Into the Boundary Waters

The crystal clear waters splashed against the pebbled shore as we gathered up our gear. Conifers of every size crowded the distant banks, beckoning us into the wilderness. Our group was full of excited chatter as we piled gear onto picnic tables near the water, our anticipation for the adventure ahead growing with every breath. But our excitement wasn’t the only thing growing. With each strong gust of wind, my nerves also began to grow. The winds were already high and growing stronger with every hour. We needed to get on the water now if we were going to make it to our campsite. Otherwise, the winds could become too strong to paddle in, and we would be locked out of the Boundary Waters by mother nature.

Canoe ready to be packed with gear. Photo by Heaven Walker. 

With our packs as waterproof as we could get them, we set off in our canoes and into the wind. Angling against the wind, we paddled as fast and carefully as we could, aiming for the safety of the bank across the lake. The gusts of wind thrashed at our boat, threatening to dump us in the lake if we made a mistake. With skill, and maybe some luck, we made it across. Now the wind was mostly at our backs, pushing us along as we made our way to the first portage.

The effort of portaging our heavy packs and canoes was completely nullified by the beautiful scenery that we portaged through, and again by reaching the lake entrance. It didn’t matter if the pack straps or yoke of the canoe was digging into my shoulders, making them ache. I paid no mind to the hilly, rocky trails that were sometimes hazardous, long, and difficult to walk. The emerald greens of the trees, dazzling blue waters and sunny skies took all the discomfort away. It may have helped that there were no mosquitoes in sight either.

Beautiful but slippery portage path. Photo by Heaven Walker. 

As we arrived at the final lake, our eyes fell on a prime campsite just across the water. However, the wind was determined to give us one last battle in crossing the short distance to the campsite. Angling into the wind once again, we paddled hard across the lake as the wind pushed us back. Luckily for us, the wind pushed us right to where we wanted to go, the protected cove where we could pull up our canoes at the campsite. With everyone across, we set up camp on the rocky lake ledge, our tents tucked back into the trees and protected from the wind that continued to ramp up, barring us from anymore canoeing that day.

Our second day arrived with steam rising off a glassy lake and a breathtaking sunrise. The day was full of calm breezes, canoes easily gliding across brilliantly blue waters, and many portages through pristine forest paths. It was beautiful. It was exhausting. It was life changing. To come to this place of pristine wilderness and experience the beauty in the calm days, but also the torrent and power that mother nature has in this place, is magical. The challenges can be high, both mentally and physically. The strenuous portages, temperamental weather, and remote locations are intimidating, but overcoming those obstacles and showing yourself that you can do it is highly rewarding.

Sunrise on Caribou Lake. Photo by Heaven Walker.

Sitting around the campfire that night, I couldn’t help but reflect on how special the Boundary Waters are. Generations upon generations have taken to exploring the Boundary Waters. But no matter how many times one has been to the Boundary Waters, we are all transient in this place. For just a blip in time, we call these waters home. Our tents are staked into its dirt, our tarp strung on the trees for shelter, our canoes docked on its shores. The memories we make here are ours to hold and to keep. But once we are gone, someone else will make new memories in this campground, in these waters. Each memory, a special connection to the Boundary Waters, and ties that will last a lifetime and beyond.

Paddling in the Boundary Waters. Photo by Heaven Walker. 

For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. The Museum’s new exhibit, The Wetland Way is now open! Discover how life thrives at the intersection of soil and water, and why we must care for these special places as they care for us. Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and cablemuseum.org to see what we are up to.

Gems of Lake Superior

My hands moved slowly over the pebbled beach as the waves of Lake Superior gently lapped the shoreline. I had found myself a nice spot to sit on the beach, close enough to the waterline to gaze at the rocks being gently tumbled by the waves, but far enough back to have a dry place to sit. As I surveyed the pebbles around me, I spotted what I was looking for. The waxy, red-banded surface of an agate poked out from the shore, beckoning me to pick it up. And though I had found the treasure I was seeking, I was determined to find more during my time along the beach.

