winterbearrising

Promise of Spring Comes Early

Posted on January 17, 2026 by winterbearrising

Along the South Branch

February 2026

This magic carpet of woven Kevlar is one way to escape the earth’s gravitational constraints and hasten the journey from winter to spring.

Promise of Spring Comes Early

Asleep for the winter, life begins to stir under the blanket of the late season snow. Despite the ferocity of freezing precipitation, the wakeup call provided by the well-choreographed dance of heavenly bodies is unmistakable. Every life form on earth has evolved to respond to changes in daylength and when daylight reaches a critical threshold in February, the howling winter wind cannot silence the promise of spring.

As late winter inhales to take another deep frigid breath, renewed energy cannot be suppressed as tree buds appear and tint the gray hair of woodlands a deep shade of maroon. Nutrients begin to flow through the branches when daytime temperatures rise above freezing, as if to gain ground in a fierce battle with winter chill. Then retreat when overwhelming forces bring a subfreezing counter attack to own the night.

Cold winter winds snap fine branches, in an attempt to block the energy flow and thwart its nighttime retreat, as the tree’s blood and treasure drips from these insults to form long, clear icicles saturated with sweet sugar.

Bird migration begins as diminutive, bright colored warblers, challenge the fierce winter weather with blind faith, as they advance north each time winter is forced to take deeper and longer breaths between outbursts of snow and ice. The image of one of the smallest birds, dressed in a colorful uniform, facing a raging white February blizzard, is a study in faith, persistence and confidence borne of evolutionary predictability.

Spring peepers and salamanders begin their migration to as snowdrops appear through holes in the threadbare white blanket of melting snow. When nights stay above freezing, salamanders and spring peepers begin their march to congregate in vernal pools.

These temporary shallow ponds filled with snowmelt, soon echo with the din of spring peepers advertising for a mate along with a variety of other small frogs. The nighttime amphibian chorus heralds the arrival of spring, while winter retains full control for weeks to come.

I was not immune to the blast of vernal energy that coursed through the land. I stood on the riverbank watching the water escape its icy shackles; the visible current gave the water life. This was a siren call to join in, as the live water was really a manifestation of its otherwise invisible energy.

Even when the river ‘s surface is frozen solid, the water beneath the ice flows freely to the sea. The water is the wire through which the current flows. Touch the water, feel its energy. We are attracted to movement and energy and this cold dark temptress was too much to ignore.

I set the yellow Kevlar hull on the dark brown, clear water; the contrast in color was dramatic and complimentary. Once aboard, I adjusted the sliding saddle seat to keep the bow slightly low, as under power, the bow would rise, giving the boat a more neutral feel and easier to maintain a straight course. A foot brace and a strip of firm padding on the gunnels about where my thighs hit, locked me into the hull as an integral part of the boat. All preparation meant to take advantage of enhancing the ride on the river’s high energy.

A quick stroke with the carbon, bent shaft paddle, set the canoe into the main current. For a long moment I sat still and let the river express its enthusiasm for its newfound freedom. Reference points along the shore marked the progress of the drifting boat, purposely aligned with the direction of the current. With the first strong paddle strokes, the boat slipped through the water and begged for more speed as the bow lifted slightly to achieve perfect trim.

The response of the canoe to my measured paddle strokes heightened my enthusiasm to race the current. Running a boat fast is secondary to the choreography of the paddle stroke. There is satisfaction in a rhythmic cadence and physical effort, much like a lively dance. Movement becomes effortless as the perception of speed allows a meditative escape from the earth’s gravitational constraints as if riding a magic carpet.

Rivers are the major migration route for wildfowl and songbirds and are one of the first places to see spring emerge from the frozen grip of winter. The longer daylength during the shortest winter month sweeps away the dust of inactivity accumulated during the long winter nap.

Early migrator, male fox sparrow waits out a late winter snow in the holly tree.

Posted in wildlife and nature | Tagged adventure, birds, canoeing, migration, nature, paddling, rivers, snow, travel, trees, warblers, winter-travel, writing | Leave a comment

Ruffed Grouse and Timberdoodles

Posted on December 23, 2025 by winterbearrising

My favorite image of a ruffed grouse captures its explosive energy and brilliant colors. Once plentiful in our area, ruffed grouse are disappearing from NewJersey’s woodlands. Painting by Jack Unruh.

Along the South Branch

January 2026

Ruffed Grouse and Timberdoodles

Deep snow covered the landscape after a mid winter storm exhausted its cold breath from deep within January’s frozen lungs. The quiet early morning woodlands glistened like sparkling diamonds as the sun appeared low over the horizon. A foot of dry snow hid the littered forest floor with an unbroken white blanket, pierced only by a pole stand of tall, straight tree trunks, appearing as black silhouettes in the bright reflective light. A flat, open linear space through the vertical black lines revealed a long forgotten trace of an old logging road. Curiosity compelled me to follow the road hidden by time, now repaved with snow. The dry snow was easy walking and made a swishing sound with each step, to violate the silence of the morning. A pileated woodpecker’s distinctive call indicated life was emerging from cover to begin their day. My focus was concentrated on distant trees as diminutive brown creepers and chickadees began to make their appearance to enliven the still life winter scenery with sound, movement, and color.

Immediately in front of me was an open stretch of untracked snow, a perfectly blank palette marked only by a light blue shadow from a nearby tree. Without warning, the virgin snow, a few steps to my right, exploded, as a nervous ruffed grouse took flight from beneath the snow. Its wildly beating wings sent a cascade of snow spiraling six feet in the air, which fell like a shower of bright diamond crystals. Grouse will fly into deep snow head first, to leave a grapefruit sized, clean hole as the only evidence of their presence. They then burrow under the snow some distance from where they entered. Their impromptu snow cave provides a safe house from great horned and barred owls and hides any movement or scent which would attract a fox. Easy access to plants and seeds, warmed by the heat of its own body, the grouse dwells in relative comfort until disturbed or it decides to leave. The eventual exit is typically about ten feet from the entrance hole.

