CalArti

When I hold a camera in my hands I feel like I am in possession of key that can open up the wonders of the world. I feel all the more like that when there is something special, different, unusual and ephemeral about that key.

This summer I broke out a few of my last rolls of Kodak High Speed Infrared film. 35mm black and white film loaded into a glorious old Pentax LX – if ever there was a key capable of tumbling the barrels of the most obscure lock, this is it…

Oh well – not much to show for it. A stunted, shot up tree out standing in a scrubby field that I visit all too often.

To me the key might be an old camera loaded with expiring and extinct film. For others it might be the latest wonder digital camera and the uber-fabulous long lens. But in photography, keys are ever more available. And once you have that dream-bag full of keys, the real work begins: finding the locks…

Winter arrived a few days ago. It ripped into town at the end of a 50 degree day – blasting winds and a sudden drop in temperatures. Slush snow followed by pure crystalline snow blew in under winter’s skirts. Dragonflies na more.

The cold air came, stayed, and then got colder. Looking at the forecasts we are poised on the edge – and as we dive deeper we go into cold and then very cold in the next few days. I scramble around tying up the loose ends I left undone during the moderate, so reasonable fall…

One loose end is to pull out the *ist-D I use for snow crystal shots, wash up it’s sensor, and get ready for another round of snow crystal photos. But I also use this camera for digital infrared, and as I prep it I dive into the memory card and realize that there are a few shots from the spring there.

And so here is a shot of 115th Ave, all washed out in the spring rains, the dogwoods in bloom (obviously)… Shot taken May 5 - made today.

Saturday, November 28.

Winter gave a slight feint earlier this week. It grew cold on thanksgiving and that night a bit of snow fell – enough to linger for a few hours the next morning on rooftops, cars, and piles of leaves. But it was gone soon and here we are, the next day over, and it’s back to 50 degrees.

I was impressed to see dragonflies lingering-on last weekend – will they still be around now? Do the Autumn Meadowhawks stay until it is too cold to hang on any longer, or are their days numbered by some other measure? It seems that if all the other dragonfly species come and go based on the unknown logic that whirls behind the natural world, then someday the autumn meadowhawks will also just disappear for the season, even if it never gets cold at all.

They probably will – though it will get soon cold so who can tell which from what. But after last week’s successful hunt I ventured back out to the Allegan Game Area today, specifically to the Swan Creek Levee, to see if any Meadowhawks remain. It’s almost the end of firearm deer season (it only lasts two weeks) and the woods were already less crowded, though the road back to the levee was dotted with parked vehicles and occasional parties of hunters.

At 1 PM the thermometer in my car registered 49 F. (An hour later it rose to 52, and then dropped for the rest of the day.) The November sun hung low in the sky as we pulled into the parking area. I figure that the levee area is pretty safe during hunting season – the game preserve is to the north, Swan Creek is to the west, and the area due east of the levee is often flooded (it more or less is now.) There were no dragonflies in the parking lot and none in the field next to it. I made my way down to the levee, with the low hanging southern sun glaring in my eyes. A short way past the dam a dragonfly rose up before me. A few minutes later, two more rose up and then flew out over the water…

And that was it. Three individual dragonflies, but still - three.

I wandered to the end of the levee, and walked back with the sun to my back. One skittish Meadowhawk flit form rock to rock, sometimes landing on the gravel trail. The image above is the one shot I managed to get of it before it too flew out over Swan Creek. I’m guessing, that’s it for this year.

A couple of hunters wandered down to the levee while I was shooting, rifles in hand. Lookin at their orange jumpers and jackets, I felt a bit underdressed in my greeen shirt and blue jeans, with only a faded hunter-orange stocking hat on my head. Time to head home.

On the way back I drove by the field I affectionately call the Old Farmstead to see if the logging had begun. As I mentioned in an earlier post, several of the pines had day-glo ribbons tied to them, and logging activity had begun in the field directly to the south.

Sadly, the logging has started in earnest. The small parking area that I would slip into is chewed up into a rutty, muddy mess. I’m not sure why they bothered to mow the field because it looks like the trees are being cut down and then dragged across the fields. The very sandy soil has given up the plants that clung to it, and now a good portion of the field is just a torn up sandy mess. I’ve seen similar tracts in the other fields around Allegan – swaths were there are just ruts, open sandy soil, and few plants growing. I never knew where they came from – but now I do.

Oh well – they seem to only be taking pines at this time. Hopefully the large oaks will be spared. I can’t criticize the cutting of trees in a place where they were grown to be cut, but it’s sad to see a place that I enjoyed visiting being treated so roughly. I should have spent more time at other places, so to have something to fall back on.

Next summer’s reports will be from new locales…

Update:

Stylurus over at the Urban Dragon Hunter’s blog logged a new late-date for Michigan Odonates this year - December 1st. You can read his post here - be sure to read the comments since that is where he updates on his sightings.

