Hawkwatching

View to the north from Waggoner's Gap

 Hawkwatching at Waggoner’s Gap near Carlisle, Pennsylvania, on Friday was outstanding. The day had most of the elements for what I consider a great day: clouds and lots of low-flying raptors. Wind that didn’t blow me off the mountain or make the temperature feel brutal was also plus. And having the fall colors near their peak didn’t hurt either.

Often, people who are new to hawkwatching choose a day with a beautiful blue sky to show up, and they are usually disappointed. On a day without clouds, the hawks can fly thousands of feet high, and squinting at teeny, tiny specks (or even finding a teeny, tiny speck) isn’t a lot of fun for them or for me. What is fun is having the birds fly low past wherever I’m sitting, and for that kind of day you need clouds to hold them lower. And Friday was that kind of day. Most of the time my binoculars were lowered, and I just watched the raptors fly past.


The hint of a rainbow

The overcast sky was a bit too overcast for hawk photography, so I settled for views from the mountain on the few times the sun came out or nearly came out. The colors were very near the peak on Friday, and watching the ever-changing light skitter across the valley to the north was a treat. The hawks flew often, though, and I didn’t have tons of time to contemplate the view. A couple of time a few drops of rain fell, not enough to even wet the rocks but enough to start the edge of a rainbow for a few moments.


 The main hawk flying on Friday was the little sharp-shinned hawk, a feisty accipiter that doesn’t like to share the sky with other raptors or even members of its own species for very long. They will dive-bomb each other and other raptors with impunity, and seeing the aerial acrobatics simply adds to the fun.

“Sharpies” were the main attraction but not the only one. Cooper’s hawks were pretty abundant. Two peregrine falcons flew by, one very close, as did a couple of bald eagles, some red-tailed hawks and American kestrels. For the non-raptor species, I always look forward to seeing the ravens, even if some are likely local birds, and an unexpected highlight were the 7 common loons flying south in formation, flapping hard across the mountain.
 

Saturday and Sunday were both perfectly gorgeous weather days here. I’m unofficially calling Sunday the peak of the fall color. Part of that is simply because rain is predicted for this evening and the mid-week, and that will likely bring down a lot of the leaves. I took a lot of photos this weekend, and you’ll get to see the best of them this week in Roundtop Ruminations.

Gone hawkwatching!

Cabin lane

One thing about all the rain that’s fallen this fall: whenever the weather does clear, the temperature change is always noticeably different than before the storm. Usually in the fall the gradual downturn in the season’s temperature is not something that’s particularly noticeable. Up a degree, down two degrees, up two degrees—the change is subtle, more noticeable over a week or two than day to day.

This year there’s been no gradual or variable downshifting of the temperature. When the rainstorm for this week is over, the day’s high temperature is yet another 4-5 degrees cooler than it was before the latest rainstorm. That means I have to change the clothing in my closet again. I barely got a chance to wear my after-summer-but-not-quite-fall clothing this year.

At 7 a.m. the morning is still dark and has now grown too dark for morning photography, especially on a dreary morning. The time has arrived when I need to take photos in the evening. Then in no more than two weeks, it will be too dark to take photos at any time before or after work. I’ll be taking (or trying to) photos for the entire week of Roundtop Ruminations over a weekend.

Tomorrow I am heading out to go hawkwatching. The weather is clearing as I type and so should bring a nice batch of fall hawks. In this area the third week of October is my second most favorite time for hawkwatching (the first is the Broad-winged Hawk migration in mid-September). The reason I like this part of October for hawkwatching is that it’s the week that produces the highest species variety of the fall migration. A few of the early migrants might still be seen. The first of the late season migrants might show up, and the middle season migrants should be out in full force.

On a very good day during the third week of October, it is possible to see every species of raptor migrant that is normally possible in the fall. That doesn’t happen regularly, but it’s possible. More typical would be a day when I see 11-12 of the possible 14 regular species. Specifically, I will likely see a lot of Red-tailed Hawks and I’m hoping for several Golden Eagles, as well. Theoretically, some late, lost Broad-winged Hawk might show up, and if I get really luck some late-season Northern Goshawks or a Rough-legged Hawk might fly past the mountain too.

For the non-hawkwatchers amongst my readers (which is pretty much everyone), the mountains should be near the peak of color, so if I’m wrong about the hawk migration I’ll have plenty of beautiful mountains to look at. And take photos of. For that you’ll have to wait until Saturday morning or so, because tomorrow I’ll be…

Gone Hawkwatching!

Completly different - part 2

Tractors along York St.

Probably it won’t come as a surprise to anyone reading this blog that a highlight of a fair dedicated to farmers and farming is the old tractor show. The Farmer’s Fair tractor show has takes up two blocks of town. Two groups of people seem to love the tractors the most—the oldtimers who stand around talking to other oldtimers about how their farm used to have that exact same tractor, and the kids.



Another old fire truck, though not as old as the 1919 truck posted yesterday



The tractors are such a hit that just having them sit around during the weekend isn’t enough. A tractor leads each section of the parade on Saturday night, too. Often, the tractors are driven by oldtimers with a kid on their lap. Little kids know they have become big kids when they are allowed to ride on a tractor with grandpa (or grandma). 