Ruffed grouse, once plentiful, in New Jersey are disappearing as its habitat has been reduced to unrecoverable levels. Ruffed grouse along with the American woodcock, are the royalty of upland bird hunting, a northeast tradition and across their range, west, to the Great Lakes states. Woodcock are migratory, while grouse remain in their home territory. Both share similar habitat and thrive best in succession growth where woodlands are harvested and new growth sprouts or in farm fields that lay fallow and begin to reseed with shrubs and young trees. Woodcock have evolved to feed primarily by probing soft earth for earth worms and so need to migrate from northern breeding grounds to winter in the south east.

In the fall both will sometimes crash into houses, trees or buildings. Grouse because the broods begin to disperse to establish new territories and woodcock via night migrations. One early December night as I pulled into my driveway a woodcock flushed from in front of my garage. The moist grassy area must have seemed like a good place to rest. Coincidently, the next day a friend sent me an image she took of a dead woodcock found a couple of miles further down the river along the Raritan. Evidence of a late woodcock migration. One October a neighbor called to identify a bird that ran into her house. I was shocked to see it was ruffed grouse! Miles away from where I typically found grouse aplenty.

Ruffed grouse feed on insects, seeds, catkins and tree buds. Ruffs or partridge are known for the males drumming while standing on logs or high ground. They beat their wings repeatedly against their bodies to create the drumming sound and let females know of their presence.

Ruffed Grouse (1988): A $5 Quebec Wildlife Habitat Conservation Stamp by artist Jean-Luc Grondin, supporting habitat protection.

Woodcock are an anatomical oddity with their upside-down brain, ears placed between the eyes and base of its extra long bill, short legs and huge eyes, set back and high in its skull. These timberdoodles are famous for their early spring mating flights where the male flies straight up and falls back to earth in a zigzag pattern while emitting a call that translates to a series of ‘preents.’

I have encountered woodcock in the same area as grouse. New growth attracts both while moist bottomland is required for timberdoodles.

Both birds are threatened by invasive plants which eliminate the diversity of plant life needed to support these two feathered celebrities as well as other songbirds. Autumn olive, muliflora rose and honeysuckle are the offenders and keep in mind, these plants were promoted by wildlife agencies as beneficial to wildlife. Not to knock the biologists, the lesson to take away is that scientific data is made useful only by interpretation. What do you think you see?

Currently NJ has an open season on woodcock, with a three bird limit, though the ruffed grouse season has been closed since 2019. Loss of habitat by solar fields and explosive high density housing, along with the lack of succession growth, sound a death knell for many wildlife species in this state.

Though I have hunted grouse, the lingering memory is that of a grouse running along the ground, in the predawn light, looking more like a pigeon than an upland bird, a red fox quickly following behind. I wonder if interactions with ruffed grouse will ever be experienced in New Jersey again.

A good friend with a NJ ruffed grouse on one of our grouse hunts when the species was plentiful. This image will be a reminder to the future of what used to be, before the loss of open space and appropriate habitat.

Check out the Ruffed Grouse Society, (RGS) and the American Woodcock Society(AWS). At least one project is underway in south Jersey by the AWS. Both are accessed by this link

https://ruffedgrousesociety.org

RGS & AWS

This is a good reference for those interested in habitat improvement, especially for woodcock. Locally there is some potential for creating favorable habitat.

Young Forest and Shrubland | a fresh way to create wildlife habitat

https://youngforest.org

Posted in wildlife and nature | Tagged birding, birds, canada, conservation, environment, forests, grouse, habitat, hunting, nature, photography, quebec, wildlife, wildlife-art, woodcock | 2 Comments

WW1 Pigeon Talk Prompts the Art of Conversation.

Posted on November 11, 2025 by winterbearrising

Tweeting and Twittering; the Essence of Communication During World War I.

The recent commemoration of the 100^th anniversary of the beginning of WW 1 highlights the passing of another generation and its collection of personal memories.

A timely news story recalling the start of WW I at Ypres, Belgium, prompted a memory search which led me to resurrect this article found years ago in an archived, circa 1933, newspaper.

Sadly noted was the untimely death of, Rupert, a messenger pigeon used to convey critical communications during battle at Ypres, Belgium, where many Canadian and British troops lost their lives.

Rupert survived the barrage of bombs and bullets only to meet his fate at the maw of a stray cat.

I imagine Rupert, Old Bill, Lightning and their feather friends were at times said to be tweeting and twittering in their gates as they awaited their next assignment. It is with profound respect to these and other fearless feathered fliers that we now tweet and twitter on ever present communication devices the doughboys of WW 1 could have never imagined.

As passing generations surrender to the ‘ages’, much history told at family fireside gatherings also passes into oblivion to leave event driven history books sanitized of the human feelings that guided those same events.

It would be a shame to lose this valuable perspective as the endless cycle of caregivers takes their place as patients. Encouraging memories to flow could be a welcome diversion for both patient and caregiver. Write or record the stories that will never again be told through the eyes and voice of a witness.

There is a series of books written in several volumes titled, “Foxfire”, that is worthy of review as to format, methodology, content and intent, especially intent. Foxfire is a collection of interviews with old time Appalachian mountain folk created as a high school assignment that at first glance appears as a ‘how to’ book of disappearing folklore, arts and skills. The first book in the series, “The Foxfire Book” has an incredible introduction, part of which reads, “Daily our grandparents are moving out of our lives, taking with them, irreparably, the kind of information mentioned in this book. They are taking it, not because they want to, but because they think we don’t care.”

In consideration of the efforts of Rupert, Old Bill and Lightning, two poets emerge from the mists of WW 1 to literally provide the flesh to cover the bones of distant history.

As Rupert flew through gun fire and mists of chlorine gas at Ypres, John McCrae, a Canadian physician stationed there, wrote one of the most famous poems of the era, “In Flanders Field”.

