The River Landing

American White Pelicans Coming Home to Roost

August 25, 2009

We came out to the Chautauqua National Wildlife Refuge, my wife and I, in the early evening for a fruit and cheese supper at the Eagle Bluff Access area, to relax on our fold-up chairs for a quiet time observing life on the refuge, perhaps a bit of reading, and to watch the sun fall below the bluffs across the Illinois River valley. But except for a few swallows of various kinds, great blue herons, and double-crested cormorants, there was not much wildlife activity on the refuge; not even a need for setting up the spotting scope.

After our supper, and just before sundown, we left the observation deck for a walk across the refuge, toward the Illinois River, on the levee that separates the refuge’s north and south pools of Lake Chautauqua. And that was also when many birds became increasingly active. There were more foraging swallows, which passed over the cross levee on their way between the two refuge pools; several loudly calling Caspian terns; a great horned owl hooting from obscurity within the black willow thickets; and a lone pectoral sandpiper that drew our attention on the barren sand along the water’s edge. Then at once, we saw a line of American white pelicans flying in an long, undulating, repeating pattern across the sky, then another group, and then still another, which abruptly changed direction as the group flew low directly above us, apparently nervous about flying so close to two human beings. Before too long, more pelicans flew over, and we estimated a couple thousand that joined together into one large grouping in the far corner of the refuge’s north pool, gathering together in a large night roost on the water.

As the sun sank below the horizon, we heard loudly calling cicadas, another sure sign of summer’s imminent end.

 

Canoeing the Willow Thickets of Chautauqua National Wildlife Refuge

September 19, 2009

I launched my canoe at the old boat ramp at Chautauqua Refuge’s south pool. At this time of the year, the water would normally be quite low, sometimes even too shallow for a canoe. But refuge managers have kept the water levels deep for the last couple of years in an attempt to set back the black willow thicket that is threatening to take over the south pool. Extensive rains and a frequently flooding Illinois River this year have encouraged this effort.

From a distance, the flooded willow thickets look impenetrable. But a closer approach would show that the trees are spaced far enough apart for canoe travel. The thickets, which began growing in earnest about 15 years ago, have been self-thinning and growing taller ever since; beavers have also been thinning the willows a bit as attested by their numerous cuttings and occasional lodges. But the flooding keeps succession from proceeding as it normally would toward a silver maple-green ash forest. This thicket that is becoming a forest is solid black willow, with the largest individuals about 10 inches in diameter and 25 to 30 feet tall.

Out in the open water, migrating tree swallows kept me company, darting close to the canoe as they gulped insects to fuel their southward migrations. At the willow thicket, which seemed to cover a not insignificant proportion of the south pool, a great blue heron took flight from a willow perch. And great egrets stood on branches that barely protruded from the water. A belted kingfisher perched on a higher snag, and let out its usual rattle call as I floated past. Though I was still on the open water, from within the flooded willow forest I heard wood duck calls echoing from the trees. At one point, ten wood ducks flew from the shelter of the willows; and I speculated that a true survey of the entire thicket-forest would undoubtedly yield many more. The willows are clearly providing birds with needed habitat, though obviously not the open-water diving ducks or ducks of open marshes.

For a few moments, I enjoyed the warm morning sun on my back; but I paddled onward, bound for the cool shelter of the willows, where I planned to have an early lunch and read. Then a loud, high-pitched calling from the willow edge commanded my attention. My first thought was "shorebird," but then I estimated the shallowest water in the willows was about four feet deep; so, I reasoned, a shorebird could not have made that sound. And then I saw the osprey, flying directly toward me. It probably used the willows as a night roost and early morning foraging perch, and was awaiting mid-morning thermal activity before continuing southward on its journey. The bird circled around and then rapidly gained altitude, before soaring away toward the southwest. I struggled to keep the bird in my binoculars as the breeze continually turned my canoe in the wrong direction for viewing. But within a few minutes, the osprey was nearly beyond sight, and so I continued with my paddling business, to the willows and shade.

Hiding in the black willows at Chautauqua NWR.

A Tale of Two Floodplain Lakes

– November 27, 2009 –

A panoramic view of Chautauqua National Wildlife Refuge opened before me as I stood on the observation platform at the bluff edge. Looking directly west, expanses of open water, floodplain forests, and blue skies dominated my view; the Illinois River was obscured by the intervening forests, and beyond the river was another large floodplain lake called "Thompson Lake." Since it has been my experience from previous years that the waters of Lake Chautauqua in late autumn would be teeming with waterfowl, with my binoculars I took a quick sweep of the wide view. But surprisingly, except for a small group of mallards, I saw few waterfowl. This I found to be strange indeed, especially in late November; and so, I decided to sit on a nearby bench for a while, and hope that other birds might show up.

Eagle Bluff Access in summer, Chautauqua Refuge.