Saturday, November 21: Blobs of day-glo orange bob in the dirt road, away in the distance. A few moments later I roll by – 8 guys, no 10 – a deer hunting posse with slug loaded shotguns scouring the woods in the mid afternoon sun.

Yeah – deer season. The few weeks out of the year in which I usually don’t visit the game area. But this November’s mild weather lures me out to hunt in my own way.

I pull into the parking lot down by the Swan Creek levee. Pickup trucks and cars dot the seasonal road leading down to the parking lot – but the lot itself is empty. I don’t figure anyone would hunt along the levee – the restricted wildlife refuge is to the north, swan creek itself is to the west, and the area to the east is flooded out this year.

But, while no humans hunt here, the Autumn Meadowhawks are still around. Though their numbers are down, they are still common – and are especially easy to spot when the sun breaks out. They sun themselves on the rocks near the levee, on the gravel trail, and on dark oak leaves resting on the ground…

Dragonflies on November 21, in Michigan!

Saturday, November 14, 2009. It’s the day before firearm deer season, and the woods are bustling with hunters. Where on a July afternoon I could spend a whole day back in the game area and no more than pass a couple of cars, now guys in orange jackets stroll around planning and sighting, envisioning the buck that will land before them tomorrow, or maybe the next day.

It’s warm for November – still very warm. I have only one goal – to see if the autumn meadowhawks persist. I’m not sure what the record is, and I don’t really care. For my own purposes I want to see what they are up to…

And lo – they are present. Despite temperatures in the mid sixties their numbers are diminished. They are skittish and apprehensive. Whenever two come close they clash and then fly off. I see no mating pairs. None lay eggs. Maybe only the males are left – but many brilliant red dragons still roam the air.

They stopped obelisking and perching long ago – not much chance for even passable photos. But here is one, sitting on my knee…

November mornings are quiet, cool, often foggy. The rising sun slips through the bare tree branches, casting long shadows late into the morning. Here and then a lagging tree, leaves still red or gold, punctuates the brown landscape.

Dried leaves whirl in morning breezes. No songbirds sing from bare November branches, no insects click and whir. If you are lucky you can hear a chickadee, chattering in the jack pines. But usually only the laughter of crows or shrill cries of blue jay greet the ears.

After a cold October, November arrives unseasonably warm and mild. Autumn Meadowhawks have taken advantage of the warm spell, and fill the fields in great numbers. They land on the rocks along the Swan Creek levee to warm themselves in the sun. They fly as joined pairs over the water and weave up and down, depositing eggs for next year’s brood. They land on the dark brown leaves that cover the ground, and eye the skies above for prey.

As the day warms, grasshoppers tumble through the dried grass and the occasional moth flits over the brown vegetation. Garter snakes sun themselves on the rocks as well. The little snakes are no longer black and gold, but rather a dull dark brown with yellow bands and orange flecks on their sides. No doubt the grasshoppers will offer up a welcome late autumn meal to these little serpents, before winter’s long hibernation.

In my heart I wish it was cold and miserable. The warm sunshine and summer-like temperatures are like a Halloween mask. They hide the realities of the autumn woods…

The rolling hills of the old farmstead have begun to recover from last summer’s mowing. Small oak springs have emerged from the ground, leafed out, and already are shedding their new foliage. The little springs transition from the rich tannin infused colors of new growth and take on almost day-glo colors as they prepare to drop their leaves.

Bare trees reflect in the smooth surface of the intermittent pond. A small patch of lily pads have emerged in the area I once called ‘the heart of the marsh’ back when this was a seasonal marsh. It was the one area that never got completely dry, no matter how long and hot the summer. Now as I stand by the edge of the water I hear the growls of logging activities. A section of the forest just to the south of the pond is being clear-cut. Florescent red ribbons have been tied around the larger pines near the water’s edge, and a pair of tire tracks gash through the sandy soil, running the length of the field. We take things for granted when we expect them to last.

Saturday, Otober 10, 2009: I rise early (for me) and am on my way into the game area before 7 am. The morning is frosty and cold – temps about 30 F – but the rain of the last few days has abated and a Libran sun rises in a clear sky.

The first stop of the day – on the plan at least – is the Swan Creek Dam, near the game area. But as I roll down 118th avenue I pass the old Swan Creek Mill Pond – and I do a 180 and head back to the boat launch. The mist on the pond in the early morning light looks just great.

Dropping down into the parking area, I find that it is full of cars. Lots of goose and duck hunters are out this weekend. I grab tripod, camera, general purpose zoom, polarizer, and head down to the water. I am not disappointed as I quickly set up and shoot.

Swan Creek Millpond

I shoot with a camera, and the K7 is nearly silent. Hunters shoot otherwise, and shortly after I started photographing I hear one, then another, then six, and then probably 30 shotguns go off, simultaneously in their stages. It was surprising, even to one who is used to random gunfire.

A lone pied billed grebe plinked around in the water in front of me. Almost silently, it drops into the water and then pops up a few yards away. It paddles around for a while, and then disappears into the water again. Coyote grebe – it slinks between the legs of hunters and laughs as it slides out of sight.