This Lake Superior agate is a fantastic example of iron minerals causing the red coloration in agates.

These beautiful Lake Superior gemstones are a fascination for many people, with their different patterns and stunning hues of reds, oranges, and yellows. But their impressive looks aren’t the only enticing thing about them. These agates have an incredible formation story that starts a billion years ago when the ancient continent Laurentia, that would eventually become part of North America, began to tear itself apart.

Basaltic lava flows erupted from Earth’s crust on a massive scale, spreading out across the landscape. These iron rich lava flows eventually cooled, creating the low basin full of volcanic rock that would eventually become Lake Superior. These ancient lava-formed rocks were the birthplace of Lake Superior agate. Inside the hardened lava were many gas pockets, called vesicles. These vesicles are formed by the sudden release in pressure as the molten rock bursts from the earth's surface. This pressure release causes dissolved gasses to form bubbles within the lava. As the lava cools, the gas bubbles harden in place. Groundwater carrying silica, iron, and other dissolved minerals seeped through the volcanic rock and into the vesicles. As the water evaporated, a microcrystal rind consisting of fine particles of quartz formed in the hollow area. Over time, as the environment changed, so did the minerals seeping in, creating different colors of crystalline bands. The process of adding colorful bands continues until the vesicle is full. And in the volcanic bedrock of the Lake Superior Basin the agates sat, until the last ice age when glaciers busted them out.

The different colored bands in this agate are caused by different minerals seeping in as it formed.

During the last glacial maximum, the Laurentide Ice Sheet covered most of Canada and a large portion of the northern U.S., including the Lake Superior basin. The glaciers scraped and eroded the basin as they repeatedly grew and receded over the last ice age. This glacial movement eroded the basalt bedrock, exposing the agates inside. The glaciers acted like a giant rock tumbler that fractured, roughly polished, and distributed agates along the landscape. Because of glacial movement, Lakes Superior agates can be found in many midwestern states.

This Lake Superior agate was still whole, and distributed along a gravel road in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. 

While I have always loved finding agates and observing the many different patterns that they can possess, I now can appreciate the process that formed each Lake Superior agate that I come across. These gems were a billion years in the making. Forming in the ancient lava flows of the Mid-continental Rift, as ground water slowly percolated into the vesicles, forming the agates bands over millions of years. Until finally, the agates were freed and distributed by the glaciers. The agates we find today have had quite the journey. It is incredible to me that we can hold such a beautiful and ancient part of our geological past right in our hands. What a special treasure.

For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. Our Summer Calendar is open for registration! Visit our new exhibit, “The Wetland Way’. Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and cablemuseum.org to see what we are up to.

Yellow-bellied Surprise

The Wild Wonders Summer Camp kids chattered away as they dug into their lunches, oblivious to the yellow-bellied sapsucker who skirted up and down the bark of the tree just a few feet away, in search of their own lunch. I watched as the sapsucker took flight, their speckled wings flapping quickly through the trees, until they landed on the bark of another tree and disappeared! It took me a second to realize that they had entered into a small hole hidden in the bark of the tree. Had I not watched them enter, I never would have noticed the hole high up in the bark, or learned of the nest inside. But I could not focus on the yellow-bellied sapsucker nest for long. My campers had finished lunch and were getting restless.

Caught in the whirlwind of the busy summer program season, it took me a week to return to check on the yellow-bellied sapsucker nest. As I strolled toward the nest, a persistent screeching sound got louder, clearly emanating from the sapsucker nest. In just a week, the babies had gone from being silent to raucously demanding food from their parents. Standing still in the woods, I scanned the trees for any sight of the parents. Catching a flicker of movement, I watched as the male yellow-bellied sapsucker, distinguished by the red feathers underneath his beak, gathered a grub from the bark. He flew to the nest, sticking his head in to feed his young. The boisterous babies quieted as they ate their meal, a stark contrast to the noise just moments before. But it was never going to last, as the male sapsucker took off again to gather more food, the chicks resumed their demands.