“In Flanders Field”

“In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields. “

Bronze Spirit of the American Doughboy statue dedicated on Armistice Day 1930, sculpture by E.M. Viquesney

It is worth reading the link to see how close the world came to never knowing of McRae’s heart felt poem. This speaks to the potential loss of inspirational words that pass away with its generation and those the generation personally touched. So it is really the second generation where the loss becomes complete.

http://www.arlingtoncemetery.net/flanders.htm

Old Bill and Lightning may have passed directly over American poet and journalist Joyce Kilmer. A New Jersey native, educated at Rutgers and Columbia, a reporter for the New York Times, whose poem, “Trees”, lived to survive him and become a part of the culture of successive generations. Learn more details about Joyce Kilmer as well as the generosity and contribution of his parents to the future of our healthcare.

http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=3363

Perhaps the barrage of gunfire ceased for a brief moment as Joyce Kilmer looked up and heard the whir of Old Bill’s wings as the bird carried information critical to a strategic move that saved the lives of thousands who came home to tell the human story missing from history books.

Explore the possibilities and redefine relationships even before assuming patient, caregiver roles. Ubiquitous recording devices can enhance the ability to capture and share our living history that gets lost everyday.

In 1917 you could see the twitter’er carrying the tweet, now you just see the tweet.

What gems of witness testimony wait to be captured for posterity on the latest mobile devices? The secret is not in the technology but in the human interaction and contact that causes the information to flow.

Hidden by the Burger King parking lot at the Somerville traffic circle,NJ….. WW1 officially came to an end.

Despite the jacket description, this book is all about relationships, listening, and handing down stories and experiences from passing generations. Every generation takes their turn.

Stories of the past, generally fall into two categories, stories which can be researched and tales whose entire existence depends on random conversation. They can be personally relevant, pure entertainment or predict the future direction and reveal possible course corrections.

No one would ever know that a redtail hawk pounced on a weasel in the cornfield, where the condo building’s main entrance now stands. Unless the witness was prompted to speak of the land’s history following a conversation about a corvette in the parking lot. Personallym I remember the field where the Branchburg police station was built, was often used as a location to release homing pigeons.

As with any subject, curiosity engages gears to take you further than the bait which drew you in. Delve into poetry and read the poem, ‘Trees’. Discover the poet lived in your area, fought and died in WW1 and whose father helped develop a major pharmaceutical company.

A classic tale of humor; a traveler from away asks the old man sitting on the porch directions. The old man says, “turn left where old man Stark’s barn used to be”. The barn is long gone, it was there all the old guy’s life, the stranger was perplexed.

Oral histories are treasures to be discovered and enjoyed as families and friends gather for the long holidays. Who knew that demure aunt Helen tested machine guns during world war two at the Raritan arsenal. Unscripted conversation may lead in infinite directions and any path is a worthwhile journey. There are no awkward tangents and no need to return to the original topic.

Posted in wildlife and nature | Tagged art, belgium, books, carrier-pigeons, communications, elder-care, foxfire, history, joyce-kilmer, pigeons, poetry, presidents, writing, ww1 | 8 Comments

Stroll in the November Woods

Posted on October 30, 2025 by winterbearrising

Along the South Branch

November 2025

Champagne colored grass borders the dense forest, a scene which begs the question, Who lives in these woods so well kept? Open woods, where shadows hide from the moon and dance in the cold wind.

Stroll in the November Woods

The natural progression of fall color fades in the late November woodlands, leaving amber-tan islands of American beech groves to stand as lighted guideposts against the bare, dark brown wooded landscape.

The vast track of mature woodlands had been cut for lumber over the centuries; old property lines defined by the maturity of the trees. The major species harvested over the last century has been tulip poplar, also known as yellow poplar which grows tall and straight. Non targeted species like sugar maple, shagbark hickory, green and white ash had a chance to vie with the fast-growing prolific tulip poplars in a race for sunlight when the dense canopy was removed by timber harvesting. The sunlight also allowed understory trees and shrubs to get established and proliferate to further define natural events, timbering and property lines.

Dogwood, various viburnums like arrowwood and ninebark, spice bush and witch hazel pioneered the new sunlit spaces.

Walking through the dark pre-dawn woods, I once came across an isolated grassy patch among the tall trees which produced a loud metallic rattle as if I stepped on some long forgotten wire fencing or tripped on a baby’s toy rattle. I thought the sound to be unnatural, its source hidden in the darkness, was loud enough to startle me and betray my presence in the quiet woods. Later I identified the plant as a rattlebox, a plant known to thrive in disturbed soil and pasture edge. So here was evidence that this tall timber was once in pastureland. The rattlebox became another signpost for me as I travelled the big woods.

While the initial dark encounter with the rattlebox suggested an unnatural origin, the fresh yellow blooms of the witch hazel appearing in November surely fires the imagination as it demands an explanation easily satisfied by myth. The name, ‘witch’, is a leading clue to make a lone traveler uneasy and unsure of his path. Witch hazel a native plant, was used as a medicinal by early cultures and a dowsing rod by later generations. Drug stores like CVS still carry witch hazel, most of it produced in Connecticut by the TN Dickinson company, a family branch of the original EE Dickinson company. The small yellow blooms of witch hazel stand out a like a cluster of decorative lights to contrast against the stark bare woods. The color is bright enough to be easily seen in the dark, and moonlit nights.

Spicebush is another color bearer providing the November woods with festive red berries quickly consumed by wildlife, especially migrating birds. Spicebush is an aromatic giving off strong citrus scent and does best in damp woods as an understory species. When ruffed grouse were plentiful, I once watched a grouse hop up to grab the red berries. The energy lost did not seem worth the effort, but this grouse felt it was worth the cost. The spicebush swallowtail, promethea moth and a variety of butterflies rely on this plant, and of course humans have found many medicinal uses as well as teas and flavoring. It is always a refreshing treat to crush a leaf and enjoy its fresh scent. Spicebush is scattered beneath the tall timber taking advantage of partial sunlight to thrive and propagate using decorative seeds and spring flowers to attract wildlife and pollinators.

