Busy beaver pond

I went down to the beaver pond, now that the snow has gone, to see how it had weathered the winter.

View from the causeway across the centre of the pond.

The water was high, dimpled by a light rain, broken around the edges by the first waterlily leaves, so fresh that they almost seemed as yellow in the sunlight as the flowers will be later on. Small fish jumped, leaving rings on the water. And on the far side, a foursome of ring-necked ducks paddled about.

Ring-necked ducks, Aythya collaris. Three males, one female.

These are migratory ducks, and we're a bit to the north of their year-round range, so they may be recent arrivals. Or not: climate change affects migratory patterns.

They are named for a cinnamon collar on the neck, invisible in most lighting. The rings that are visible are the two white ones around the bill.

As I crossed the pond on the causeway, I heard frogs croaking. I love that sound, and each time (there were about a dozen frogs that I heard nearby) I stopped and approached one slow, quiet step at a time. But each time, before I got close enough to see, the frogs went silent. I didn't hear any "plop" as they jumped away, so again, each time I stood there for a long while pretending to be just another dead tree, another rock at the side of the pond, waiting for them to croak again, and scanning every stone and waterlily leaf for a frog. I couldn't see even one of them.

I heard a frog here. Just another invisible frog.

Later in the year, the beaver lodge is half hidden under new vegetation. Now, as the first green buds start to poke out of brown branches, it stands out clearly.

Beaver lodge, front door.

Again, as usual, I saw no beavers. But there were freshly-downed alders on the back side of the pond.

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Visité la laguna de los castores, ahora que la nieve se ha derretido, para verla en los primeros colores de la primavera.

Foto: la laguna, vista desde el camino elevado que la corta por la mitad. 

El nivel del agua estaba elevada, la superficie salpicada por una lluvia suave. Cerca de las orillas las primeras hojas de lirio de agua rompen la superficie, sus colores todavía nuevos, casi luciendo en los rayos del sol tan amarillos como las flores que aparecerán más tarde. Pececitos saltaban, dejando círculos en el agua. Y al lado opuesto, cuatro porrones acollarados daban vueltas. 

Foto: porrones acollarados, Aythya collaris; tres machos, una hembra.

Estos son patos migratorios, y estamos un poco al norte de su zona donde viven todo el año. O tal vez, ya no, puesto con el cambio climático las mapas van cambiando.

Se llaman "acollarados" por el anillo alrededor de la garganta, color canela, pero éste es casi invisible fuera de una luz fuerte. Los anillos que sí se ven son los dos anillos blancos en el pico.

Mientras cruzaba la laguna por medio del camino elevado (pero muy poco elevado; el agua ahora casi llega a las partes más bajas del camino) oía el croar de ranas. Me encanta ese sonido, y cada vez, de una docena que se oían casi a mis pies, me detenía y me acercaba lenta y silenciosamente. Pero cada vez, antes de llegar cerca, paraban el canto, pero sin hacer el "plop" al saltar al agua. Y yo me quedaba quieta, haciendo de cuenta que era un árbol muerto, o una roca, esperando a que una ranita se moviera, examinando cada piedra, cada hoja de lirio de agua, tratando de ver una rana. Sin éxito. No vi ni una.

Foto: aquí también oí una rana. Otra rana invisible.

El año más adelantado, la madriguera de los castores se esconde bajo vegetación; ahora, cuando los primeros botones de hojas apenas se asoman en las ramas desnudas, se ve muy claro.

Foto: la puerta principal de la madriguera.

Y no vi ni un castor. Como siempre. Pero al otro lado de la laguna, hay alisos recién tumbados, con marca de dientes de castor.