By the standards of the county fair, Dillsburg’s exhibit hall doesn’t have nearly the variety of contests, awards or entrants. Quilts and whoopee pies win the most money and bragging rights here. Crop art is also a pretty big draw, though I’ve never understood the judging rules of what makes one piece of crop art better than another. Is it the number of different types of seeds used? Artistic merit? The ones I think should win are never the winners, so there must be something more to it that I’m not understanding. Still, I think I’d enjoy making a crop art during a cold week of winter than I would doing a jigsaw puzzle. Maybe I’ll get around to it one of these years.

You, however, will not need to wait for years for Roundtop Ruminations to get back to its usual woodsy topics. That should happen tomorrow, assuming of course that the predicted rain doesn’t make the forest so dark I can’t take one.

And now for something completely different

Disclaimer: For today and tomorrow Roundtop Ruminations will not be about life around my mountain cabin. Instead, it will be a bit about life off Roundtop and down amongst the town folks.

Last weekend was the annual Farmer’s Fair in my hometown of Dillsburg. It was the 96th such fair, and I’ve been around well over half of them. In fact, I am a Farmer’s Fair baby, which is held the third weekend of every October. The year I was born, officials were forced to stop the Saturday night parade to let my parents out of the house they were then living in with my grandparents so mom could go to the hospital to have me. I was born the next morning. I’ve been to a lot of Farmer’s Fairs. It’s a rare year when I haven’t gone.

This year I wasn’t able to stay for the Saturday evening festivities, but I wouldn’t miss the farmer’s market, the exhibits in the hall, the craft fair, the food or the antique car and tractor shows. Did I mention the food? Although I’m not a fan of fried Oreos or fried dill pickles, I can eat the heck out of peanut butter fudge, homemade beef jerky, fresh-roasted cashews and the other street fair goodies that tempt me.

This year the antique vehicles were especially numerous and beautiful. My first two photos today are of Dillsburg’s original 1919 fire truck, still with its original owners and with its original paint, which must be quite a rarity. The local volunteer fire company says the truck was still used into the 1940’s, though my dad, who was in his day a regular volunteer, swears the thing was rolled out as late as the early 1960’s for really big fires. When I was a kid the old fire truck had its own special garage where the volunteers lovingly attended it. It still does. Now, it’s only rolled out for really important things like big parades.

The next photos are two old trucks, both beautifully restored. One is a general purpose farm truck (I think), and the other is a truck for delivering produce for household delivery and street sales. It’s an old local truck, too, from nearby Gettysburg, though, not Dillsburg.

This year the weather for Farmer’s Fair was outstanding, which is something of a surprise given how wet and rainy the weather in 2011 has been. One year not long ago the festivities were actually cancelled because the rain was so severe. I can remember years when snow dusted the parade, and years when people sweltered and prayed that sundown would cool things off so they could stand to wear their parade costumes. Late October weather here is notoriously variable. This year it varied right into gorgeous sunshine. 

A fall first

 For the first time in five months, I saw a sunset from the cabin last night.  The woods around the cabin are so dense I can't see very far during the leafy season.  A strong breeze over the weekend dropped many of the leaves, though I'd guess that still more than half remain. Or course, it was the colored leaves that fell, so this morning the forest looks a bit greener than these photos show.

I took these photos on Saturday morning, before the wind really kicked up, though already more than a few of the leaves had dropped.  Surrounded by forest, when the leaves drop, it's as though it's raining leaves, and it's loud.  What would be a soft crackle when just a few trees are involved is magnified hundreds of times over, and in the strongest breezes I'd have to shoult to make myself heard to someone standing next to me.

The leaf drop will probably lessen the impact of this year's peak day of color, but I'm happy enough to be able to see beyond my deck again that I can't say that I mind.  There's still plenty of leaves left.  Not enough have fallen yet for me to be able to see the few lights from houses that sit along the road at the base of Nell's Hill.  That won't happen until the very end of the season.  But I can see the top and left side of this mountain again, so my evening sunsets are back.


Nell's Hill - week 2

  My second view today is another view of Nell's Hill, taken exactly one week after the view I posted last week (and re-posted here below today).  The change in the amount of color is quite noticeable, especially at the base of the little mountain where the temperature is cooler. This next weekend will likely be the peak for the color change on the mountain--assuming more leaves aren't lost in wind or the heavy rain that is (also again!) predicted for Wednesday of this week.  I'll guess I'll just have to wait until this upcoming weekend to see how that goes.

Gloomy days

 Gloomy weather continues today. It’s been so foggy this week that I have no idea how the color change on Nell’s Hill to the west is doing. As the weather will clear overnight, my first glimpse of it will be tomorrow morning. Whether or not the color change has progressed much in the week since I've seen the mountain, the view will be a surprise.


Elsewhere around the mountain, the color continues to be variable. In some places the colors are well along, though muted by the ever-present fog. Then just a few feet further along the trees may all still be green, and just a few feet further on, the leaves may all be on the ground.