While poplar was the targeted species to harvest in modern times, some oaks and hickories would be selectively harvested, likely in colonial times, for furniture and farm implements. Some of the oaks and hickories showed age and size inconsistent with younger growth of the poplars, as they had no commercial value and were left standing or survived the harvesting process of giant trees crashing to the ground. Standing in isolation, few and far between, the survivors stood like giant monuments, easily identified, as if they were labeled with a street sign on a map. These outsized trees gave confidence to wayward wanderers keeping them on course in the day or in darkness.

Having been lost in the big woods, I have learned to use the natural topography, wind, sun, stars, sound and scent, plants and trees, to navigate, and eliminate the weight of worry that robs the pleasure of immersing oneself in nature. Still, the quivering call of a screech owl, the squeal of large branches kissing in the wind and shadows dancing in the moonlight, will raise the hackles on my neck and cast doubt on my confidence, though in retrospect , this is the spice that flavors the trek in November woods.

One of my favorite images, as it conjures deep thought and parallel application. In competition for sunlight this beech and yellow poplar have straight limbless trunks reaching toward the sky. The only contact they have is this butterfly kiss about 15 feet off the ground. The competition has strengthened their growth w/o hurting the other. So close together they defy the wind and reinforce each others roots inthe boulder strewn soil..

An eastern red cedar lives at the pleasure of a tattered willow 5 feet off the ground. Cedar lived for many years until the storm blew the willow over.

So much in the eastern woodlands to fire the imagination and the lessons learned from a variety tree species sharing a common ground. This should be a mandatory course in sociology!!! The Rosetta stone for civility, security, relationships, and dealing with constant change and battle scars.

Remnants of an old wire fence long forgotten, except by this tree.

What you think you see is not necessarily what actually exists. You realize how important your imagination is and how it impacts your reality. This gorilla only appears at sunset.

Posted in wildlife and nature | Tagged autumn, conservation, forests, gardening, hiking, imagination, native-plants, nature, november, orientweering, plants, trees, woodlands | 4 Comments

Orange Swirl

Posted on September 20, 2025 by winterbearrising

Along the South Branch

October 2025

Orange Swirl

The arched doorway through the width of the old stone barn, openeded a portal into the heart of the autumn woods, now ablaze with brilliant color. The opening in the far barn wall appeared smaller and focused the uninterrupted view directly down an abandoned woods road, paved with fallen yellow leaves, to vanish within the dense autumn foliage.

The scene created a sense of timelessness, a blend of the peak fall seasons past, all travelling down an endless circular path, bridging its fore and aft companions, summer, and winter.

Autumn took the leaves summer provided, tinted them a variety of brilliant colors, and wove a bright carpet to cover the bare land before the white quilt of winter snow is delivered.

The palette of fall color covers the visible spectrum with red, orange, yellow, blue, green, indigo and violet stirred, shaken, and swirled to create ambers, scarlets, magenta and purple tints. Red and yellow are primary colors that combine to produce various shades and intensities of orange. Yellow dominates in nature and serves as a background to emphasize the mosaic of red and yellow variants.

Slight blue tint on the dogbane pods and nowhere else, is a display of nature’s subtle use of tints and shades.

Red often needs a bright companion color in a mixed woodland to stand out, as the intensity of the red lacks in brightness. Native red maples will produce leaves with irregular splotches of red on yellow, the red often the color of fresh blood.

Early in the season splotches of red will appear among green foliage as virginia creeper, poison ivy and staghorn sumac, these are the preliminary sparks lit, to start the fall conflagration of flaming color.

Red variants include the bright salmon color of black gum and the purple wash common to sweet gum leaves. Sweet gum displays quite a variety of scarlet tints ranging from pale reds to shades of purple on a yellow canvas.

The brilliance of deep magenta stems of poke weed, vie only with the intensity of fluorescent orange oak leaves. The magenta is so brilliant and stems so straight, it appears alien to the natural landscape. The stems are unmistakable exclamation points impossible to miss.

Some individual red and black oaks produce an orange leaf so brilliant as the be described as fluorescent. The leaves appear to glow with an incandescence that acts as a visual magnet. It has been established that colors affect mood and behavior and from that theory, chromotherapy has evolved. Chromotherapy is a holistic healing technique and nature provides that treatment with fall colors. Orange, associated with boosting energy and creativity comes appropriately after the green therapy session of summer where peace, balance and calm dominated. Heightened energy and creativity provided by the orange variants are choreographed to arrive in time to meet the challenges of the coming winter. In that way the autumn blaze translates the subtle impact of decreasing daylength into a visual announcement; a planned redundancy by nature to ensure human survival.

The fall color can be appreciated in layers as the focal length of the lens is adjusted. A single leaf becomes an individual portrait looking like no other under high magnification. Reduce the focal length and see an entire mountainside draped in waves of yellow color.

An aerial view, seen through a time lapsed camera, animates the arrival of fall as is slowly moves south, the bright colors consuming the green foliage.

A classic fall scene of a leaf littered winding dirt road disappearing around a distant bend, into the embrace of a mass of flaming foliage, invites you to step inside the image. Walking down that old time forgotten road, curiosity beckons you to travel further, beyond the curve, into a world where time stands still and memories of autumns past eagerly await your arrival.

Posted in wildlife and nature | Tagged autumn, barns, chromotherapy, color, dendrology, garden, gardening, nature, photography | Leave a comment

Second Chance Eagle

Posted on August 18, 2025 by winterbearrising

Along the South Branch

September 2025

This lady of the sky left the cage in full flight as if shot out of a cannon. The green band on the right leg reads, H 52. she is a large 3 year old female, born locally, with no guarantee she will remain anywhere in NJ. Sky is the limit to her future travels.