 

This male yellow-bellied sapsucker is still stunningly beautiful despite his slightly ragged appearance. Photo by Heaven Walker.

Soon after the male left the nest, the female yellow-bellied sapsucker flew to the nest entrance with a bug in her beak, causing the hungry chicks to increase their cacophonous demands for food. She, too, fed the chicks, and immediately left to gather more food. I couldn’t help but notice the ruffled and worn feathers both parents sported as they frantically darted back and forth between catching food and feeding the chicks. I can only imagine how exhausting taking care of a nest full of hungry young can be.

The female sapsucker checking in on her young. Photo by Heaven Walker.

Yellow-bellied sapsuckers can have between 4-6 eggs in the nest, and the parents take turns incubating the eggs for roughly 10 days before the chicks hatch. Both parents work diligently to feed the chicks, providing them with insects, sap and fruit. After nearly a month of being in the nest, the chicks fledge. The parents will continue to feed the chicks and teach them to collect food for over a week after they leave the nest. It’s during this time that the chicks are taught to drill for sap in the trees, creating neat rows of tiny holes in the tree bark that will soon flow with sugary liquid.

Dad peeking his head out of the cavity nest. Photo by Heaven Walker. 

I ventured back to the nest about a week later, hoping to check up on the chicks and their parents. But there was no symphony of screeching from hungry chicks. Searching around the trees, I found no signs of the parents fluttering from tree to tree either. The yellow-bellied sapsucker nest site was a ghost town. Despite missing the departure of the sapsucker family, it was a privilege to get to observe them as I did. I wish them well in all their sap-sucking adventures.

The Making of a Master Naturalist

The sound of boots crunching on sandy sediments and excited chatter filled the air. The first day of our Wisconsin Master Naturalist training had begun, and twenty people from all walks of life were eager to learn about the ecology of the Northwoods. Over the next five days, these participants would be exploring sites all over Bayfield County, and learning from experts across multiple natural resource fields. Our goal was not to instantly train experts in Northwoods ecology, but rather to spark curiosity and connection with the natural world. Whether coming from a natural resource background themselves, or simply wanting to learn more about nature, our participants were eager to dive into the knowledge of our experts. And we were jumping right into the geology of the Northwoods at our first field trip location–an esker left by the glaciers around 11,000 years ago.

Glaciers shaped the Northwoods that we see today. As glaciers expanded into Northern Wisconsin, they scraped and broke bedrock, carrying it south in the ice. And as the Earth began to warm, the glaciers began to melt and recede, depositing large amounts of sediment as they went. This shaped the topography of the land and influenced the soil types of the Northwoods. Our Wisconsin Master Naturalists in training got to experience how the glaciers shaped the landscape firsthand, standing in the middle of an esker. They were standing right in the remnants of an ancient riverbed that had flowed underneath a glacier and was left as the glacier receded. The crest of the esker towered above them, a mix of glacial sediments from sand all the way to small boulders. Our studious participants all seemed entranced listening to our geology expert, and rightfully so–what better setting could you have to learn about geology?

Standing in the remnants of an ancient glacial riverbed. Photo by CNHM.

With glaciers influencing the soil types of the Northwoods, it was only natural to follow our geology day with a day exploring the diverse botany and geology at Morgan Falls. Our botany expert led participants through the woods, teaching them how to use a dichotomous key to identify different trees and wildflowers, teaching them about the species we were finding, and explaining why they were able to grow at Morgan Falls. Our participants were like sponges, soaking up everything that they possibly could. The hours with our expert passed so quickly we found ourselves wanting more time.

Participants listening intently on how to use the plant ID key at Morgan Falls. Photo by CNHM.  

