Ice encrusted holly berries are the artistic rendering of a late winter freezing rain. Their brilliance is highlighted within a sparkling clear coat of protective ice.
On behalf of winter, February’s frigid embrace lingers for a conscious moment longer as this month exercises its optional twenty-ninth day. The additional day is a correction needed to synchronize derived calendars with the celestial choreography. So, in that way February provides the Wite-out corrective paste to adjust the pending error, and in its enthusiasm, covers the land with snow on occasion, to white out conditions as a failsafe.
As the cold breath of February sweeps across the land, ice and snow are left in its wake to accumulate and be redistributed by frigid winds under threatening skies. Winter offers a complete menu of frozen variants, all based on moisture du jour, altitude, wind speed and temperature. Viscous rain drops, best described as slush, resist the conversion to flakes of snow and accumulate as sheets of crystal-clear ice on tree branches, roads, and windshields.
A rare phenomenon known as a ghost apple, occurs when clear ice envelopes a dried shrunken apple still clinging to the tree. For all appearance the ice covered, mummified pome, is perfectly fitted with layer upon layer of clear transparent ice. The form fitted ice cover eventually accumulates to mimic a full-size apple carved in perfectly clear polished crystal. It is as if Michaelangelo was recruited to dabble in celestial ice sculpture.
As late winter daytime temperatures rise above freezing, trees begin to transport sugary sap to their fine branches. Subfreezing nighttime temps then freeze the sap to make the branches rigid and brittle. Strong wind whips the branches against each other, leaving many broken tips. When the sun warms the air, the sap begins to flow like a dripping faucet until the evening cold sets in. As daily temps fall, the drips elongate into icicles of varying length, each containing concentrated sugars, meant to energize buds and promote branch growth. Reach up, break off an icicle and enjoy a natural sugary treat that hydrates and energizes, no unwanted preservatives or added coloring. In a way, eating these cold treats, taken directly from nature’s hand, represent a communion of sort where energy is transferred and assimilated in the manner of a ‘blood brother’ ritual.
When ice is formed, snow is sure to follow. The menu choices are many when it comes to ordering snow. The spectrum of mandated choices ranges from passing flurries to blinding white out conditions. When the landscape is bare, the arrival of the first snowflake is met with great anticipation. The individual flakes are so beautiful and random, magic overcomes the rational as the source of such intricate design. The magic fades somewhat as a thick blanket of white settles upon the washed out, dull landscape. We are still compelled to stare out the window as the invisible hand of a celestial artist paints the world white as we watch.
Passing snow flurries may be the entire show or just an opening act. The snow serves as a ledger in which rarely seen wild residents use their individual mark to sign in.
Fox tracks in the snow note its presence. This image makes a great Season greetings card signed by the fox to you.
Wildlife is most active at night and away from human habitation. A quick glance of the ledger’s white pages can expose the presence of a whole new world whose expanse had been previously unknown. Tracks in the snow mimic a digital tracking device, not unlike an eagle fitted with a solar powered transmitter, where its travels may be digitally overlaid on a map and viewed on a computer screen.
Screen shot of an eagle fitted with a solar transmitter and its location during one week. Tracks inthe snow are the primitive version of digital tracking.
Note how deer were dining on the honeysuckle just under your bedroom window. See the fox tracks on the back deck.
I always look for rabbit tracks after a snowfall of any accumulation. The question always asked is, “which way is the rabbit going”. Once you figure that out, you realize whether you unknowingly track it backward or forward, the information is the same.
So prolific are the lines of tracks, I imagine the footprints as seams, sewn to hold the expansive white blanket of snow together.
A walk in the woods after a heavy snowfall can offer a rare surprise. Once, more commonplace, ruffed grouse thrived in the mature woodlands locally. Grouse will fly into deep snow creating a tunnel where they rest under virgin snow several feet from the entry hole. Sometimes the entry hole will be covered by new snow, leaving the bird hidden under a perfectly clean blanket of unmarked snow. A hiker may pause for a long moment to marvel at the trackless expanse of snow and revel in being the first to traverse the silent woods that day. The pause in hiker’s steps will cause the grouse to think it was detected by a predator and flight is the only option to escape. Suddenly, the large brown bird explodes from under the trackless snow, steps away from the rattled hiker, the sound of wings furiously grabbing air in a shower of sparkling snow. A pounding heart can be felt once breathing resumes.
Print of a ruffed grouse exploding from cover by Jack Unruh.
February is winter’s last full month installment, just short of full payment, and whether twenty-eight or twenty-nine days, winter loses enthusiasm and concedes the coming of spring.
Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author.
The eyes are windows to your soul, ask not what you think you see in the coyote eyes, ask what you think the coyote sees in your eyes!