Thunderstorms rumbled around all last evening, close enough to rattle Dog, who has been scared of them since he was caught outside in a doozy of one 4-5 years ago. The poor weather has kept us all inside this week—downpours and thunderstorms don’t make for many forays into the woods.

I, for one, am feeling the lack, especially the lack of seeing birds, who are no doubt hunkered down somewhere as safe and dry just as I am. Mid-October is normally a very good time for birding, so it’s especially frustrating not to be out there looking for the variety this time of year usually harbors.

 

A bit of color change

Leaves are already starting to fall, littering the woods and my driveway. Last night’s rain proved heavy enough to knock down many of the leaves that had already dried and turned color, though the driveway is not yet completely covered. By the time the last of them fall, the leaves will be at least ankle deep. As yet, spots of driveway and forest floor are still visible, so what I see today is only the beginning of that yearly ritual.

It is normal for some leaves to fall before others, though I always find this a bit disconcerting. For some reason I’m afraid that means there won’t be much to the blaze of fall colors, that little will be left to see. I probably know this isn’t true, but the fear is there anyway. I keep expecting that all the leaves will be at their peak on the same day and that none of them will fall before that day. This never happens; it’s only in some perfect vision of fall that would be the case.

Today’s photo was taken last evening in the valley off the mountain. I tried to get one of the road up to my cabin this morning—the colors have really come along in the past few days—but the dense fog and rain so washed out the shades that I will wait for better light. I just hope the leaves don’t fall before I can get that photo!

Odds and ends

View from backyard of Hoffman farm, Saturday, October 8, 2011

I am wearing sandals today, probably for the last time this year. This is a kind of personal tradition of mine. I wear sandals one last time on the last warm day of the year. This year I miscalculated. I should have worn them yesterday. The weather forecast for today was warm enough a day ahead of rain that is to be followed by cooler weather that it should have worked. Instead, the weather is overcast and already damp.

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I think I’ve heard coyotes howling twice in the past 24 hours, once yesterday in the early morning and again last evening. If so, this would be a first for Roundtop. I’ve heard coyotes before, out west and in Pennsylvania’s mountains further to the east, but never at Roundtop. The howling was quite distant but didn’t sound dog-like to me. I know the barks of all the surrounding dogs, too, and this didn’t sound like any of them. Several canines were howling together, and unless someone over on the next mountain came home with several new dogs recently, no one has enough to sound like a howling pack.
                                                             
Perhaps 5 years ago I saw a single coyote several times during the summer at Roundtop. I never heard that one howl, no doubt because it was a singleton without a pack. He had no one to howl with or to.

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Yesterday on my travels I noticed how variable the color change is right now around the mountain. Some views look nearly at the peak of color, others spots just a few feet away have barely started.

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I continue to see lots of white-tailed deer on the move at all hours of the day and night. Yesterday I saw 10 in about four different spots. Oddly, I’ve yet to see any buck in this last week. I suspect they are still in bachelor groups and if I could find a group of those, I’d see half a dozen buck at once. Instead, I’m seeing doe with spring fawns, now spot-less as their grow their winter coats.

Nell's Hill

I’ve always liked seeing how things change over time. Partly, I think that’s because how I remember something is not as precise as I’d like it to be. Certainly, my memory is no where near as precise as a photo. How long has that tree had a broken branch? Did it just happen or am I only noticing it now? Was that coltsfoot flower there last week, or did I just miss it? And so on.

So today I am posting a photo that I took on Sunday morning of Nell’s Hill, the little mountain to the west of my cabin. Over the next 2-3 weeks the trees will change color and by 4-5 weeks from today the trees will be bare. I’ve decided to post a photo of this view several times over the next weeks so I can compare this view with those taken later in the fall. Partly, I just want to get a sense of how quickly (or not) the season progresses as well as how much leaf change occurs in the span of several days.

Weather permitting, which it won’t this week, I’d like to take the same photo every 3-4 days. This week that would mean I’d take a new photo on Wednesday or Thursday, but it’s supposed to rain on both those days, so realistically my next photo will likely be taken on Friday or Saturday. At this point in the season, that’s probably okay since this week isn’t hitting at a critical point in the color change.

As you can see, the weather was gorgeous on Sunday morning, with not a cloud in the sky, though a bit of early-morning haze was evident. A few trees are changing color, though not so many just yet. There’s a pretty yellow or orange tree down on the left side of the old ski slope. A few reddish shades are visible. Over on the mountain, it’s not much different. An area in the middle of the hill has several trees, likely of the same species, that have some color. And here and there amidst the green are individual trees showing some yellow or orange. Basically, not much is going on with the color change just yet. But as with all things, that will soon change.

Facing south

How long had it been since I’d seen the stars? I can’t remember exactly. I know I didn’t see them the entire month of September, but it could have been longer than that. August’s hazy skies often obscure all but the brighter stars, even on cloudless nights. Six weeks without a clear night to view the stars is my best guess.

So that amount of time without a clear view of a sight I’d previously taken for granted no doubt accounts for my gasp when I saw the perfectly clear night sky spread out in front of me during an early morning walk with Dog. Certainly, in the time since I’d last seen the stars, they had circled around and now presented me with a different view.

