Turtle-saurus

Summer, 2009 ~

In this part of the country, I'm told a snapping turtle can grow to thirty or forty pounds.  This one was sunning himself on a rock in the middle of the Crow River.  It looked as if he was outgrowing even his impressively large shell.  That, along with his long tail and threatening claws, made it easy to imagine that his lineage could be traced directly to the age of dinosaurs. 

© 2009 – 2011, Mike Anderson. All rights reserved.

Final approach

Late winter, 2011 ~

In mid-flight, Trumpeter Swans soar with grace.  But their landings appear less choreographed and more... well, clumsy.

After circling their landing pad several times to make sure no predators are waiting nearby, they glide toward the water that will serve as their runway. Their wings are fully extended, so as to create the maximum surface area; the wind resistance will serve to place the giant bird gently into the water.

If you look closely (click to enlarge), you'll notice that this Swan's tail feathers actually touch before its webbed feet... as if to feel the surface just before impact, and sense the precise moment to tuck into a floating position.

© 2011 Mike Anderson, St. Michael, MN. All rights reserved.

Spring blues

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Spring, 2011 ~

Some of the waterfowl we see in Minnesota spends part of its winter in the areas most affected by the BP oil spill of last year. When the herons and egrets left last fall, I worried their nesting places would be filled with toxins, and that few might survive to return.

Apparently, my worry was ill-founded; at various times this afternoon, there were groups of three to five Great Blue Herons gathering the wetland behind our house.

It is good to see you, blue.

Mike

© 2011 Mike Anderson, St. Michael, MN. All rights reserved.

Here's looking at you

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Summer, 2007 ~

As fun as it is to study the wildlife one sees while paddling the Mississippi River, it is just as fun when that wildlife studies you.

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One hot July afternoon, I passed a gaggle of geese, the younger of which found me an interesting critter to be floating along the river.

© 2007 - 2011 Mike Anderson, St. Michael, MN. All rights reserved.

Spreading his wings

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Midwinter, 2009-2010 ~
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It is amazing how swiftly the water can move, even on a channel as narrow as the Crow River, and even though the water is covered with ice. But the webbed feet of a Trumpeter Swan are equal to the fast current, allowing the birds swim in place in the open water beneath the bluff just east of town.

They gather in this spot because of the open water, and because a friend of mine, Curt Oien, helps them survive the harsh winter with handfuls of dried corn. (Fact is, Curt can go through hundreds of pounds of corn each winter, lugging it down to the riverbank in five-gallon painter’s pails.)

On this morning, the winter cold had its usual bitterness, but the air was tolerable for lack of wind. We watched the birds for nearly an hour, long enough to see the abundant grace and elegance that Trumpeters are known for.

Just as we were about to depart, the Trumpeter’s too, began to take flight… blasting their trademark salutes as if to say, “Thanks for breakfast, Curt. See you tomorrow?” I glanced back—camera at the ready—to take one more look before heading up the hill. A light snow had fallen the night before, covering the rocks and ice chunks on the opposing bank, and creating the illusion of clouds in the background. Just then, the dominant Trumpeter spread his wings in one final display of pageantry.

Mike

[Editor’s note: This photo is the winner in the wildlife category of the 2010 Crow River Organization of Water photography contest. To see other winners and runners-up, visit the C.R.O.W. website by clicking here. It is the second consecutive year that one of our photographs has been so recognized; last year’s winner was our shot of a deer, “Cooling Off in the Crow River.”]

© 2010-2011 Mike Anderson, St. Michael, MN. All rights reserved.

It's not a big place, but it's all mine

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Summer 2010 ~
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I positioned my canoe near a flock of Pelicans that were arguing about who should get the better of resting places among the rocks and cattails. The process appeared quite complex; one bird would bump another from the nicest roost, then that Pelican would then jump to a nearby log... pushing yet another bird from that spot. And so the process continued as the larger and stronger birds jockeyed for position, and the smaller and weaker ones moved aside to lesser locations.

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Throughout this take-and-give negotiation, there was one wise old bird who realized life was too short to worry about a proverbial pecking order. He had found a roost that was nothing special, but adequate; indeed, his body dwarfed the stone on which he sat. But while the other Pelicans spent their afternoon fighting over the best places to rest, he was content to spend the time… resting.
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© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

Beads of glass on blades of grass

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Autumn, 2010 ~
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It wasn’t rain, really, but something between a very heavy fog and a very soft drizzle. The moisture was landing with such subtlety that it did not disturb even the fragile blades of grass it fell upon.

Within weeks, the precipitation will almost certainly be less kind.

Snow will beat the meadow into submission, driven by harsh winds and arriving in quantities that will simply overwhelm the tall grass and field brush… forcing it to lie down and sleep for winter’s duration.