The cold November night left a heavy coat of white frost on the still green pasture grass. The sun had just risen, though the open, west facing hillside was still shaded. Topped by a crown of red cedars, the sunlight was further delayed, but the quickly rising temperatures turned the white frost gray. A lead doe worked her way uphill to the edge of the wooded copse, where a love struck buck had earlier left his scent on an overhanging branch. The doe paused her cautious approach and stood absolutely still. Perhaps she detected an unseen buck and had second thoughts of getting too close to a over enthusiastic lothario. Her intense stare was locked on something that raised her concern. Then her tail went straight up and froze in that position while the white hair on its underside and the white hair on her rump bristled out like quills on an agitated porcupine. She remained in that position for more than a minute before she quietly turned and silently left the area, retaining her high flag and bristled rump. Typically, an alerted doe will snort, stamp her foot and do an exaggerated high stepping prance to alert her companions. This was a deviation from normal but probably just the way she conducts business. Two minutes later a coyote appeared from the dark tree line, tail tucked, and headed directly toward me. The gray frosted grass, still in the shadows, complimented the coyote in tone and color to make it appear as an apparition, exempted from earthly constraints. It stopped about twenty paces away to consider its path and trotted along the edge of a mowed strip of grass to parts unknown.
An encounter with an eastern coyote has become more common in New Jersey, the state least expected to host a living symbol of remote and wild places. More often heard than seen, the coyote makes its presence known with midnight serenades that make your hair stand on end as a chorus of howls and yips fill the night air.
It is interesting to trace the occurrence of coyotes in New Jersey and recognize the fallacies and misleading information from media and biologists, some based on politics, evolving wildlife management goals or best guess projections derived from limited available data.
The first coyote officially recorded in New Jersey was in 1939. A mid 1980s Star Ledger article, quoting a state biologist, claimed the first coyotes appeared in NJ in 1958. The same article noted the animals migrated south from New York which hosted an estimated population of 5,000 coyotes. In 2011, the New York coyote population was placed at 30,000 plus and remains stable based on current estimates. The New Jersey coyote population is given as a range of 3,000 to 6,000 animals.
Wildlife population estimates are based on the latest statistical models and surveying technology, which may explain a dramatic jump or decline in targeted populations.
At any rate, sightings in New Jersey were sporadic until the early 1970s, possibly based on misidentification, unexpected presence and a limited, but expanding coyote population.
The Star Ledger article lists a steady chronicle of coyote sightings, mostly in rural areas.
Locally, a coyote made the news in the late 1980s when it was killed by a car near the intersection of routes 28 and 22 in Bridgewater. Another was sighted and photographed in North Branch in 2004.
Today coyotes have moved into cities and towns and have been reported in all twenty-one New Jersey counties.
Local residents have digitally captured numerous coyotes in backyards and along roadsides.
This demonstrates their ability to transition from rural to suburban environs and defies the early characterization of being strictly tied to woodland and farm.
Biologists predicted, in 1985, that the ‘pioneer population’ would never reach significant levels and will remain present only while farms exist. Even data based predictions must be given latitude and considered dynamic rather than static and ironclad.
The intelligence and adaptability of the coyote cannot be underestimated. Native people held coyotes in high esteem for their trickery and explained away their elusiveness as having the ability to transition from spirit to flesh.
To conclusively define the behavior of any animal is a fool’s errand, especially with coyotes. We get the typical, ‘they avoid humans at all cost’, as the litany of coyote attacks grow. Livingston, Fairfield, Piscataway Kinnelon, Middletown and High Bridge have made headlines for attacks on humans. Not to say coyotes are stalking school bus stops and toddlers, but the possibility of an attack exists, though very uncommon. Given the number of coyotes interspersed among the dense human population, pet dogs far outpace coyotes in dog bites man headlines.
Each ‘attack’ must be examined to prevent characterizing coyotes as blood thirsty demons. Rabies is endemic in wildlife populations and known for producing aggressive behavior. Wild canines established relationships with humans to the advantage of both. So, acclimating a fox or coyote to accept handouts is a natural progression. Losing fear of humans as a result, can be misinterpreted as aggression and sign a death warrant for their learned adaptive behavior.
Somerset county set a bounty on wolves in June 1682. I cannot help but wonder if some of the wolves were crossed with coyotes.
Science does its best, though its knowledge base is constantly evolving and interpreting collected data is more of an art form and often tips objectivity to the subjective side of the scale.
Toward that end of gathering information to make better decisions, NJ Division of Fish and Wildlife is asking the public for information on coyotes and other species to help track and manage targeted wildlife populations.
Coyotes have their place in our ecosystem and deserve our respect and understanding, and as with most new information or situations, must be approached with an open mind.
Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author.