Though the week started out about perfect as things can be, the weather threw a wrench in our plans for the day we were set to bird band in the Moquah Barrens. Rather than banding in the Barrens with our expert, he set up mist nets at the Great Lakes Visitor Center and banded birds there instead. Participants' excitement was at an all-time high when the first bird flew into our mesh net–we were getting to band a bird after all! Our expert gently removed the female red-winged black bird from the net and put her in a small mesh bag to transport her back to the banding table. From there, she was weighed and then taken out of the mesh bag to be banded. The expert held her in his hands gently as he explained the data taken during banding, and how the band fits on the bird's leg. Then, as participants held on to his every word, he fit the bird's new bling over her tiny leg, fitting it perfectly. Once the band was on, participants took turns learning how to hold the bird properly for banding, teaching each other as they passed the bird along before eventually releasing her back into the wild.

A female red-winged black bird after banding. Photo by CNHM.

The end to our Master Naturalist course was very bittersweet. We managed to cram a lot of information, experiences, and comradery into the six days we were together (too much to fit in this article), but the impacts made in those six days will last well beyond our time together. The spark within our little group was lit, and there are now twenty new Wisconsin Master Naturalists ready to go out into the world and make an impact, hopefully sharing that spark with others as they go. I am forever grateful to share this experience with them, and can’t wait to see what they do as Master Naturalists.

For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. Our Summer Calendar is open for registration! Visit our new exhibit, “The Wetland Way’. Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and cablemuseum.org to see what we are up to.

Fossil Explorations

I sat on the tan, dusty ground of the quarry in north central Iowa, fingers grasping at the shell that lay halfway buried in the chalky clay and limestone. Wiggling it back and forth, I gently pulled it up from the ground that it had been resting in for millions of years. The ridged shell was almost perfectly intact, painting me a detailed picture of what the animal looked like. I had found a brachiopod fossil, a marine invertebrate who used to live in the warm, shallow sea of the Devonian Period, roughly 380 million years ago. As I sat examining my find, I couldn’t help but think about how special it is to find something so ancient, to hold the remnants of their life in my hand, and glimpse what life on Earth was like millions of years ago.

Ridged brachiopod fossils with intricately preserved detail. Photo by Heaven Walker.

While Iowa may currently be land locked, if we were to travel back in time to the Devonian Period, Iowa would be found near the Equator and beneath a warm, shallow sea. This ancient environment supported a vast number of marine invertebrate species who lived along the sea floor. Snails and trilobites roamed through bunches of corals, brachiopods, and crinoids, all while cephalopods and fish ruled the waters above.

I can imagine the seabed, littered with solitary brachiopods as they slowly opened and closed their shells while filter feeding, much like their modern day descendants. Brachiopods contributed to the mosaic of diversity along the sea floor, with different species toting different shell shapes and sizes that help to classify their fossilized remains today. I can imagine the crinoids, also known as sea lilies, with their long, segmented stalks and flower-like head, or calyx, waving in the current. As filter feeders, their feathery arms on the calyx would have been gathering up food particles and directing them towards their mouth.

The disked segments of the stalk are the most commonly found remains of the crinoids who once inhabited the landscape. Also joining in on the filter feeding party of the Devonian Period were the horn corals. Their ridged, curved outer shell served as a protective layer for the soft-bodied polyp living inside. Small tentacle-like structures erupted from the top of the coral, filtering food out of the water. While looking at the horn coral fossil I can see the different segments of growth, etching their life in stone.

Horn coral (left) and a gastropod fossil (right). Photo by Heaven Walker.

As these ancient marine organisms died, their shells, skeletons and other hard parts built up on the sea floor, providing calcite to the bottom of the sea. As layers built up, they became compacted and sedimented into the limestone that is now widely seen throughout Iowa. Because of the limestone bedrock, marine fossils can be found in many areas of the state. My eyes are almost always glued to the ground because of my time growing up in Iowa looking for fossils, and that habit follows me wherever I go.