But for now, this moisture is the meadow’s refreshment; like the drink of water one might sip before going to bed.
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© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

Tea time

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Autumn, 2010 ~
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Maple, poplar, box elder and ash; these and other trees have dropped their foliage into the river like tea leaves into a boiling pot. It turns an otherwise crystal-clear Saint Croix River into a brownish, bubbling churn… made particularly dark this year by the roiling water of heavy rains and floodplain runoff.

It is amazing to sit on this bluff, perhaps fifty feet above the river… and realize that by spring, the melting winter snow will make this water run pure again.
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© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

The footsteps of winter

Very early autumn, 2010 ~

One could feel the first chilling breezes of autumn as early as Labor Day. The foliage was beginning its conversion from deep green to gold, and the leaves had gone from tender and flexible to slightly crisp… a change that was conspicuous, if not to the touch, then by the bristling sound they made as they waved in the wind.

I catch myself trying to imagine life as it was perhaps a century or more ago, as people prepared for the onset of winter here in Minnesota. In my mental picture of that history, life presented few of today's conveniences; there was no running water, no electricity or the fancy appliances it powers, few of the comforts modern life has taught us to take for granted.

The harvest was carefully stored to prevent vermin, moisture or mold from stealing the crop. Pork had to be salted away in brine, in case other livestock should perish and venison should be too scarce. Fruits and berries were put-up in jams and preserves, and vegetables were steamed and vacuum-sealed into jars starting as early as late July, a task that would not be complete until late fall. And weeks were spent cutting and splitting logs, in quantities sufficient to keep a small house tolerably warm over the brutal months of snow and ice. Anything one might need between now and spring had to be carefully thought of and prepared-for in advance; in Minnesota, winter is long and unforgiving.

While on a less life-and-death scale, I have found myself preparing for winter these days, too. It has been a very busy year, with many demands swallowing-up the time I would rather have spent on a river or trail. As if cutting timber for the woodshed, I find myself collecting scenes of summer… even by staring just a few seconds longer when I look out the window, glance toward the meadow, or gaze up at the night sky. I am stuffing memories into my mental closet... and collecting some books that will take me to fascinating places, even in the depths of January: Thoreau, Muir, Pinchot, Burroughs. Perhaps I should set-aside some photographs from Ansel Adams, and observations that are more current and close to home, like the writings of Greg Breining.

I know these books—plus some of my own photos, perhaps—will be an insufficient substitute for actually walking outside on warm summer day. But they are the only reasonable replacement for actually being in the woods or on the water.
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At mid-afternoon, Julie (my wife) interrupts my train of thought with an urgent idea. She asks, “Why don’t you take some time and hit the river with your canoe today?”

Knowing a more brilliant idea could not possibly exist, I set down my pen and quickly head for the garage. Within moments, my canoe and I are headed for a landing ten miles to the west on the Crow River. My cruise will end just as dark falls, if I paddle quickly.

Late in the trip, I capture the silhouette of an American Bald Eagle. We seemed to have something in common: The desire to take pause... and enjoy some of the final moments of the season.

Look long and listen closely, my friend. Winter’s footsteps are not far behind.
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© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

Photos... from a camera, and the minds' eye

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Summer 2010 ~

While on a flight to New York for a job assignment, I am reflecting on the kayak trip I took yesterday, floating from Rockford, Minnesota, to Bernings Mill near St. Michael. It was longer than my usual trip on the Crow River; normally, I take the shorter run that begins at Hanover. But it was just my fourth time out this season—and only my first river trip this year—so I was determined to make the most of it.

[Right now, I suspect we are flying over the Allegheny forests of west-central Pennsylvania. They compose a beautiful range of rolling hills and mountains, seasoned with various rivers, lakes and farms. In the distance, I can see the powerful thunderstorms which I presume to be the cause of my several travel delays today. It is ironic that thesestorms can raise such havoc on the ground, and yet, seem so peaceful (almost surreal) and majestic from the vantage point of the sky.]

My day on the river yielded no new, remarkable photographs; not for lack of worthy sights, but because my camera skills and patience had become rusty since my last river voyage. I did capture one blue heron as it studied me from the top of a hollowed tree trunk. I am pleased to add this shot to my collection.

Among the sights which escaped my camera lens were an adolescent bald eagle (brown features with a spackling of white dots), a more mature eagle (with its iconic white head and tail features, dark body, and gold talons), and smaller blue heron that would leap into flight each time I tucked my camera into its’ dry stow. The camera-shy bird would fly downstream to the next bend to hide, repeating this taunting behavior no less than four times. I saw a green heron, distinguished by its deep green feathers, and accented by burgundy and blue. And finally, a number of painted and soft-shell turtles slid from the logs where they were sunning before I could snap their portrait.

While it takes years of practice to become any good at natural photography, it takes only weeks to lose your edge. No matter; I have captured many shots in my minds eye. (I only wish my mental pictures could be printed and saved, that they might be shared with others, and less likely to fade.)

© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.