After five or ten minutes, a small group of greater white-fronted geese flew over the refuge and continued onward to the northeast. Soon a few Bonapart’s gulls passed, alternately flying and diving into the water. But during my observation period, other than one fast-moving group of five common goldeneyes, a single bufflehead, two American black ducks, and twenty Canada geese, this large waterfowl refuge continued to seem rather empty of waterfowl. But it made me wonder what might be happening at Thompson Lake. Was the waterfowl migration simply in a regional slump, with few ducks anywhere, or was there a difference between bird use of these two floodplain lakes. Of course, the only way to find the answers would be to immediately travel to Thompson Lake.

Though Thompson Lake was about three miles away from Chautauqua Refuge’s headquarters by line of sight, to reach it I first had to drive six miles south to Havana, cross the Illinois River, and then drive another two or three miles northward on state route 78, before finding a place to pull off of the two-lane levee road, just beyond reach of the rather constant highway traffic. I did not say "safe place to pull off" because there really is no such thing on SR 78. The busy highway traffic on the levee road seems to be mostly composed of folks engaged in serious travel, not slow-moving wildlife watchers looking for rare birds. So just before reaching one of several steep exit lanes that abruptly lead, at right angles, off of the highway levee, I quickly checked my rearview mirror, to make sure I was not being tailgated by a massive semi truck, and turned off the road. The exit ramp was muddy, soft, and steep; and even with a four-wheel drive vehicle, I was not confident that I could make the climb back up the levee. So I stayed parked near the top, just beyond the highway pavement. (It should be noted that wildlife viewing on Thompson Lake can also be accomplished at the boat launching area a bit further north on SR 78.)

But what I saw next almost allowed me to forget all about automobiles, loud pickup trucks, loud motorcycles, and semi trucks. Thompson Lake, nearly two miles wide and three or four miles long, seemed to be literally bank to bank full of waterfowl! There were thousands of waterbirds in view in every direction, as far as I could see. American coots were overwhelmingly the most abundant species. Ruddy ducks and ring-necked ducks were also quite numerous, though much less so than the coots. Northern shoveler, gadwall, canvasback, lesser scaup, pied-billed grebe, and horned grebe were also present. The contrast with Lake Chautauqua could not have been greater.

Later, as I waited for a break in the fast-moving vehicles so that I could safely enter the stream of highway traffic, I began to think more in depth about what I had just witnessed. Why was Chautauqua Refuge so little used compared with Thompson Lake? I felt certain the answer involved factors such as habitat quality, habitat structure, and food availability, or a certain combination of these and perhaps other factors. Of course, one major factor, the "elephant in the room," is the Illinois River itself. Thompson Lake is protected from the river’s degrading influences¹ by a massive levee, while Chautauqua Refuge is frequently connected to the river through a system of spillways and gates. At any rate, because these two floodplain lakes are part of my regular route for making natural history observations, I hoped to  answer my own questions one day soon.

Illinois River (left), levee, Thompson Lake (right), in 2009.

Chautauqua Refuge spillway with flooding river, in 2007.

¹ For more information on the Illinois River, see the "River Reading List" in the "Categories" section on The River Landing’s home page (left panel).

A Coyote Encounter at Icy Chautauqua National Wildlife Refuge

February 27, 2010

The day’s weather was expected to be mostly cloudy, quite windy, and cold. But snow geese were beginning to show up in ever larger numbers in the skies over Havana. So it was time to make a short visit to Chautauqua Refuge; even though I knew beforehand, because of a long stretch of below-freezing weather, that its surface would mostly be frozen, and wildlife would likely be scarce.

At the head of the nature trail, the winds seemed almost calm, and I optimistically thought of having a chance to sit at one of the observation decks for a couple of hours without enduring much cold. But as I followed the trail through the forest, I could hear the winds become progressively louder through the treetops as the trail approached the bluff edge. At the furthest deck, northwest winds screamed without obstruction off the frozen lake surface directly into my face, and I knew my time for observations would be limited. And so I wrapped my head in a thick scarf, cleaned ice and snow off the bench, and poured a cup of hot coffee from my thermos.

Chautuaqua Nature Trail

A few Canada geese and several hundred greater white-fronted geese followed the Illinois River valley northward, and an adult eagle soared over the river near what I assumed was its nest. The Arctic scene before me inspired thoughts of admiration for any wildlife that could scratch food and shelter from such circumstances; it must not be an easy life. But this was good. The coffee kept me warm, and I was comfortable in my heavy clothing.

Every once in a while the ice cracked loudly and made other strange sounds, which suggested that while the ice may have been thick and solid, as a mass it moves and heaves with the waters below as pressures change and build. In fact, after a closer look, I noticed that all of the willow thickets, with their bases in water below the ice sheet, were leaning at about a 20 degree angle. Was this due to one massive movement of ice or had it been imperceptibly gradual over several weeks or days? [Recently, there has been an effect of the same process at Thompson Lake (Emiquon) across the Illinois River, where utility poles, with their bases locked within lake ice, have been pushed and snapped by the moving ice sheet.]

