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.

Stories in the Hemlocks

One of my favorite ways to welcome the start of a new year is by taking a peaceful hike through the woods and letting the calmness of the forest usher me into new beginnings. I love breathing in the cool, crisp air, letting it fill up my lungs. And with each cloudy exhale, the past year slips away, making way for the year ahead.

As my boots crunched and sunk into the snow, the trees were shedding bits of snow that littered their branches, dispatched by the wind. In my attempts to avoid getting showered by falling snow, I found myself walking among scattered giants. Standing next to the old eastern hemlock, staring up at the towering trunk, I began to feel very small as I imagined what this tree has lived through and the things that they have seen. How many generations of songbirds have nested in their branches, or found food in their cones? How many generations of deer, bears, wolves, and other wildlife have they seen treading beneath their branches? How have they seen us change, and do they like what they see? How have they watched the world change around them, as they stand rooted in place?

Leaving the old hemlock behind, I continued down the snowy trail, wishing I could travel back in time to witness the old growth forests that used to cover northern Wisconsin, pre-cutover. When the forests were largely dominated by mature hemlock hardwood communities, rather than the aspen stands that are dominant now. It’s likely that the old hemlock is a survivor of the cutover. My mind wanders to the ancient hemlocks that were cleaved from the landscape for the tannins in their bark, and their use in tanning hides. Their trunks cut, and discarded on the dirt they grew from for hundreds of years, with their bark taken. It’s hard for me to imagine their sheer size, and how big they might be now had they not been cut down. What I wouldn’t give to listen to those ancient hemlocks’ stories, and walk beneath their branches.

But as I dream about old growth hemlocks, I find myself among a stand of hemlock regeneration. Hemlocks have the ability to live very long lives, reaching maturity around 250-300 years old, with potential to live 800 years or more. However, it's a tough start for many eastern hemlocks. The viability of their seeds is very low, with under a 25% chance that the seed sprouts. In the case that a seedling does begin to grow, they grow extremely slowly, with first-year seedlings averaging out at a staggering height of 1 to 1.5 inches. These slow growth rates can be quite the challenge, with many animal species who will feed on small hemlocks. White-tailed deer are a big hindrance to new hemlock growth, readily browsing saplings down, and repressing their already slow growth.

However, this patch of regeneration seems to be flourishing, and is somehow escaping the deer. Seeing their skinny little trunks and small stature dotting the understory gives me hope that a new generation of hemlocks will someday inherit the canopy. And hopefully, their sheer size will be appreciated generations from now, as someone wandering through the forest takes a moment to stop and reflect.

For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. Our Winter 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.

My Friend the Muskrat

As snow continues to blanket the ground, and the plummeting temperatures cause the air to bite at exposed skin, I can’t help but reminisce on warm summer day adventures. One adventure in particular had me exploring local wetlands, those special places where water and land blend together to create exquisite, diverse ecosystems. One wetland gifted me with a memory I won’t soon forget, and reminded me just how beautiful even the simplest experiences in nature are.

This quiet marsh first caught my attention when I spotted the large beaver lodge off in the distance. Beavers were once scarce on the Northwoods landscape, nearly being trapped to extinction by the fur trade in the 1800’s. They have since then made a comeback, and have influenced the landscape by building their dams. In my attempt to capture a photo of the lodge, I laid on the culvert to get a steady photo, but a rustling right next to me caught my attention.

The emergent vegetation along the bank of the marsh swayed as an unknown visitor moved along the water’s edge. I willed myself to be still as my eyes slowly searched for the source of disturbance. Through the thick swath of twigs and leaves, I saw the culprit. Their brown fur, dark and wet, camouflaged them against the muddy edge. A muskrat was scrounging back and forth from the deeper water near the culvert to the shallow edge, searching for a meal. They rooted around in the mud with their long, dexterous fingers, and swam back to the water’s edge with their meal.

I watched as they nibbled away at their meal in the safety of the dense vegetation. Once it was gone, they turned back to the water and began searching again. Muskrats eat many aquatic plants, such as cattails, water lilies, sedges, and rushes. They target the roots, stems, leaves and fruits. This particular muskrat seemed interested in harvesting roots. I continued to observe them silently as they snacked to their hearts content, until they quietly slipped underneath the water and left.

Even in the heart of winter, muskrats are harvesting food. Their thick, waterproof fur keeps them warm as they dive under the ice. Once they have their bounty, they resurface into mounds on top of the ice called push-ups. These vegetated shelters provide them with a warm, safe place to rest and eat, and a place to catch their breath while foraging. And while I loved the experience of observing the muskrat up close this summer, I will leave them to diving underneath the ice to forage on their own this winter.

For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. Our Winter 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.