Now, Ursa Major stands on his tail. Canis Major loyally treads behind Orion, who still stabs at Taurus the Bull. The Seven Sisters peer down, shyly some would say, from above. It is a gorgeous sight, made more so by the absence.

The reappearance of a starry night sky is not the only “new” thing I’ve been seeing either. Suddenly, deer are everywhere. No doubt the fall rut is beginning. Yesterday morning I saw 10 of them, including two small but newly spot-less fawns, still running with mom. The deer are all over the place, even in daylight. It’s that time of year when I have to drive cautiously at night, as they jump out in front of a car without a thought for the potential danger. Only their eye-shine by the side of the road warns me.

Some summer avian residents remain, though many are gone. Up through the weekend, I still saw chimney swifts, though the swallows and kingbirds, pewees and wood thrush are long gone. Catbirds are still here, and robins. The last are in flocks, now, so I believe they aren’t the local residents, but those that summered further north, now grouped together as they move south again.

I’ve seen several large flocks, more than 100 each, of Canada Geese. These are likely migrants. The local residents typically don’t fly either as high or in as large a group. A peek at the local radar shows large numbers of birds moving through the region overnight. Sometimes I hear their chip notes, or their honks. In years past, on a moon-filled night, sometimes I even catch a glimpse of them.

Make no mistake, all migration lanes to the south are now open. Birds are pouring out of the northern woods and taking to the skies, heading to warmer climes. I will remain here and hope to welcome them back this spring and for many more to come.

Waves of color

Red Maple

Pennsylvania has a lot of different species of trees. I’ve heard numbers ranging from 108-134 different species, plus another 40 or so introduced species. That is one reason why the autumn leaf colors last so long here. More northern areas tend to have fewer species, and while their color change is very dramatic, the time to see that color is usually very short. Each tree species has its own time for the color change; some change early, others late. For me, that’s both good news and bad news.

The good news is that I get to see the gorgeous for colors for a long time. I will have color on the trees from now through early November. The bad news is that the forest here is rarely, if ever, all gorgeous at the same time. Often, there’s color mixed in with greenery, except at the end of the season when color is mixed in with bare branches.

The first wave of color change is going on now. Normally, the first wave is a yellow shade, except for aptly named red maple, which joins in too. Hickory and sassafras are in this first group.

Next is the orange wave. In this area that means the white oaks, and since there’s a lot of those here on Roundtop, that is a particularly pretty time of the fall. That probably won’t happen here for another two weeks or so.

When I’m lucky, the orange second wave and the final wave of red can come pretty close together. The last of the maples and the red oak are in this last group. This group changes the last week of October and into the early days of November.

Since nothing in nature is ever an absolute, these are general principles only. Certain species, like sugar maples, can show different colors on the same tree at the same time. Other species can show different colors from year to year, depending on soil and weather.

This year I’m hopeful the floods of September will yield an extra bounty of brilliant colors during October. I plan to take as many photos as possible.

Sassafras and beech

Perhaps the end really is coming--of the rain and gloom, that is

Farm in Barrens Valley

This time the forecasters are promising that the month-long spate of rain, gloom and more rain is coming to an end. Sun, they say, that mysterious and unseen yellow orb, is about to return to central Pennsylvania. I can only hope they are right for once.

In the meantime, I am having another gray, showery day, though at least it is without fog. I’ve learned over the past month to find pleasure in small improvements in the lousy weather. I’ve agreed to find intermittent showers with a high cloud ceiling a major improvement over hard rain and the claustrophobic fog.

But tomorrow sun is promised, and I’ve already gotten my sunglasses ready. Perhaps I’ll even need snow goggles as I doubt my eyes will be able to cope with bright sunlight. I’m looking forward to photos with blue sky in the background. Perhaps I’m being too hasty. I’d better not count my chickens before they are hatched, as the old saying goes. Let’s just say that I am cautiously hopeful and leave it at that. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a few more gloomy photos.

Cabin Hollow Rd with gloom and puddles

Making apple cider

 On a cold and blustery Sunday morning I went to the nearby Apple Harvest Festival, where I annually spend too much money and eat too much. This year was no exception.

Let’s start with the weather. Before the rain, fog and gloom of September, it was summer here. The fog has disappeared, if not the rain and gloom. Now somehow, between the clouds, the temperatures and the wind, I find suddenly find myself in November. At least that’s how it feels.


 The festival runs for two weekends. Next week is the second weekend. Crowds were light this weekend, at least on Sunday morning, which suited me and my dislike of trying to look over people, bumping into people, etc. I’m sure the organizers and the vendors weren’t thrilled. Likely, people are hoping for better weather this upcoming week. Vendors who were selling sweatshirts, hats and even gloves were doing a good business.

The festival is a great place to pick up a few gifts for Christmas, as the craft vendors are outstanding. I came home with a handmade basket, a couple of kugels (handblown glass balls sometimes called “witch balls”), a braided rug and a nice print of a pair of Carolina wrens and one of an old local barn.