We haz critters: IRFD #5

Well, you have been busy, haven't you? You've flipped wet rocks, dry rocks, seashore rocks and mountainside rocks, paving stones, and the occasional log. And you've found ... let's make the list:

• The first to post was Joy, in New South Wales on the eastern coast of Australia. (It was still Saturday over here.) She found a peanut worm! And more: see Between a Rock and a Sandy Place.
• Kate St. John, of Outside my Window, was pleased not to find a tunnel-maker. Really.
• A blue spotted salamander! Rebecca bent the rules a bit, to good effect.
• Bill, at Fertanish Chatter says "termites were a popular find..." And the millipedes are pretty. Go see what else he turned up.
• Cindy's finds were in black and white. Under the Rocks This Morning at Bug Safari.
• Roberta posted on two blogs. First, on Growing with Science Blog, are photos of assorted small critters, including a mysterious encased larva. And then, ...
• on Wild About Ants, she allows an ant to bite her. And gets bitten by one she didn't give permission to.
• Margy, blogging on Powell River Books Blog, wonders what that blue thing says about her beach.
• Martha, aka Upupaepops, shares a poem by Robert Browning, in Getting Dirty on International Rock Flipping Day.
• Eileen, at Cicero Sings, reports on invertebrates that seemingly have moved north, with the warmer winters. IRFD has rolled round again.
• Dave Bonta limits himself to two rocks, and finds ... go see! In the Halls of the Mountain Cricket.
• UPDATE: Canniness, cowardice, or flipping fraud? That is the question Lynda at Mainly Mongoose asks. But the "fraud" netted her a crowd of hungry lizards; go see for yourself.
• And Susan, blogging at Chicken Spaghetti, has an introductory post on her blog, and a series of photos in the Flickr group. Cute froggies!
• UPDATE #2 & 3: My posts; Between a rock and a dry place, and Water makes all the difference.

From the blogs, I moved on to Twitter, (hashtags #rockflip and #irfd) and there I found:

• "... Rattan creek #rockflip. Usually there's lots of water here. #irfd yfrog.com/kjnd9exj yfrog.com/h8jasqjwj yfrog.com/kjzldhkj" From @gjesse
• @microecos reports "A little light rock flipping in the early PM: annelids, planarians, isopods, chilopods, slugs, snails, ants, springtails", but so far, hasn't put up a blog post. UPDATE: His post is "Flippant", but packed with goodies.
• Jenny, with her 4- and 6-year-old daughters got wet and muddy and mosquito-bitten in a creek bed. Such fun!
• The Science Goddess had to resort to flipping a birdbath. See What It's Like on the Inside for details.
• CabinGirl didn't just bend the rules; she made pretzels out of one. But she found a beautiful Banded Tussock Moth Caterpillar, so I'll waive the (nonexistent, anyhow) penalties.

Several of these posters added their photos to the Flickr group, as well. 

And this one; how do I categorize it? It's a blog post, but it's fiction. Or is it? You be the judge; here's Hugh's fictional character, the Interpreter, Flipping Rocks.

There will be more. Several people have mentioned their plans to flip, but haven't done a blog post yet. I'll add the links as they come in, so do check back to see them.

Frog on a lily pad

Dr. Sun Yat Sen Gardens, Chinatown

It's been another long, busy day; when things calm down, I'll have stories to tell. Yesterday (Wednesday), there was a crab rebuilding missing parts in Delta, antiquing and people watching in Chinatown, MacLean Park in Strathcona at dusk, and an epic struggle between a miniature moth and an even smaller spider. Tomorrow, who can tell?

The search. And the finding.

The Sunshine Coast, Day one, Leg three, mid-afternoon:

It was time to stop dawdling about and start the search for a place to spend the night. We had not booked accomodations, wanting to be free to change plans on the spur of the moment. So here's where we tested the practicality of the idea. Could we find lodging at the height of the tourist season, in prime tourist country? Or would we end up sleeping in the car in a pull-out?

Just past Half-Moon Bay, a sign read, "Secret Cove Resort;" the arrow pointed down the hill. Down we went. Down and down and down, very steeply. At the bottom, a gate, a half-built, half-occupied housing development, and a view. We parked.

The Secret.

We walked down the rest of the road. At the bottom, a large building sported two signs: "Pub" and "Closed". It looked more abandoned than closed.