Pied Billed Grebe In The Swan Creek Millpond

Well, 45 minutes at the boat launch, and that was the day. I spent several more hours tooling around the forest. Bird hunters were everywhere. It was too cold for dragonflies and the mist was burning off as I drove away from the Mill Pond.

45 minutes that I’ll remember forever. A gift to be treasured.

Swan Creek Millpond

October 1, 2009: Frost arrived overnight. Its white crystals settled down into the rough edges of the land – into the field and savannah, the hillsides and rock pikes, into every fold of every leaf. It was an early frost – weeks ahead of schedule – and much heavier than a first frost usually is. But then, it is October, the season when things change.

Frosty Leaves

I dawdled in the morning, ignoring the late rising sun. I stopped for coffee along the road, and let the moments of the morning slip through my fingers, unaware. Under the trees in the forest melting frost fell like a light, steady rain. By the time I got to the old farmstead the frost was nearly gone. I managed just a couple of shots before the air temperature rose past some imperceptible tipping point, and the frost suddenly disappeared – all of it, everywhere, all at once.

So much for the frost.

Frosty Leaves

But a good freeze changes things. It comes and goes, but leaves its mark behind. A glorious autumn day unfolded before me. Bright and still-warm sun in a deep azure sky warmed up the woods and fields around me, and I spent several hours knocking around the game area.

Bird hunters were everywhere, as you’d expect this time of year, but there were few gunshots.

Come October, I know that I won’t see any small dragonflies other than Autumn Meadowhawks. A few days earlier darners – common green and more exotic blue – could be seen dashing above the fields. Maybe it was the heavy frost – but even by mid afternoon, there were no darners to be found and only a handful of Meadowhawks stirred as I wandered through the fields.

When did the spring frosts stop? Was it long ago? It seems like yesterday, and here now the autumn frost curls up in the grass. Aside from a few holdouts, the dragons slumber underwater. Their nascent dreams, hardly formed, float like ghosts in cloudy dragon minds.

Autumn Meadowhawk

Sunday, September 20th, 2009. The equinox is just a couple days off, and another summer draws to a close.

The itinerate pond has receded sharply these last few weeks. I stand at its edge, on soft, muddy earth still head together by the dead roots of the grass that used to grow here. Waterfowl whirl around the pond – mallards, scaups, Canada geese. They glide by the bright foliage of inundated trees whose colors are more a sign of distress than of the changing season.

A garter snake wiggles away as I trudge along the water’s edge. Not the one that hung in the foliage last June – too small. But the same type of snake.

Autumn Meadowhawk

Autumn Meadowhawks are everywhere. The young ones are dull brown or dirty yellow, but some individuals have reached full maturity and have a bright red back and matching stigmata. They perch low to the ground – favoring the red leaves of fading, thorny strawberry plants, and dead coreopsis.

Autumn Meadowhawk

I have the best luck in the fields that were mowed last year, but the dragons congregate capriciously. Dozens converge on a small spot in a huge field that is otherwise empty. The spar with each other and jockey for perches, dance away from the thorny strawberry vines and snatch mosquitoes and flies out of the air.

Autumn Medowhawks, formerly known as Yellow Legged Meadowhawks… They seem to be the only dragonflies remaining; all of the others have already left. But with a little luck, they will be around for a while…

Autumn Meadowhawk

This is the time of year when squirrels start to run around with an air of frantic desperation. It’s hard to tell what has them so wound up – it’s still warm, the trees are mostly still green, and though the days be shorter the sun still shines in blue skies. Winter’s clouds, rain, and snow are a good ways away yet. However, I admit I feel a lot like the squirrels this time of year – wondering how long the summer weather will last.

Autumn Meadowhawk

And subtle changes have already taken place. This summer was not a great one for dragonflies, and around this time of year it seems that all but the Autumn Meadowhawks and Green Darners disappear. They are fine dragons and worthy of photographs, but diversity is gone. In June and July you can enjoy the challenge of finding Widow Skimmers, Calico Pennants, Spangled Skimmers, Dot Tailed Whitefaces, Ruby Meadowhawks and Halloween Skimmers. When you spy a bit of motion is an invitation to investigate and see what’s there…

Autumn Meadowhawk

That’s less so in mid to late September. Certainly not the case at all in October. And you’re lucky to find any dragonflies in November, in Michigan. That’s when the Autumn Meadowhawk, formerly called the Yellow Legged Meadowhawk, reigns.

Yesterday I toured the woods and forests of the Allegan Game Area, looking for dragonflies. Hours went by without a snap of the shutter – fields north of the river, by the ‘Silo’ off 44th street (it’s really a big sewer pipe propped up on its end), the tall tree savanna off 115th avenue – these and many other places hosted no dragons. It was only in late afternoon, at the end of a small two track that boarders the end of the refuge that I found dragonflies in abundance. Each and everyone one was an Autumn Meadowhawk – but I was glad for finding them.

Autumn Meadowhawk