After I couldn’t carry anything more, I decided it was time to start eating. This requires a trip around the entire fair as I can only eat so much, and I don’t want to eat one thing only to find something even better a few stands away that I simply can’t find room in my stomach for. This year I settled on a huge pulled pork barbecue and some apple crisp. I also came home with a loaf of homemade apple crumb bread.

I could have spent more money and would have liked to try the apple sausages or the pit beef and the interesting kinds of soda made by a local brewer. Perhaps I’ll just have to go back again this weekend.

Improvement

Sunrise with Canada geese

This morning the weather is somewhat improved. The fog has lifted, so even though the sky is still overcast, at least I can see much further than the 20-40 feet that was my daily distance over the past weeks. This morning, the Canada geese came out, so instead of just honks in the fog, they were visible as they paraded through the parking lot at Roundtop this morning.

I saw deer this morning, too, eyes reflecting in my headlamp as I walked Dog and Baby Dog. The deer are nearly tame, not deigning to run even when I speak to try and calm the canines. Three of them even ran towards us for a bit, crossing in front of us to gallop down the macadam access road, hooves noisily telling me where they were even after I couldn’t see them any longer. That really set the dogs off. Galloping deer brings out the wolf in these allegedly long-domesticated beasts faster than I can say “no!”

Later, one of them stood just above my driveway and watched me drive out, never bothering to move away into the safety of the brush. I suspect that hunting season will put some wariness back into them, at least those that survive. The ones that hang around my cabin may be the smarter ones. If they don’t wander far they will be safe from bow and rifle hunters alike.

For now, I am happy with a day of no-rain, and the promise of no-rain on Sunday. I am ignoring the forecast for Saturday, hoping it will be wrong. The weekend promises to be chilly, and rain or shine I will have to bring in the outdoor plants that have happily grown outdoors all summer. I will likely need to have a fire in the fireplace this weekend, too. The seasonal change is well along, now, and I can only hope that the glorious, crisp days of fall (and no rain) will arrive with the new month.

Another day, another 2 inches of rain

The daily 2 inches of rain this area is getting is now beyond old.  It borders on torture.

Yesterday afternoon it rained harder than I've ever seen it rain in my entire life.  That lasted for about 20 minutes and in that time an inch fell. Then an hour later, it rained just as hard for another 15 minutes and dropped another inch of rain.  I ended up pumping the flash flood out of my basement.  Again.

Baby Dog, who hates water, was appalled when I took her outside yesterday evening.  Water ran down my drive, and it was impossible for her to keep her toes dry.  She isn't coping well. 

Rain washed out my lane, rushing down the mountain, carving deep ruts down the middle.  Even with 4-wheel drive it's a bumpy ride.  After the rain abated, I went out with my heavy rake and tried to even it out a bit.  That didn't work as well as I'd hoped because the stone and dirt road is mostly too hard to even out with just a rake. But the water managed to cut a path a foot deep even so.

Fog pervades the mountain and off the mountain, too.  In those rare moments when I can see the forest with any clarity, I am noticing the beginnings of the fall leaf change.  In my first photo, if that was all there was to the story, you'd probably think this gorgeous orange shade covered the mountain.  The reality today is more like the second photo.  It's a gorgeous orange tree in the middle of a still mostly green forest.

The weather was supposed to improve (or at least not rain) tomorrow, but "tomorrow" is turning into something that never arrives, and the end to the torture is pushed back for yet another day.  Or two. Whatever happened to gorgeous fall weather?  It sure didn't exist at all in September, which now stands as the rainiest month ever for this year.

Merlin!

Fall is definitely here on Roundtop Mountain, though the temperatures are still swinging back and forth between summer and fall. Rain still falls every other day or so, and though the temperature is lower, it's every bit as humid and muggy as midsummer.

This region has now already broken the yearly record for rainfall. Records have been kept here since around 1888, and the record was last set in 1972, thanks mostly to Hurricane Agnes. Since 2011 has more than three months until it's over, this is likely to be a record that stands for a long time. And more rain is in the forecast. Everyone I've talked to is sick of rain. Sunlight has been in very short supply.

Another sign of the new season is that I'm seeing fall migrants on the mountain. Today's photo is a merlin, a perched merlin, which is even more uncommon. It's a bad photo, I know, but it's the only photo of a merlin in the wild I've ever been able to get. I see this medium-sized falcon fairly regularly on a hawkwatch, but even there they can be hard to see. By the time one person shouts, "Merlin!" the bird is already someplace else. Small, dark and fast as a bat out of hell is a good description.

I saw this bird as I was leaving the mountain on Saturday morning (without my camera). I immediately turned around, raced back up the hill and grabbed the camera, not really expecting the bird to still be there. It was, obviously, but the bird was also now surrounded by three crows, come to mob the raptor, a favorite game. The local crows are usually left to mob red-tailed hawks or maybe a great horned owl. Mobbing a merlin must have been a thrill for them. The light was poor, but at least I got a quick shot.

Long tale on a gray morning

This morning the fog was so dense that even with my headlamp, I stumbled several times on my early morning walk with Dog. I couldn’t even see my own feet at times, and Dog was just a large brown blur at my side.

