with engineering than the water table. A beaver dam had grown out from one of the ponds and clogged the natural flow of water back to the creek. The trail made a fine spillway. I thanked God for my long legs and jumped over the obstacle.

Another one of the Stories Creek beaver ponds. Dusk had already arrived in the forest, it seemed, by 3pm.

There were several ponds up Stories Creek, all of them beaver-constructed. Originally, small dams and spillways were constructed along the stream to help salmon move and reproduce. It was originally part of the local gulf club's mitigation project but, now, the pressure-treated dams are in a sad state of decay. The club made up for the neglect by periodically smashing out sections of beaver dam. I hardly think that behavior is justified.

Sword ferns blanket the forest floor, under a stand of red alder. The ferns are evergreens and continue to grow tall until the first snowfall, which may never arrive.

As the forest became too dark to see the trail, I headed back toward home. My footsteps were the only sound and it made me uncomfortable. I found myself hurrying along, as if the growing darkness would only tolerate my disturbance for moments longer. Another thought comforts me: Rooibos tea. When I'm huddled by the wood stove, watching the lights on the Christmas tree, I'll have a cup of hot, rooibos tea.

Memory Lane: Welcome to My New Backyard

Spring time on northern Vancouver Island can be described with one word: green. And the greens are so bright that, after a long grey winter, I feel like my own soul is sprouting new hope for the world. Beaver pond, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. June 19, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 0. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/100.

The story behind this photo is interesting. I was actually looking for bears (a thrilling spring pastime) as I balanced my way along the natural path of the beaver's dam. As I neared about the center of the dam, I stopped to snap some pictures of these pink grass flowers. Following the picture, I suddenly lost my balance and went flailing all over the dam, ending with part of my body hanging over the back side of the dam and my feet kicking around in the water. Needless to say, I began to think what the local bear (which liked to hang on the other side of the pond) would have thought had he seen me (and he might have). I must have looked ridiculously vulnerable. Tempting, perhaps. I jumped back to my feet, posturing and brushing mud off my chest, and then strutted on as if I were the epitome of fitness. Grass, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. June 19, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 200. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/500.

Red alder, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. April 10, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 100. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/80.

The forests of the northwest are characterized by a reddish brown colour that contrasts with the yellow-green of the new growth and mosses. Even the water is reddish brown, tainted by the decomposing leaf litter. Woods Creek, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. April 12, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 0. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/30.

Droplet, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. May 2, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 100. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/125.

Salmonberry flower, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. May 2, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 100. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/100.

I didn't realize that these plants are actually sold as garden flowers in other parts of the world. Not surprising, realy, considering how beautiful they are. Bleeding heart flowers, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. May 2, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 100. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/25.

Bleeding heart seeds, which are encased in small been-like pods when the flowers mature, don't have any frills, propellers, or fronds to help them blow through the breeze. Neither are they spiked, prickled, or burred to attach to passing animals for transportation. You might think the bleeding heart never spreads anywhere and, indeed, they are usually found in little clumps. But that is not because they cannot spread their seeds effectively (it is because they also reproduce asexually by sending out shoots from the parent flower). Rather, they have a rather unconventional way of distributing their progeny. At the end of each seed pod is a dark, fleshing blob on the end of an extension. Amazingly, ants find this tasty little blip irresistible. It is the ants that the flower depends on to spread its seeds as they drag the pods to their colonies. Bleeding heart flowers, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. May 2, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 0. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/40.

Bleeding heart flowers, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. May 2, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 135. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/60.

This is one of my favourite pictures. Interestingly, this flower is protected by law in BC because of its relative rarity. Western trillium flower, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. May 2, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 100. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/160.

It's an unfortunate name for such a beautiful plant. I've never thought they smelled anything like a skunk, which I have had the opportunity to smell--for hours. I rather like the smell of skunk cabbage, though. Skunk cabbage, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. April 5, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 0. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/100.

The white trunks of the hemlock contrast well with the yellow-green moss and the sword fern. The huckleberry and salmonberry which normal grow thick here haven't got their leaves back yet, hence why the forest looks so open. Western hemlock, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. April 10, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 0. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/80.

Here, the hemlock bark is nearly completely covered in moss. It is a different sort of beautiful from the above photograph. Western hemlock, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. April 10, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 0. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/25.

Willow buds, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. April 13, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 100. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/80.

The roots of skunk cabbage are edible and actually quite good, from what I hear. And it's not just people who eat them. Once, while wandering around the creek bed looking for red-legged frogs, I noticed a skunk cabbage plant that had been pulled up and the roots devoured, leaving only the large green leaves. It was quite a hole that the devourer had left in the ground but I couldn't imagine what had done it. Beaver was a thought. But I wasn't sure how an animal like that would scoop out so much soil. Not to mention I'd never heard of beavers eating skunk cabbage. I walked farther and soon found another hole. Then another. Every plant on the bar had been dug up and devoured. Suddenly, a crashing sound in the salmonberries ahead notified me to something big near by. Movement up on the ridge across the stream got my attention. At first I thought it was a dog, but the galloping hulk was too large for that. It was the first black bear I'd seen at Woods/Stories Creek trails and the combined sensation of fear and enthral gripped my mind. It wasn't running away from me, it was just running by, along the ridge. Why was an animal, that could probably kill me if it wanted to, afraid of me? For the rest of the summer, I would spend much of my spare time and dreams chasing bears through the underbrush. Kind of a foolhardy pastime, but the thrill was too much to pass up. Skunk cabbage, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. April 5, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 0. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/100.