However, I won’t be tracking down fossils here in the Northwoods. The shallow sea that blanketed Iowa during the Devonian Period did not reach where the Northwoods are today. Long before the Devonian Period, the bedrock of the Northwoods was gradually being elevated, creating the Wisconsin Dome. The shallow Devonian sea did not cover the height of the Wisconsin Dome, but rather resided in less elevated parts of southern Wisconsin. But in my mind, the Northwoods make up for their lack of marine fossils in rolling hills, swaths of forest to explore, and beautiful waterfalls. And even though I reside in the Northwoods fulltime now, I cherish the opportunity to return to my roots and dig up fossils in Iowa.

For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. Our Summer Calendar is open for registration! Visit our new exhibit, “The Wetland Way". Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and cablemuseum.org to see what we are up to.

Sunrise Dancers

It was well before sunrise as we drove into the Namekagon Barrens Wildlife Area and parked the truck. Moving as silently as possible, we grabbed our chairs, a much needed thermos of coffee, and started the walk to the viewing blind, its white silhouette barely visible in the distance. Once to the blind, we crawled inside, set up our chairs, and unclipped the blinds windows. I stared out into the dark of the early morning, feelings of excitement and anticipation buzzing through me. Afterall, it’s not everyday that I get the chance to watch sharp-tailed grouse dance on their lekking ground.

From late March to May, male sharp-tailed grouse flock to their display grounds, also known as a lek, to perform their mating dance and hopefully catch the eye of a female. They often return to the same lekking ground year after year, and prefer areas with low vegetation height so they can keep an eye out for predators, and be seen by female grouse hiding in the brush surrounding the lek. The lekking ground we were observing was an open field, surrounded by woody brush. The field itself offered plenty of open ground for the grouse to dance on, as well as hummocks of shorter grass for them to hide by.

Right at the earliest stages of sunrise, the rushing sound of a bird in flight broke the early morning silence. I couldn’t see where they landed, but could hear that they were somewhere in the field before us. More and more grouse flew into the field, and others cackled and chirped as they ran from the brushy perimeter into the grassy lek. Their little bodies a dark blur in the low light as they streaked past our blind. Sounds of chirping and cooing intensified as more grouse gathered. The party on the lek was about to begin.

As the sun began to illuminate the lekking ground, we watched the grouse as they began their dance. At first, they all seemed to be hanging out doing their own thing, chirping and cooing by themselves. Then, one grouse sprinted over to another grouse, and all of the sudden multiple grouse were streaking across the lek in a flurry of motion, until most of the grouse were paired up. I waited in anticipation for something to happen, but they continued to sit still as the minutes ticked by. Suddenly, one grouse sparked the action. We watched as he hunched down with his wings spread out, flared up his white tail, and began to stomp his feet. The feathers along the side of his neck revealed a bright purple pouch as he began to coo. These purple air sacs aren’t necessarily just a pretty adornment to attract females, they are extensions of the grouse's esophagus, and help to amplify their cooing call during their display. As he spun in tight circles, stomping his feet, rattling his outstretched feathers and cooing, I can’t help but think that he resembled a little windup toy, sprung into motion. This singular male's dancing kickstarted the other grouse into action, as they followed his lead, competing to be the best dancer on the lek.

This grouse is displaying his bright purple pouch. Photo by Heaven Walker.

When they stopped dancing, most of the grouse were still paired up, while a few stayed solitary. We watched intently as the paired grouse would hunker down to the ground, wings out, face to face, as if locked in a staring competition. It seemed as if they stayed that way for ages, until one would begin to chirp, and peck at the other. And suddenly, they were locked in battle, leaping into the air trying to gain the upper hand. They would peck, and kick their opponent, all before hunkering back down, facing off, and doing it all over again.