On such a morning, I didn’t really expect to see anything interesting. After all, I need to see in order to find something interesting. Even the birds were quiet this morning, though the 50 or so Canada geese that live on the new pond are always fussing about something, no matter what the hour. Because I couldn’t judge my footing, the slightest variation in the dirt road’s surface was enough to put me off balance. Sometimes the road was an inch higher than my foot expected, sometimes lower. So Dog and I moved onto a paved access road where the surface was less variable.

That’s where I saw the tracks, just a series of wet splotches on the pavement. The animal had been standing in the pond, then walked onto the macadam, leaving the wet splotches behind. So, I didn’t have a footprint to investigate, just the splotches. That I saw the splotches at all told me that our walking around the pond had likely startled the animal. Even on a gray morning, wet splotches on pavement dry pretty quickly.

At first I thought the print must have been made by a deer, as I’ve seen them many times standing in the pond to drink. But then I saw more of the track pattern, the distance between the splotches and saw how they were lined up. I realized then these were made by a red fox.

Fox walk so that their hind foot strikes in the same spot just vacated by their front foot. This kind of pattern is pretty typical of most canines and is evident when the animal is walking or trotting, though not when they run. Dog and I followed this fox trail as it exited the pond, wandered down along the edge of the road and then headed back into the grass besides the pond again, only to soon return to the road, trot down it further, turn around once and then leave the road for good. What made the animal do that?

Thinking about the route Dog and I were taking on our morning walk gave me the answer. We’d walked along one side of the pond and then, instead of continuing around it, I headed towards the lodge, where the nighttime lights offered more visibility than my headlamp. We hadn’t gotten very far when the automatic lights turned off for morning, leaving me more in the dark than when I was out in the open. So Dog and I turned around and headed back along the pond.

My guess is that we startled the fox as we walked along the pond, but when we headed towards the lodge, the thirsty fox returned to the pond for another drink, only to be thwarted when Dog and I changed our route back towards the pond. It stopped once to see where we were or notice that we were heading back in its direction once again, and then headed off into the woods, for good this time.

I guess the moral of this little tale is that even on a very foggy morning, where I can’t see much of anything, there’s still something interesting to see and think about.

No particular topic

A pretty farm just down from Rountop Mtn.

A gray mist descended on the mountain this morning, so my photos today are from the day before, when the sky was overcast but not yet raining. My mother, and grandmother, too, as I recall, called these days with layers of thick, gray clouds an “October sky.” Today is not yet October, but that month is getting close. The days are already starting to vacillate between warm and cool. It’s too early in the season for the temperature to stay cool, though that won’t be long away either. On Sunday I actually lit my fireplace for a few hours, more to chase out the damp than for the heat it provided.

As part of my preparations for cooler weather, I have set up my fall birdfeeders again. The feeding stations aren’t completed yet. I will tweak my placement and set up for at least another month before calling it done. Although I’d like to have feeders up year round, the seed molds faster than the birds eat it in summer. And the opossums are often pretty tough on them, too.

So far, neither the squirrels nor the raccoons have discovered the feeders. That won’t last, either. I’ve given up buying the “nice” birdfeeders. I’ve yet to have one last longer than a year. I did get one of those squirrel proof metal feeders a year or so ago. A raccoon simply up-dumped the entire thing. Squirrel-proof, it might have been, but it wasn’t raccoon-proof.

So far I’ve only had the usual suspects testing the seed. White-breasted nuthatch, a Carolina chickadee and assorted titmice have all visited. The local birds eventually get quite tame. Earlier today I had the patio door open so I can hear my visitors when they arrive. They always announce themselves. Though I sit just 7-8 feet away from the feeders, as long as I don’t move quickly, my presence doesn’t bother them much. I guess the idea of free food is greater than their natural caution. Of course, I just like to think they are willing to share their company with me. I know I sure enjoy theirs.

Cottages surround a muddy Silver Lake, near Lewisberry

Hawkwatching - Waggoner's Gap

 I've spent the past few days hawkwatching, my favorite fall activity.  It's something of an obsession, really, and has been for more than 20 years.  Most people view hawkwatching and hawkwatchers as some other breed of human, one possibly that's not quite human.  When I'm on a hawkwatch with other hawkwatchers, I'm with a group of people who seem perfectly normal (and treat me the same way).  Sometimes, when I'm surrounded by suburban denizens, I feel as though I'm from another planet.  That never happens when I'm on a hawkwatch.


View to the north from Waggoner's Gap

This week I've spent my hawkwatching at Waggoner;s Gap, not far from Carlisle, Pennsylvania.  The weather cooperated, producing a lovely partly cloudy or overcast sky that made finding hawks much easier than trying to find them in the "blue sky of death" that seems to occur all too frequently.  The hawks cooperated, too.  Over the past two days I saw nearly 6000 Broad-winged Hawks, including more than 300 in the sky at one time.


 Broadwings are one of the few species of North American hawks that fly in flocks, or as hawkwatchers call them "kettles."  The birds gravitate towards thermals, columns of warm air. In those columns the birds circle and rise every higher.  When they reach the top of the thermal, they "stream" out in a single file.  Then they glide, gradually losing altitude until they search for another thermal to take them higher again.  They travel down to Central America, and gliding conserves energy, making that long trip easier.