Second Chance Eagle

The X-ray revealed the three year old female eagle’s ulna, broken in three places. Her prognosis was uncertain, as her bone could not be pinned because some healing had already taken place. My heart sank at the news, this would be the third eagle rescue in which I was involved, where two of the three rescued birds had to be euthanized despite appearing very healthy; this feisty eagle looked to be another failed effort.

I was beginning to feel more like the messenger of death, than a rescuer.

The good news was the preliminary field diagnosis of possible lead poisoning tested negative. She was a large female and otherwise appeared healthy with a feisty attitude and voracious appetite. All that could be done was to wrap her wing and hope for the best; a case of tincture of time and scientific neglect The prospect of hope was slim, but glowed brightly, compared to the absence of all hope in the other rescues.

The weight of the effort to locate her and affect a rescue, given her location amid a steep grade and blow downs covered in wild underbrush, personalized the physical and emotional expenditure. Her survival was as important to me as it was for the species. What a joy it would be to see the shadow of her wings pass over the earth! A symbol of hope and undiminished spirit flying across the heavenly regime of open sky.

This injured eagle was in a difficult location to capture. Her condition and behavior had to be evaluated before making an attempt to reach and constrain her, without doing further injury. The mottled plumage, color of eyes and beak, indicated she was a three-year-old eagle.

Every few weeks from her capture on May second, I would text Cathy at Raptor Trust for an update. Hope was still holding as the eagle remained full of spirit, despite confinement, her was appetite undiminished and notably voracious. Imagine a creature whose domain was the heavens, now confined to a flightless cage. Taking an unavoidable anthropomorphic view, what sustained mental gymnastics would it take to survive that unimaginable confinement? This eagle is a role model for adaptability and emphasizes the critical importance of undiminished spirit in the face of adversity. Hope on a wing and a prayer.

Her wings were eventually unwrapped when it was certain the fractures healed; the next step was to release her into a flight cage. This would be a test of the strength of her healed wing and a final determination of her fate. There is always some feather loss during treatment, so that would delay her recovery further. Her appetite was insatiable as she ate her way back to health and the heavens where she might rule for the next thirty years.

On the afternoon of September 18, 2024, I got a call from Cathy at Raptor Trust and in cooperation with endangered species director, Kathy Clark, told to come get the eagle and release it near where it was rescued. So September 19, I drove to Raptor Trust and loaded the caged eagle in the back seat of my truck for the long awaited release.

On the way to Raptor Trust what song comes on the radio? Englebert Humperdinck singing, “Please release me, let me go”. The hair stood up on the back of my neck! Eagle magic?

The negative outcome experienced on previous rescues, made this release especially meaningful in a very personal way. This lady of the sky left the cage in full flight as if shot out of a cannon. Eagles will dive from a perch to catch air under their wings, as she took off from ground level; she needed a long runway to get airborne. She flew parallel to the ground for about 200 yards and then quickly disappeared in the tree line along the stream. I was hoping she would land on a high perch where I could confirm a successful release, no such luck. I took about 20 minutes to get back to the truck and drive in the direction she flew, to park on the other side of the treeline. I waited for half an hour and finally gave up, leaving her to her fate. Just as I started the truck, her majesty did a fly by directly over me! By the time I unbuckled my seat belt, grabbed the camera, and stepped out of the truck, she was gone. What the heck just happened? More eagle magic! It is no wonder why so many cultures hold the eagle in high esteem.

Nothing official, but this eagle convinced me her name was, Angela.

Angie has been banded for identification with a silver federal band on her left leg and a green anodized aluminum band on her right leg. The green band can easily be read with binoculars or a good camera. Be on the lookout for H52. If you see her, report her to the state AND let me know. People who band birds celebrate any time a band has been reported. It is almost like putting a note in a bottle and tossing it out to sea. What are the chances of a response? Note from the images she still has that immature mottled plumage, orange eyes and dark beak. In a year or two the white head and tail will be more prominent; eyes and beak will turn yellow. Her life expectancy can be 30 years or more, so make sure you tell your kids and grandkids to keep an eye out for Angie and tell her story to their kids. We collectively wish her a long and healthy life, and long may her shadow glide across the earth wherever she may go.

See video of the release…… https://1drv.ms/v/s!AtXtCXPVIWx9l3n6fQg3qGvvS9c7

What a pleasure to announce the successful release, 9.19.24. 3 year old female, NJ green band H52

Posted in wildlife and nature | Tagged animal-rehab, bird-banding, birds, books, coincidence, drama, eagles, nature, new-jersey, raptors, songs, veterinary, wildlife, writing | 2 Comments

A Half Pence for Your Thoughts

Posted on July 4, 2025 by winterbearrising

Along the South Branch

July 2025

Gone are the cows and barbed wire fences along the river, as land use has again changed, the only constant is the presence of the river and even the river has a mind to meander.

A Half Pence for Your Thoughts

A thin round object, consistent with the appearance of a large coin protruded out of the eroded river bank. Closer inspection revealed light blue specs, suggesting copper content. It sure looked and felt like an old coin, its face severely eroded with traces of letters or numbers left to the imagination. Eventually the discovery was tentatively identified as a British half pence, from the mid eighteenth century. Its condition made it practically worthless, except for its historic value as a link to the past life of the river and its surrounding land.

That coin was a reminder of generations past and what their view of the river may have been. Each iteration was defined by the evolving cultural perspective each generation owned. Looking through time at any given layer begs a comparison to current views, and the realization today’s view is dynamic and changing before our eyes. Though a period may be categorically defined, the transition is the real story, as it gives insight to the collective response under different economic and social pressures.

Each layer of time uncovered, is incomplete without considering the impact of the preceding layer until we arrive at the time the river itself was formed post glacial retreat. As the land sought equilibrium though violent undulations, it changed the gradient of the river’s path and adjusted its character. Critically important were the soil conditions created, which set the stage for a succession of thriving biological communities.