What I found most entertaining about watching the grouse on their lekking ground, is that there always seemed to be one grouse willing to break the tension of the grouse stand-offs, and begin to dance. One moment, only soft cooing and chirping could be heard, with many grouse locked in a stare down. Then, one grouse would streak towards the middle of the open field, head low and wings spread, white tail held high, to begin stamping their feet impossibly fast, and spinning in tight circles. Then it was a race by the other grouse to the center, where they would also begin their dance. The sound of their feet pattering across the ground, filled the air as the lek became alive with swirling movement.

The dance party on the lek lasted for over two hours, the grouse never seeming to tire. But eventually, a few grouse would break from the outskirts of the group, and sneak back into the brush that surrounded the lek. However, if one grouse started to dance again, they would run back into the open and join in again, not to be left out of the excitement. This in-and-out movement of wishy-washy grouse lasted for a half hour or more, before the grouse decided the party was over. All at once, the thirteen grouse that we had been observing took to the skies, and flew off into the safety of the brush. Our early morning dance party was done.

For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. Our Summer Calendar is open for registration! Visit our new exhibit, “Becoming the Northwoods: Akiing (A Special Place). Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and cablemuseum.org to see what we are up to.

Mushroom Munching Slugs

As mother nature slowly begins to tease us with the occasional warm day, and longer periods of sunlight, I can’t help but dream of warmer days spent exploring outside, underneath the forest canopy. One of my favorite things to do while exploring the forest is to take in the intricacies of the forest floor, and discover the diverse life that inhabits that space. Between the litter layer, growing mosses, and decaying logs, a utopia full of life is waiting to be unearthed.

One of my best memories exploring the forests of the Northwoods comes from the forest floor. My boots sunk into the damp litter layer next to a large tree, dotted with mushrooms and carpeted in moss. As I knelt down on the soggy ground to get a better look at the mushrooms growing from the trunk of the tree, a movement among the mushrooms caught my eye. Slowly making their way across the cap of one mushroom, was a slug! I watched as they made their way over to the stalk of another mushroom, their eye stalks extended and moving. Upon a closer look, I realized that this slug had been snacking on the mushrooms! The gills and caps of numerous mushrooms had pieces missing from them, and this slug seemed to still be feeling snacky.

Once I had spotted one slug nibbling away at a mushroom, I began to find many more mushroom-snacking slugs around the base of the tree. A cluster of honey mushrooms had three hungry slugs, all chomping away at the mushrooms gills and cap. To eat these mushrooms, the slugs were using their radula, a tongue-like structure that is covered in thousands of microscopic teeth called denticles. With each “bite” they are using their radula to sand off tiny portions of mushroom to eat. Shiny trails of slime were strung about the mushrooms, giving hints to where the slugs had previously been. The mucus produced by slugs both acts like a sticky glue, holding them to the surface they are moving across, and aids in their movement. When the slug is moving, the mucus becomes fluid-like, helping them to glide across the surface of whatever they are on. But once they stop, that mucus becomes more glue-like, cementing them to the surface. One slug was using their sticky mucus to cling to the vertically angled cap of a honey mushroom as they munched away.

Slugs are important decomposers within a forest ecosystem. They eat decaying plant material, breaking it down, and contributing those nutrients back into the soil. But while eating mushrooms, they are doing more than facilitating the breakdown of nutrients back into the soil. Recent studies have found that slugs are helping in the dispersal of mushroom spores. Through crawling all over the mushrooms, and snacking on the spore producing parts of a mushroom, they have been found to be transporting those spores both internally, and externally. These slugs then crawl all around the forest floor, traveling through the leaf litter, along decaying logs, exposed soil and plant roots, and on tree bark. This leads to potentially spreading fungi spores to new places they could establish, further contributing to forest decomposition and nutrient recycling. That's quite the contribution to forest health, coming from such a small creature.

And even though winter still has the Northwoods within its grasp, I am looking forward to the warmer days where the forest floor is bursting with life, and slugs are once again found gnawing on mushrooms.

For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. Our Summer Calendar is open for registration! Visit our new exhibit, “Becoming the Northwoods: Akiing (A Special Place). Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and cablemuseum.org to see what we are up to.