During this week, the broadwings are the stars, but they aren't the only hawk in the air.  I saw 15-17 Bald Eagles, plenty of Sharp-shinned Hawks, a few Cooper's Hawks, American Kestrels and a few Northern Harriers.

When the hawks aren't flying, those of us sitting on a hawkwatch usually talk about hawks, watch other species of birds or just take in the beautiful scenery.  Usually I do all three, though not at the same time.  One of my retirement goals is to spend an entire season on a hawkwatch, from the first day of the season to the last.  As it is, I probably won't get back until October, when the numbers of hawks are fewer but a wider variety of species is common.  And then there's always November, when Golden Eagles and Rough-legged Hawks fly.  The entire fall lies ahead of me, with as much hawkwatching as I can fit in.

   

 

Full moon with spruce

The forest is starting to dry off, at least around the edges, so I was able to explore a bit yesterday. Mushrooms, to no one’s surprise, I’m sure, are popping up everywhere. So far, I haven’t seen any that are unusual or gorgeous. I’ve just seen lots of the standard varieties.

Since it’s been nearly a full week since I was last able to wander around the woods, I saw more leaves turning color than I expected. The driveways and roads were littered with leaves torn off by Hurricane Irene for a few days, but now that they have disappeared I really can’t see that the canopy looks thinner than it did before.

Fall bird migration is already well underway. Raptor counts are picking up with several sites already counting more than 1000 hawks in a day. Counters are also reporting large numbers and variety of songbirds. The summer residents are heading south and will soon be gone.

I am looking forward to the change of seasons. I actually have more sunlight in the winter than in summer, and this year the leaf canopy has been particularly thick and the sunlight lacking. With the drop in leaves will come a view of the sky and the mountains to the west, both of which have been invisible to me for the past few months. Even though the birds are leaving, the open sky and the mountain will give me something beautiful to look at. I'm ready for that.

Finally, sun!

I can't even begin to tell you how glad I was to see the sun when it finally appeared late on Saturday afternoon. Even after the rains from the hurricane abated, the weather didn't clear.  The fog was as thick as a blanket. The humidity was just as bad, and the sky was completely overcast. Even my mold had mold.  I was starting to think nothing was ever going to dry out.  Today, the rivers, especially the Susquehanna, are still running high but are receding, and life is returning to more normal with every foot the river drops.

That first glimpse of sun, just at sunset, was greeted with a mental cheer and a sign of relief from me.  The drying out process after the one-two punch of Hurricanes Irene and Lee (and perhaps even Katia should get a mention) still has a ways to go.  At least the process has begun and no hurricanes are in the forecast. 

Now I am wondering, what will all this rain mean for the fall color change, which is now only about 4 weeks away?  Will it make it later? Prettier?  Longer?  I will have to wait and see. I expect it will have some impact, but just what that might be is still unknown.

In any event, it's not raining today.  No rain is in the forecast, and as soon as the forest dries out just a bit more, I'll be down on a trail, looking to see whatever I can see.

Flood now reaching historical proportions

Beaver Creek

 I didn't post any photos from day 2 of the flood.  I couldn't get off the mountain.  As soon as I drove down the hill, on every road available, one creek or another flooded out the roads.  I was high, if not always dry, though a little water in the basement is far better than what I could see earlier today down off the mountain.

The first and second views are of Beaver Creek. I couldn't get the entire creek, which is normally about 6-7 feet wide, in a single photo.



Beaver Creek

My third photo is of Pinchot Lake.  The canoes are usually well above the shoreline and not anywhere near where you'd expect them to be covered by water.  The flood in this area is now reaching historical proportions.  Worse than this was Hurricane Agnes in 1972.  I was home from college at the time and remember that we had 18 inches of rain in 3 days.  This event is about 14 inches in the same amount of time.

The Governor's Mansion in Harrisburg has already been evacuated.  During Agnes, the governor had to be taken from the mansion in a boat.  This time, the governor's people called in half a dozen moving vans to move everything off the lower level, and the National Guard is sandbagging the place, hoping to keep the water out, but no one knows if that will work or not.

Several bridges across the Susquehanna are already closed.  Several people have died. The Senators baseball stadium is under water.  The sewage and water treatments plants are beginning to fail.  Thousands have been evacuated already. The river is expected to crest just a foot or two below the Agnes level.

From my perspective, this flood is in some ways worse than I remember Agnes, in that the smaller creeks seem more affected than I remember them back in the day when the population was fewer and development much less.  But I'm doing fine and am in far better shape than many people today. 

Pinchot Lake



What's next? Locusts?

 So let me run down the list.  So far this year I've had tornado, hurricane, blizzard (a small one), ice storm and this week we're adding flood to the list.  This flood is more than just the run of the mll spring melt flooding.  Hurricane Lee is falling apart and moving north, bringing days of rain to my area.