Amazingly, an early life form was discovered near Neshanic Station, where an unrecognized dinosaur tail bone was found and used as a doorstop. Stegomus arcuatus jerseyensis, was a large armored reptile with an alligator-like body, long stout legs, and an opossum-shaped head. Obviously, flora, fauna, climate, which favored this creature went through a series of changes, which no longer supported its existence.

There are ‘moments’ of stability as far as climate, flora, fauna, and associated life forms, and within each seemingly static pause, a culturally driven perspective is applied.

Aptly named, ‘moose-elk’, roamed the wilds of the vast eastern woodlands. This specimen found in New Jersey stands tall at the NJ state museum, in Trenton.

In the days before mills and their dams were built, migratory fisheries were of critical economic importance to those who lived along the river. When the first mill dam was built on the lower Raritan, which blocked the fish migrations, the upstream residents burned down the mill.

Damming previously unimpeded rivers with grist and textile mills presented an economic opportunity for some, and ended a legacy lifestyle for others. This is an ongoing pattern of change along our rivers.

Amazingly, the gears of Holcomb’s mill, circa 1711, on the South branch of the Raritan, was made of wood! The mill dam has deteriorated and almost vanished.

In the seventeenth century, 1682, Somerset county had placed a bounty on wolves and fox. It is hard to imagine the environment required to sustain a population of wolves in central NJ. Fox were always present, and now coyotes have moved in. Biologists believed the appearance of coyotes was favored by the vast agricultural community and would disappear when the farms were sold off. That conclusion proved to be invalid as the adaptability of coyotes to the changing environment was grossly underestimated.

When the economy shifted from reliance on the rivers, they were still of value to livestock and dairy farmers, providing water for the herds. In one generation, environmental regulations put many farms out of business by restricting the handling of manure and prohibiting cattle from entering streams. Some days the local dairy herd provided a slalom course for my canoe as I wove my way through the herd, brisket deep in the cool water of the South Branch. Today, no cows can be found in or near the river, just remnants of barbed wire fencing embedded deep within the rings of scarred trees once used as fence posts.

Today’s river is centered on recreation as well as providing potable water, sewerage treatment plants and continues its ancient legacy as a receptacle for refuse. Organizations such as the Central Jersey Stream Team and Lower Raritan River Partnership do their best to gather public support to keep our rivers clean and monitor emerging and legacy pollutants. Looking clean does not equate to the absence of pollutants. Consult the fish consumption warning in each state. NJDEP| Division of Science and Research | Fish Advisories and Studies

Statements from a Rutgers University president in the 1930s proclaiming the need to clear up the polluted river, have a hollow ring, as 75 years later the same refrain is heard about the same river. Generational priorities change the focus, while looking through the same glass. Industry and profits are replaced with real estate and profits, each contributing different pollutants, many of which live beyond the life span of their source.

The high population density in New Jersey stresses the environment and alters the standing cultural view of open space and rivers. The eventual compromise serves as the engine of change.

There is a tenant of wildlife biology referred to as, ‘carrying capacity’, where the local environment can only support a calculated number of a given species before it collapses. Theory exempts humans from this rule based on the belief humans are independence of nature, intelligent and have the technology to overcome nature; a flawed assumption which has often lead to environmental disaster.

Theories aside, peeling back the layers of past perspectives, creates a map for the future, displaying pitfalls, successes, and the realization that science is only true for a moment.

A valuable Perspective from another time….. on the that river you see today.…..

http://archive.org/stream/raritannotesonri00vand/raritannotesonri00vand_djvu.txt

But the river was not always so commonplace. There was a time, and not 300 years ago, when it was unique and thought a wild, wild strea,. no one had been to its head; no one knew how far it travelled. It was then a deeper stream with its waters undimmed by surface drainage from farms. there were no farms. The small open spaces on the meadows were planted with Indian maize; but all the rest of the land was forest. Huge pines grew along the shale cliffs; oak and chestnut and hickory grew in the uplands. There were no towns or bridges or railways or wagon roads. Indian trails ran across the land from river to river, Indian tepees were pitched under the great trees in the meadows, and Indian canoes glanced along the surface of the River. The white man had not yet come, the land was unflayed, the forest and streams were in their pristine beauty. And then……

Posted in wildlife and nature | Tagged archeology, birds, canoeing, environment, farming, first-people, fishing, hiking, history, natural-history, nature, rivers, rutgers, travel, wildlife | 3 Comments

Reading the River

Posted on May 18, 2025 by winterbearrising

Along the South Branch

June 2025

At sixty strokes a minute, the paddle leaves a linear series of isolated, expanding ripples, lingering on the water’s surface, appearing like the tracks of a rabbit running in the snow. Photo by Bill Haduch

Reading the River

The low concrete dam spanned the shallow river to create a constant water supply for a long gone 19th century grist mill. Above the dam a placid lake was formed, its surface appeared static and reflective to disguise the current as the determined river flowed from highlands to sea level. The dam caused the river to pause its downstream journey as it pondered its escape from the impoundment. It first attempted to expand its breadth to go around the obstacle. Failing that, the river began to overflow the dam. The water flowing over the dam was now energized by its escape, and enlivened by the infusion of oxygen from its precipitous fall. The resulting white water was a sign of turbulence and the aeration reduces the density of the water making objects less buoyant. As the water fell upon itself, the weight of the falling water created a void, filled in by downstream water flowing upstream, to form a horizontal current, spinning parallel the length of the dam, known as a hydraulic.

Dam pictured has claimed lives, though it looks harmless at low water levels.

The spinning action of the hydraulic increased the downstream current’s speed. Over time, debris and sediment accumulated below the dam to force the water into one main channel to create a venturi effect which further accelerates current speed.

Warning sign above the impounded water, and a note left on my truck warning of the danger dams present to paddlers.

A couple hundred yards below the dam, the flowing water surrenders its infused energy to rely on the gradient of the river bed to continue its seaward journey.