Compare this photo to the one above. That's just five days difference, but the leaves have really started to grow. Skunk cabbage, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. April 10, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 0. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/160.

Moss on western hemlock, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. April 10, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 0. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/40.

Willow bud, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. April 13, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 100. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/80.

Sometimes when I type titles like "Woods Creek Trail," I look into the future for the places that I loved as a child. This is where I spent my teen years. It was a place of escape and solitude during one of the darkest times of my life. The moments when I've felt closest to God have been right here. But a decade or so down the road, this will be suburban. Houses and humans, and few of them will have any interest in maintaining harmony with nature. Every wild place, near to human habitation and unprotected, will one day be only a memory. Woods Creek Trail, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. June 2, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 0. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/20.

I don't know what species of flower this is off hand. Perhaps some kind of lilly. If you know, please leave a comment. Flower, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. June 2, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 200. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/60.

Fungus on a red alder, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. June 16, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 0. 11.84mm. 0 EV. f/4. 1/50.

All these leaves may belong to the same plant. The stem runs under the leaf litter. They are only 10 or 12 inches tall and often go unnoticed. However, they were of some importance to the first natives of the forest who would dry the leaves out and hang them in their huts to ward off the mosquitos. The English name was suggested because the leaves apparently smell like vanilla. Vanilla leaf, near Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, BC. May 2, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 0. 5.4mm. 0 EV. f/2.8. 1/30.

December, 2013 - Pensacola, Florida to Campbell River, British Columbia

Yes, this month saw a transfer; I moved from Pensacola to Campbell River, leaving college in Florida to come to the northwest of Canada for Christmas break. Near the beginning of the month, on the Pensacola Christian College campus, winter, as far as Florida is concerned, was in full swing. Yet, given a cold spell, there were still reptiles about. Of particular interest were the little green anoles (Anolis carolinensis) which seemed to appreciate sleeping higher up off the ground, weather permitting. The tennis courts near the men's dorm was a great place to witness this. Surrounding the courts was wire fencing and, sleeping on the links, were several anoles. Why they sleep higher off the ground like this, I don't know, but it could be that they are trying to avoid predators. It is also interesting that anoles change their colour in different situations and, while sleeping, they become very pale. These lizards were observed within the first couple weeks of December.

The fog just makes the moss covered branches that much more pronounced and captivating.

This photo illustrates how the fog infiltrates the forest. It is also obvious that the forest is very wet; characteristic of the west coast temperate rainforest.

The two pictures above are my sister and some snow
berries. The snow berries bear evidence of a spider's past
presence. The moisture in the air makes the spider web
bellow very well pronounced. Clearly this web as been
abandoned for some time. The lack of maintenance
demonstrates this, but it certainly does not detract from the
beauty of the web. 

Arriving home on Vancouver Island found it unchanged; cold, wet, and dark. Nevertheless, I did miss this sort of climate and the family decided to go for a walk in the dark foggy rainforest. There wasn't much wildlife out, but there was some sign of animal life. I think I enjoyed it more simply because the fog, floating through the forest, made for beautiful photographs.
As some of the above photos illustrate, it had a beautiful layering effect on the scenery. Enabling focus on certain features that normally wouldn't be so noticeable or pronounced in nature. For example, a little spider's web would normally go unnoticed. However, the moister in the air gave the web's silk a damp, grey, beaded effect. This alone would have helped pronounce the web better against any backdrop, but the fog created a natural blur, a hazing, to the background. Thus, the web is far more pronounced than it otherwise would have been.
It was a good walk, even if the family did speed off without their dear photographer. That was on the sixteenth of December.

Later on, on the twenty-seventh, I went for another walk alone. I had plans to explore one of the beaver ponds up Woods Creek, but it turned out to be mostly dry (I think the stewards of the creek break the dams so that the coho salmon can get up the creek adequately). I was also going to take a winter sample of the mud on the ponds bottom, but I had to take it from the creek bottom instead. I couldn't see any life under the microscope.

The moss, growing up the edges of
these bushes, look like they are
framed in gold, being backlit by the
warm evening sunlight.

The second purpose of my hike out was to do a warm-up birdwatching trip. Why? You remember my old post on the homepage (back in November I think)? I talked about the book The Big Year. Well this is going to be my own little "big year." Starting on January first, I'm going to start counting all the birds I see.

I have an attraction to moss on rocks
and trees, if you haven't noticed.