These photos were taken on the evening of day one of the flood. I'm in the middle of day 2 and am already pumping water out of my basement.  Later today, I'll try and get a few more photos, though even that isn't easy since most of the time the rain is a downpour. I've been taking photos from my car, with a window run down but I can only do that on the leeward side of the rain.

The rain is supposed to stop sometime on Thursday, and then this area will see river flooding on Friday and perhaps Saturday too.  Gee, I'm really ready for some nice, pleasant weather for a change.  Now that would be novel.

Someone, I forget who, called this kind of day "air you can wear."  It's so soupy that this morning when I walked down to the pond I couldn't see it. I could hear a large flock of Canada geese on the pond, but I couldn't see a single one of them.  At the day progressed, the haze lifted a little bit, though I still feel that I'm walking through a steam bath.

Tiny spiderweb

Later in the afternoon I did a little hawkwatching up on the mountain.  It's still  too early for many raptors to move, and with the very minimal breeze coming from the south instead of the north, the conditions were not near to anything resembling ideal.  But, I have to hawkwatch when I have the day off.  I can't, unfortunately, do my hawkwatching whenever the weather is ideal and still keep my day job. 

So I was happy to see anything at all.  I saw two ospreys, including one pipping and making quite a fuss over something.  A Cooper's Hawk soared and flapped over the hill, a Red-tailed Hawk joined in.  Several Black Vultures streamed back and forth over the mountain and a handful of Turkey Vultures, too.  Nothing too exciting, though I am always glad to find an hour or two where I can sit and stare and the sky and see a few things.

Old stones, new orchard

The old stone fence circles the new orchard, one young enough that it won’t produce fruit this season. When I call the fence old, I mean it is likely 200-250 years old, which is just about as old as things get in this part of Pennsylvania. This state is notorious for its rocks—ask any Appalachian Trail hiker about rocks and they will immediately grimace when they mention Pennsylvania. The reason we have so many stone fences is that our earliest farmers had to get those rocks out of their newly cleared fields before they could plant a crop. Those rocks became the stone fences.

Today, the stone fences are disappearing, giving way to houses or wooden fences. In my area, which is both hilly and rocky, the stone fences are still hanging on, and are often still used as fences. Unlike in New England, where the poet Robert Frost famously wrote about a stone fence as a property line (Mending Wall, where he wrote, “good fences make good neighbors”), here they more typically simply mark the edges of a field. 

Sometimes, when I walk through the woods, I come across the remains of an old stone fence from some long-abandoned farm.  Homesteads far up on the mountains frequently didn't survive very long.  The soil isn't as good, the conditions are too severe for a good crop.   Trees around those old fences are frequently huge, which makes me think the forgotten farmer never fully cleared the land before quitting it.   

The hills around my mountain are perfect for growing fruit. Apples are the main crop, though peaches and pears do well too. The first apples, the tart ones used in cooking, are already being harvested, sitting in big bins or on trucks in front of the farmers’ barns, ready to go to market. These are the Jonathans, the McIntoshes, the Rome Beauty. The sweet eating apples of fall will follow soon, though never soon enough for me.

Today the weather is so gloomy, I am again reminded that the day is not far off when I will have to take all the week’s photos for Roundtop Ruminations during the weekends. As it was, I was forced to take a photo out of the forest and partway down the mountain where the fields and orchards are open to the sky, but that gave me a reason to take a closer look at the old fence, once again.

Re-powered

After Irene - road is littered with debris but no downed trees

Ah, to be back in the 21st Century again. My power is restored, though I can’t say my life is back to normal just yet.

During the power outage I gathered up many of the items I use regularly and put them in plain sight on my kitchen table so I could find them easily. Battery-powered lanterns don’t give off nearly as much light as the electric lights. So now I am faced with putting everything away again.

I lost many of the items in my refrigerator, though I saved the condiments in an ice chest and took the frozen items to sister’s house. Tonight, I’ll likely head down there again to retrieve them. The restocking of the other items will have to wait until I shop for groceries this weekend.

Our modern houses simply aren’t geared for long periods without electricity. Back before electricity, people used cook stoves fueled with wood. They used iceboxes for chilling items. They had outhouses. They had hand pumps on their wells. My well pump needs electricity. Naturally, I store water for me and the animals, but when power is out for more than a few days, I start to run low. If I didn’t work away from the cabin during the day (where naturally they had power), I could have pulled water from the nearby ponds, built a fire or run a camp stove and then boiled it to make sure it was safe. Try doing that during a work day.

I’d love to go solar, but for me to do that, I’d have to cut down a lot of trees so the cabin could get enough sunlight for it. I’m just not willing to do that, though if I experience many more windstorms such as came with Hurricane Irene, that option might begin to look more attractive.

One thing I noticed is that with so many people, literally for miles around the mountain, out of power the night skies were gorgeous. Here on Roundtop, I have a far better view of the night sky than virtually everyone else and even I noticed more stars. I hadn’t realized just how much light pollution from nearby developments and villages impacts my own view of the sky up here where there are few lights.

So now my life here on the mountain is returning to normal again. This morning the dogs startled two deer that were inexplicably right next to the cabin, scattering them up the hill, crashing through the underbrush. Some things never change, whether there’s electricity or no.