On a bright sunny day, after a warm June rain, I decided to accompany the river on its infinite downstream journey. I placed my black carbon fiber canoe a few feet from the sandy shore in about a foot of calm water before I climbed aboard. As the river bed naturally narrowed from the wide funnel shaped expanse created by the dam, accumulated sediment and debris blocked and shifted the main flow to the far shore.

When I launch at this location, I always do an upstream ferry to experience the free energy the river supplies. A ferry will carry you across a river’s current with hardly any effort. No need to aim your boat far upstream of your intended landing while furiously fighting the current. I eased the boat into the current, bow upstream, to position it parallel to the flowing water, making it essentially invisible to the current. It is possible to sit motionless in fast water, as long as the boat remains perfectly aligned with the flow. When performing an upstream ferry, point the bow in the direction you want to go, the angle depends on the speed of the current. It feels like magic as you entice the river’s energy to reveal itself and provide a counter intuitive assist to effortlessly cross a strong current.

Water level determines the downstream course. At low levels, winding channels in the river bed own the navigable water. This day the higher water left many options.

The sleek black canoe appeared as a dark shadow on the river bed, its passage as silent as its shadow, neither left a trail or a trace.

Where the river makes a bend, the water downstream, pools, as the flow crashes headlong into the river bank. Below each significant bend, a shoal will be formed with channels generally situated tight along either shore.

Immediately after one sharp bend, marked by a high red shale cliff, a navigable narrow passage runs very tight along the right steep shale bank, shrouded by overhanging branches. At lower water levels this channel is like running a gauntlet, though preferable to dragging the boat over the protruding shoal.

When the river passes under one old steel truss bridge, the river course is such that the main current bounces off the angled bank, causing an eddy of circulating water to form on both shores. An eddy shaves flowing water from the main course and the bow of a boat can suddenly be held still by the eddy and simultaneously the stern is swept downstream to overturn the canoe. Eddy turns are a basic maneuver a paddler should master, especially in high water where an eddy is not normally formed at lower levels. Get caught by surprise in an eddy in high water or off season will make you a believer in reading a river. Find a place where eddies form at lower water levels and learn the basics of fluid dynamics and effective paddle strokes and downstream braces.

On any given day the river can deliver a surprise that was not there the day before. Specifically, strainers, treetops which fall across the river blocking passage are especially dangerous. This is where a ferry can come in handy when you round a bend and see it blocked by a fallen tree. Tangled in branches with a water filled boat or current pressing you against an immovable object is a death sentence. Water weighs a pound a pint, and a boat full of water is beyond the strength of the most fit paddler to lift.

This is where a draw comes in handy. Kept the boat upright with a desperation draw.NEVER stop paddling, keep your paddle in the water!

Obstacles avoided; a stretch of open water begs the black canoe to be pushed to the limit of its design. The paddlers fitness and form are the rate limiting factors to speed the canoe’s shadow along the light tan river bottom. At sixty strokes a minute, the paddle leaves a linear series of isolated, expanding ripples, lingering on the water’s surface, appearing like the tracks of a rabbit running in the snow.

The black canoe is the cursor I used to help read the river’s mood and understand its personality. It was a good read with many twists and turns, the imagery impressive and maybe the best never ending story ever told.

Posted in wildlife and nature | Tagged canoeing, kayaking, nature, paddling, rivers, travel | 3 Comments

Changing Worlds

Posted on April 16, 2025 by winterbearrising

Along the South Branch

May 2025

Warehousing, apartments, shipping centers, federal highways changed my world. It was a natural world I discovered that was available to everyone, with few takers, now lost to the ages. Whether warehousing or condos, both are poison pills being offered as a palatable option.

Changing Worlds

The end of my world began when President Eisenhower signed the Federal-Aid Highway Bill on June 29, 1956, three months short of 100 years after Henry David Thoreau left his footprints along the north shore of the lower Raritan River.

My world began at the end of my dead-end street and the Lehigh Valley Railroad tracks which bordered the vast abandoned clay banks, dotted with flooded clay excavations, swamps, streams and woods stretching to the Raritan River. The railroad tracks were my equivalent of the St Louis Gateway arch, a monument to the westward expansion of the United States into the unexplored territory stretching from the Mississippi to the Pacific Ocean.

Like the early days of frontier travel, the tracks and clay banks were said to be fraught with existential danger. Bums and hobos were the hostiles parents warned about, if that failed there was the quicksand and bottomless mud which would swallow a kid, never to be found. The real threat was from the ‘big kids’, defined as any kid who was bigger than you. Often, they would intimidate younger kids to extort any change they had, or otherwise physically intimidate them. So, the rule was, you saw a big kid, you ran away as fast as you could. And then there were the trains. The tracks stretched perfectly straight for a mile of more, so you could see it coming a long way off. Problem was if a kid was so occupied, the train could easily sneak up on him.

We learned that if you went deeper into the wilderness, there were rarely any human encounters, as the travel was difficult and muddy and held no specific area of interest. Forays into the wild were pure exploratory expeditions or in my case, a safe place to shoot my bow and arrow. High banks of soft clay let the wooden arrows live longer. The real beauty was the ability to draw back the bow and aim at the sky to see how far an arrow can fly. There was something about watching the arrow ‘escape the surly bonds of earth’, as you became the arrow. Surely some paleo bowman was inspired by his arrow’s high arc to imagine the possibility of human flight. Inspiration to fire the imagination was everywhere you looked.

Being a transition zone, many plants typically found in south Jersey could be identified, sheep laurel, green briar and odd oak species. Spotted turtles were quite common and gray fox dominated the area. There were American bittern, gallinules, night hawks, rose breasted grosbeak, indigo buntings, rufous sided towhees, brown thrashers, short eared owls and even a rare Boreal owl, native to the arctic regions was documented. The variety of colorful bird life brought my Golden Guide Book to Birds to life as the birds seemed to fly off the pages into the surrounding trees.