Boathouses in Secret Cove

(Looking this up on the web and Google maps, later, it seems that this is/was the site of an exclusive resort; if it is, it's gone bust.)

Back to the highway. It follows the coast for a ways, then turns inland, into the deep forest. Green, green, green. No motels.

Twenty minutes later, a signpost promised "Information." Just the thing! We turned down Madeira Park road, went around a bend and saw a riot of colour; flower gardens on both sides of the road, a tourist information booth in the centre of one.

Red, pink, yellow, white, orange, green. And full sunlight.

Behind a patch of daisies, this wooden gardener carried a hoe and bucket. Someone had recently provided him with glasses.

A friendly girl in the information booth told us of a resort nearby, on the shore. "It is a bit pricey, though," she said. Were there other places, more reasonable? She looked down her charts and mentioned one, also a resort, a few minutes drive down the highway.

"What's the price range there?"

She didn't know. Reasonable, she said. Ok, we'd try it.

First, the washroom. I came out to find Laurie taking photos of the wall outside, decorated with flowers with labels in two languages. English and Spanish, a rarity here.

The art work was obviously done in two stages, by different artists. Four are named; Mary, Don, Walter, and Mother Nature. "Wonderful halflings," they call themselves.

Down the road, we found the resort. There was a room available; one only, smoking, and at twice the price we were prepared to pay. Back to the car and the highway, discouraged, hot, and a little tense by now.

And just a few curves more, and there it was: Stonewater Motel. With a beautiful sign, "NO VACANCY". And the owner was cheerful, the prices reasonable. Yay! Barely supper time, too! The plan worked!

The motel is so new you expect the paint to be tacky still. Each unit has its own porch and opens onto a park-like yard. Inside, there's a fully-equipped kitchen, except for the lack of a microwave; we were able to cook and eat our own supper in comfort. If there's anything else missing, it's the eventual build-up of details; the can of Comet under the sink, the extra hook they will decide is needed in the washroom, the road maps in the drawer under the TV (instead of the fridge and stove instruction manuals there now).

The bones of the peninsula; rock outcropping in the lawn.

Ready for a good game. There's also a hammock for less active guests.

We came back here on our way home. In the morning, I brought a hose from the lawn and washed the car. Later, as we loaded the last items in the back seat, this little frog jumped in with them. He must have been basking in the wet shade underneath. I caught him in a wet towel I was planning to drape our cool water with.

Pacific tree frog, on towel.

Cute, isn't he?

What else (and why I want to go back) we found at the Stonewater, next post.

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Ribbit!

Blind as a bat. And a great, lumbering, noisy disturber of the peace, to boot. That's what I must be.

Saturday afternoon, we walked down to Cougar Creek Park again. We came in the back way, from behind the protecting belt of trees.

Cougar Creek lagoon

The beaver had been hard at work, opening up the view. I threaded my way down the bank to see what could be seen on the pond. As soon as I stepped out from the shade, a half-dozen or so frogs plopped into the water. I stopped there, and looked for more, but there was nothing but mud and slimes.

Can you see a frog there? I don't see a frog.

I took another step; another contingent of frogs hit the water. I stood stock still and surveyed the mud more closely. No more frogs.

Another step, another batch of plops. More, this time, farther afield. I aimed the camera at a patch of mud which obviously had no frogs on it, took a tiny step, and ... plop! plop! plop! And I didn't even see them go; just the empty widening circles in the water.

Laurie joined me, and we both looked. We saw no frogs, although we managed to startle another dozen or so. I tried to sneak up on them, farther down the bank. No luck; they saw me or heard me. I didn't see them.

Nor did they show up in any of my photos. Either they were invisible frogs, or they're masters at camouflage.

We rested our eyes, looking at things that actually could be seen:

Assorted ducks, mallards, wigeons and cross-breeds.


Widening circle. With duck.


Deep blues, green greens. Sleepy ducks.


Dying leaves.


Rose hips, fattening up for winter.


Reflection on the water. Frame it, and it's a painting.

We walked home, well content. But next time, I'm tiptoeing down that bank.
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