Bewick's wren, lower right hand
corner, feeding on a spider egg case
or something like that.

I'd have to say that my preliminary exploits were a great success in December; a total of seventeen species were counted. I also saw a few squirrels and a surprising amount of invertebrates.
I think my great success was due to a number of successive factors. First, the sun came out. Those golden shafts of light, streaking through the moss covered bows of hemlock and maple awakened the insects. At least three different species of little flying insect were seen (perhaps some gnats and others which I did not identify) and a small spider hung from the rim of my hat. These bugs brought out the birds.

Golden-crowned kinglet, lower
right hand corner.

Golden-crowned kinglet, lower right
hand corner.

Varied thrush standing in the
dappled light of the red alders.

Many flocks of kinglets and chickadees were seen along with a pleasant variety of wrens (including Bewick's). Larger birds, such as varied thrushes, whistling low and tranquil through the quiet wood, were also present in flocks. It was one of those rare winter days when everyone seems to be out.

This little guy was dangling from the
rim of my hat. I've no idea what
species he is.

It was very enjoyable, and got me hyped up for next month. I am concerned however, given that I will only be in Canada another two weeks, that I will not be able to make some of the birds I saw in my practice run. The Bewick's wren and the red-breasted nuthatch may be hard to get again.

I'm feeling squirrelly! There were a
few of these little red squirrels in the
woods. Too bad they can't be
counted as birds!

Bird photography is a hard thing for me. First, I only have a two-hundred millimetre zoom maximum. That means, when the bird is small or distant, most of the photos come out as barely identifiable specks. It works if your sole purpose is merely identify the bird, but if you want a really good shot to show friends, it amounts to about nothing. Oh, well. I'll post the very best of the specks here (see the kinglet, wren, and varied thrush photos above.

A very cool fungus.

Certainly the most common were the golden crowned kinglets. They especially enjoyed feeding in the moss-draped bows of the western hemlocks. It had the potential to be a beautiful picture but, alas, my zoom has a low success rate for capturing very small birds. The varied thrushes were much larger birds (about four times the size of a kinglet), but they are much more shy- the same problem was encountered for them.
Originally I had plans to try and photograph every species I encountered, but this preliminary birding trip has illustrated that, without the proper gear, such a task is next to impossible.

This was kind of an "artsy-fartsy" kind of photograph. The blurring around the edges of the stump (created by zooming out at a lower shutter speed) almost cary a time machine sort of feeling. Like high speed into the future sort of thing. Perhaps it is suitable for the last picture of 2013. Here we go into the future.

Snow in a Rainforest?

I know it looks more like the boreal forests of Russia but this is a rain forest. Situated a little higher in elevation and farther north than the deciduous-based forests of southern Vancouver Island, at least some snows fall here each winter. The surface in the foreground will become the lapping water of Cedar Lake come the spring. This was taken in early January.

This stand of red alder looked
unusual with all the snow. Dancing
and darting through the snags were
a number of winter wrens.

As is evidenced by my other posts on this site (of a paleontological content, primarily) I have not been actively involved in the outdoors this winter. I did make a few short trips, however, and I think it is enough to make a post out of it. My artistic side came out in many of these winter photos. The first set is from Sorries Beach area, just south of Campbell River on Vancouver Island.

This looks warm, but check out the snow in the bottom left.
There is a lot of greenery in a temperate rainforest,
even in winter, because of the evergreen trees, ferns,
and mosses.

The temperate rainforest takes on a tranquil, quiet feel in winter when the snow falls. What was once clothed in the rich greens of spring, treefrogs singing, warblers and flycatchers darting through the leaves, suddenly falls silent. Only the winter wrens remain, flitting softly through the snags and piping away angrily when there meagre foraging is interrupted. Snow doesn't fall often in these temperate rainforests, but when it does, it flattens the evergreen ferns and one almost forgets they are there.
Besides hardy little birds, the big game moves into the low land forests from the harsher alpine. Rather, the dear step lightly and the bears plod on through the undergrowth, shaking the snow off the ferns as they spring up gasping in their wake.

This Douglas-fir branch looks cold and icy. The frost can be seen coating the leaves. However, check out the photograph bellow.

In this photo of the same limb, it looks warm and fresh, like a spring morning. Why the sudden change? It's all about what you want to see.

A cougar track seen near Farewell
Lake.

Away from the coasts of the island, the snow is deeper and the air cooler. Even the lakes, if the sea denies them a thawing wind from the south, will freeze over. My dad and I where able to make a trip up to some of these lakes this winter and have a look around. Many elk tracks were seen and, surprisingly, I few deer. Usually deer don't dwell so near to elk, which can carry diseases that the dear aren't resistant to. More interesting however was a cougar track way. It is probably the same cougar that I usually see signs of in that area during camping trips on the lake. Thanks to a couple turkey vultures, I was able to find an old, buried kill.

Most of the lakes north-island look more like this one (Farewell Lake), maintaining open water except near the shore.