A short eared owl sits on a vent pipe in the area seen on the cover image. A boreal owl, native to the arctic region, was documented in the dame area. Its presence validates the importance of the Raritan River off ramp of the Atlantic Flyway.

The event of that June day in 1956 had no direct impact on my wilderness until the late 60s when flimsy tan stakes, flagged with orange ribbons, started to appear throughout my territorial claim.

The clay banks marked the reach of the ancient sea floor, characterized by sandy, clay soil, interspersed with smooth cobble, that stood in sharp contrast to the dark brown soil and New Brunswick shale found across the tracks and up-river. This land was caught between the terminus of glacial expansion and the reach of prehistoric seas.

The intersection of soils, blessed with a marriage of fresh and salt water, set along the Atlantic flyway, an ancient bird migration route, and the presence of a major inland river off ramp, makes this area one of the most environmentally diverse, along the east coast. The bay and river are a gathering place for migrating striped bass, shad and alewives, who have retained evolutionary migration patterns to conquer time and impediments, to fulfill their ancient upstream journey.

Before long, the significance of the flagged stakes driven into the heart of this unique parcel was realized, as machinery began to carve paths and straightaways to accommodate interstate 287. Eventually all that remained of the clay banks were a gulag of islands interspersed among the on and off ramps, dominated by sweet gum, pin oaks and green briar. An apartment complex replaced the small isolated cattail swamp which supported a population of black muskrat.

Aside from the overflowing natural treasures, are the memories of freedom and seemingly unrestricted travel and discovery which led to a lifetime of curiosity of all things wild. Even though the change was personally disruptive and unwelcome, the clay banks served their purpose to set a course through life that never wavered from the affiliation with the natural world. Good for me, sad for future generations who will never share that experience.

Posted in wildlife and nature | Tagged birds, hiking, history, muskrat, nature, travel, wildlife | 4 Comments

The Guarantee of Spring

Posted on March 17, 2025 by winterbearrising

Along the South Branch

April 2025

A spring peeper, a diminutive frog with a big voice, joins in chorus to sound the promise of spring on cold rainy nights in scattered vernal ponds. This species, hyla crucifer, has a large brown cross on its back. Hyla the genus name, has both Greek and Latin origins. Hyla, a companion of Hercules, was drowned in a fountain amid cries for help from the crowd of onlookers. So the connection to the singing frogs.

The Guarantee of Spring

The bright green blanket of spring is unfurled over the faded brown landscape, abandoned by winter’s hasty retreat. Tilting in deference to the sun, the earth leans over enough to help slowly roll the green cover northward.

The appearance of green, dotting the muted landscape, can be taken as a signature on an official document, declaring the end of winter and the reappearance of life from the state of dormancy. The vagaries of early spring weather may argue and protest in the form of an errant snow flurry or heavy frost, but their cold objection is dismissed by the next warm sunny day.

As in an organized event, where the drop of the green flag signals the start of a race, so does the emergence of greenery generate sparks of color as energy begins to infuse the terminal tree buds and early wetland ephemerals.

At a distance, wooded low land areas, whose soils support a variety of tree species, rival the fall brilliance with the emergence of colorful buds. Set against a background of intertwined pale brown branches, woven into a rough cloth, tree buds appear as countless points of colored light. Each kind of tree features different colored velvety buds and within a species color will vary. Reds, ranging from pink to scarlet, to maroon and plum, fading into bronze and autumn orange, are scattered across the tan canvas and seem to flicker like a thousand candle flames. The intersecting branches, tie the scene together as the colors appear to escape and scatter among the branches to confuse identification, as pale greens mix with pink and orange and maroon buds. Standing alone as a true spectacle of early spring is the native redbud tree with tiny round, intense magenta buds tightly clinging the length of its fine branches.

The first green messenger, aside from snowdrops and skunk cabbage, which bloom locally in midwinter, are the green lily pads protruding from the silty river bottom in the shallows. Like a cobra raising up and swaying to the sound of a flute, the gangly green plants swaying in the moving water rise to the influence of the growing intensity of spring sunlight.

Among the wet lands along the river, yellow trout lilies, purple trillium, white blood root, sky blue Virginia bluebells, yellow crocus, pink striped white petals of spring beauties dot the emerging green carpet.

A pixie face looks out from the center of the spring beauty, note her cupids bow lips and dark eyes.

The now washed-out monochrome tan pasture, bordering the river, appears to the eye as a sepia photograph. It is an empty canvas awaiting the hand of nature to apply the first swath of emerald paint.

On occasion, an itinerant floral traveler appears, an escapee from some orderly upstream garden, now on a downriver journey to enjoy the uncertain life of a vagabond. One self-transplant is a unique variety of daffodil, with ragged yellow flowers which has established a home along the river. Each year, it faithfully decorates the edge of the river shore. The original pant conveys the soul of a happy recluse offering a bit of joy to any passerby, even an unappreciative mink, whose tracks mark the soft soil in the shadow of the bright bouquet of yellow flowers.

Another floral journeyman who sailed downriver to find a new home and propagate, is the pale blue Virginia bluebells. Their origin appears to be somewhere upstream on the north branch of the Raritan, as the trail of flowers, follows that course to its confluence. Finding favorable conditions, its settlements expand to cover the ground en masse with its perfect pale blue carpet.

The sound of great horned owls and the occasional songfest of local coyotes, heard throughout the winter night, are now accompanied by the chorus of spring peepers. A vernal pool, a quarter mile away in the pasture, along the river, is the prime venue for this spring bacchanal. Like turning a radio dial to get the strongest broadcast signal, the northwest wind amplified the sounds of the diminutive frogs’ earnest efforts to attract a mate. The tiny thin-skinned frogs emerge from hibernation to sit immersed in ice cold water in the dark of night, confident in the promise of warmer weather. The faith exhibited by these delicate creatures, that winter has ended, gives hope to all who listen.