Thompson Lake "Emiquon" at Route 78

Then as I took another sip of coffee and re-adjusted my scarf to seal in the warmth, I noticed a coyote on the frozen lake surface, trotting along probably a quarter mile away. I set my coffee down, and through binoculars could see that it was a healthy-looking animal, solidly built and with a good coat. The coyote loped at a brisk no-nonsense pace, alert eyes and ears facing forward, moving almost in a straight line. At a certain point, though, one of the coyote’s senses must have detected something, because the animal quickly stopped to investigate the ice more closely: perhaps a dead fish frozen in the ice or a scent mark by another coyote. But after a few seconds, with wind chill in the low teens and its energy being drained away in the cold, the coyote plodded onward.

When I took another sip of coffee, its heat too had been dissipated by the cold and was gone forever; it’s the Second Law of Thermodynamics after all. And on that note, I packed up my belongings and followed the snow-covered trail back to the parking lot. It was time for lunch, which at least I would have no trouble finding.

Birding from an Illinois River Logjam

As luck would have it, the day of my voluntary furlough day from work (i.e., day off, no pay) was predicted to be sunny and warm, with light breezes and low humidity. A perfect summer day for a canoe-birding trip to the Illinois River. And so, by 7:30 a.m. I was launching my canoe into the south pool of Chautauqua National Wildlife Refuge. In the aftermath of a rainy spring, the Illinois River was about eight feet above flood stage, high enough to be completely over the refuge’s south levee system, giving free access to the Illinois River, about one and a half miles to the northwest.

Once on the water, my view of the refuge opened up to the broad Lake Chautauqua and the four-mile-wide Illinois River valley. Briefly I glanced at seven American white pelicans scattered about, a few double-crested cormorants, several ring-billed gulls, and a belted kingfisher; but otherwise, I concentrated on paddling to the river, where I planned to eat breakfast, read, and relax.

Chautauqua Refuge's south pool.

In a very short time, I sailed right over the refuge’s levee, crossed the Liverpool Island side channel, and entered the flooded forests of Liverpool Island. Floating high above the ground surface, there were few obstructions, and it was easy to paddle through the forest around the mature cottonwood and silver maple trees. A variety of bird songs and calls echoed from the tree canopy high overhead; prothonotary warblers, warbling vireos, and house wrens led the chorus in volume and repetition more than other species. But such diversions notwithstanding, I still headed straight for the river on the opposite side of the island, to find a place along the river’s edge where I planned to remain for the better part of the morning.

The problem was that even within the forest, the water was flowing, although at a lesser velocity than in the main river, and I did not have an anchor. Yet with a bit of maneuvering, I was able to wedge the canoe within a logjam of several large silver maple logs and branches on the island’s edge, which prevented the canoe from drifting downstream. Then once ensconced within the logjam, water flowed and eddied all around and under me, but the canoe was held in place against the trees by the flowing water. Finally I relaxed and could pay more attention to my surroundings, watch and literally feel the river’s flow, and enjoy the abundant bird life.

After an hour or so, I counted 26 bird species within the flooded island forest (see accompanying table); if it had been earlier in the breeding season, there would have been more. Occasional barn, tree, and northern rough-winged swallows flew over the river, briefly crossing my field of view. All was calm for a long time. But when a large v-bottomed cruiser passed, it set up a commotion of large swells that went crashing through the forest; still my logjam held fast, and I simply rode out the waves. Later a towboat-barge, with a busy crew on deck and a sign reading "Dangerous Cargo," passed, sending out another series of waves, though these were much smaller than the cruiser-generated waves. And no one, except the birds, knew of the canoe hidden within the deep shade of silver maples, wedged inside of a half-sunken pile of snags.

Eventually the sounds of leaves rustling in the upper tree canopies signaled that the wind, in the warm morning sun, was picking up speed. I took that as a sign to leave, and I expected to fight the wind on the open expanse of Lake Chautauqua as I returned to the refuge boat ramp. But before extracting the canoe from the logjam, I thought how unusual it was and how fortunate I was to have a day with such favorable conditions all converging at once, and how such a day cannot be planned for and may not occur again for quite some time. Circumstances have a way of changing. So on the return trip, I paddled slower than on the way out, savoring every moment, wind and all.

Chautauqua NWR Spillway: Side Channels Cover Photo

This photograph, one of three used on the cover of Side Channels: A Collection of Nature Writing and Memoir, shows water from the Illinois River, in the summer of 2007, flowing over a spillway into the south pool of Chautauqua National Wildlife Refuge.  In the unaltered river system, summer floods would have been rare; low summer water levels, then, would have allowed marsh vegetation to grow on the floodplains.  The present system, though, was designed to allow larger floods to connect the south pool and its bottomlands with the river. Such floods during the summer, however, are detrimental to the wetland communities in the refuge because plants may be completely drowned or seed production may be hampered. If this happens, migratory birds later in the year will find less food. If mudflats are flooded over when the shorebirds are migrating, they will fly elsewhere.  The spillway also allows non-native Asian carp and common carp to enter the refuge, both of which are undesirable.

Chapters 9, 15, and 18 in Side Channels discuss the Illinois River's hydrological cycle in more detail.

 

 

For more information on Side Channels, see the author's web site (www.side-channels.com).

 

[Photograph by Thomas V. Lerczak.]