OH: March 11 Trip Log - Western Ohio's Battelle Darby Creek Prairie Restoration

After six solid hours at the Ohio Historical Society in Columbus digging through over-stuffed archive boxes of fat file folders containing thousands of pieces of paper, I called it a day. My head was spinning and I needed air and sun. It was only 3:00pm so I took the time to drive 30 minutes to the till plains of Western Ohio and check out Battelle Darby Creek Metro Park, a whopping 7,000 acre conservation gem of prairie and oak savanna.

Oak savannah.

Ohio's Metropark system is, without a doubt, the most highly respected regional park system in the country. Leaders in ecological restoration, conservation, partnerships, and outdoor/environmental education, for each major region in the state maintains a unique grouping of parks, protected landscapes, and public spaces. Central Ohio Metroparks is comprised of nineteen units that range in size and scope  from historic farms, downtown birding corridors, public gardens, and large swaths of conservation properties. Battelle Darby Creek is a beautiful example of partners in agriculture, conservation, restoration ecology, and public support. I only had a few hours of fading sunlight to enjoy just a fraction of what this park entails. 

The new Battelle Darby Creek Nature Center - built into a glacial till slope.

I stopped at the new nature center first. I really could have stayed the whole time there talking to staff about it's off-the-grid systems and beautiful hillside contoured design, but the sun was casting long shadows so I quickly grabbed a map and flew out the door. On my way out one of the attendants said to join them  at the wet prairie at sunset for short eared owls! You bet! Of course I had to go see Big Darby Creek, a designated Wild and Scenic River. I could hear it long before I saw it churning away through the valley. The snow and ice melt these past few days has brought the river into the bottom woods. It was fast and broad and a little muddy. 

Big Darby Creek muscles its way into the woods.

The park manages a combination of public spaces (picnic and play grounds), prairie remnants, reclaimed agricultural land, forest, and oak savannah. The natural ecosystems that were found here before farmers claimed the prairie in the 1820s consisted of 350 square miles of wet prairie and oak savannah that existed for over 6,000 years prior to settlement. The flat till plains between Big and Little Darby Creeks flourished with immense savannah oaks and prairie plants and animals, many of which are now extinct. But there are clues to what those animals must have been like found in some of the plants here. The honey locust, found in profusion along the creek hillsides is a Pleistocene survivor, and with its  huge bundles of sharp thorns sprouting dagger-like straight up the trunk it appears out of place in today's somewhat subdued environment. It evolved this defense, however, to thwart browsing giant sloths and mastodons which disappeared with the spread of human hunters.

No sloths allowed!

In 1976 Metro Parks began a full scale restoration of the major ecological landscapes found in the till plains region. Farming had eliminated all but small remnants of original habitat and it took some time to develop relationships with farmers who were worried the parks were out to take their land.  Gradually area farmers began to see the value in maintaining functioning prairie habitats, and many were conservationists themselves. Huge swaths of cornfield were negotiated for purchase. Old tile and drain systems were broken to allow the prairie ponds to come back. "It only took a year before the waterfowl returned - ducks, geese, marsh hawks, short eared owl, and occasional sandhill cranes," said a park ranger who joined me for the owl watch, "Everybody, especially the farmers, were thrilled. It was immediate gratification - an almost instant reward for all the effort."

Large prairie oaks dominate the savannah.

Inviting the public to help, native prairie grass and wildflower seeds were collected by hand from the small remnant habitats. Seasonal fire was reintroduced into the landscape, an important ally in prairie restoration, as many savannah and prairie plants have evolved with it. But something was missing. Bison herds that once enriched the prairie with their manure, kneading the ground with their hooves during migrations, and browsing down invasive scrublands, hadn't been found in Ohio since 1803.  It was the missing piece of the restoration that finally came about in 2013 when a small herd of bison was reintroduced to the park. 

A cold blast of snow-fog swirls over the wet prairie ahead of a cold front.

I'd been hiking for about two hours following a popular greenway trail from a wet swampy woods (also under restoration management) through open oak savannah and out on to the great hilly tall grass prairie. A marsh hawk wheeled over the open ponds and red-winged blackbirds konk-a-reed  from prominent perches. It was almost impossible to imagine this all as cornfield. It was so complex and rich. "We are better at farming now, more than ever," explained a Darby Watershed Association member who happened also to be a farmer. He had joined me on the walk, heading out to the owl watch. "We don't need all this land like we once thought. We're more efficient, we have more reliable crops and seed, and with the technology we have today we can be precise and extremely mindful of how and where we grow crops. We can grow more food on less land by using sound conservation practices."

Marsh hawk over a wet prairie pond.

A strange cold mist had descended over the landscape. My companion explained it's a spring thing - one minute it's sixty degrees, the next minute you can't see for the fog and you are shivering. The wind kicked up and the distant wooded hills disappeared in smokey blue.  Then we saw them, coming up out of the ravines. Bison!

Coming up the hill from the creek!

Three cows and a bull moved silently into view, keeping an eye on my companion and I. To prevent human-bison conflicts, the park has fenced a large portion of the valley off from people. I realized we had been walking through a corridor of protective fencing for some time - I'd been too focused on birding to notice! The bison have plenty of room to roam - acres and acres of space across a large swath of hills - and the prairie they move through shows the signs of slow browsing - plenty of manure, shrub cropping, and a few wallows (these are critical wetland and water sources).  The big bull snuffed and snorted and the small group stopped and stared. Close enough, he seemed to say.

Hope for the prairie is a contented bison.

I heard a happy shout from a family coming down greenway trail "There they are! There they are!!" We stood for a long time admiring the bison, now so close I could smell their rich manure and shaggy winter coats. The dad lifted his young daughter on to his shoulders and said "Honey, you are the first Ohio generation to have them back in over two hundred years. Take care of them okay?" The little girl clapped her hands and said "Yes! Yes!" and  I thought I saw her dad wipe away a tear. 

I suppose the real hope for a restoration of the Ohio prairie comes as a bison, following the path people have made for him, on the heels of land deals, working partnerships, hand seeding and autumn burns, putting back what was removed - and most importantly - changing attitudes. But like the cold snow fog that was enveloping the landscape around us, it could all so easily disappear without dedicated stewardship. I wasn't sure what impressed me more - the sight of bison in Ohio or the years of hard work by hundreds of people to have that small herd come over the hill today. 

Notes:

Central Ohio Metroparks - http://www.metroparks.net/

OH: March 10 Trip Log - Ottawa National Wildlife Refuge, Lake Erie, Ohio

"It was a dark and stormy night." Um, day. It was a dark and stormy day. I'm out here in Ohio to do some PhD research in Columbus and today was my 'play day' to explore!  I've never seen Lake Erie so I stayed the night in Sandusky and birded the lake shore reserves and parks in a light rain. The light really sucked - so did most of my photographs. The highlight was spending most of the day at Ottawa National Wildlife Refuge - a Blue Goose gem! I had a bird list of only 30 birds. It was gray, warm, and wet and not much other than waterfowl and raptors were out. But there were surprises!

I finally get to meet Lake Erie - famous  for generating South Central PA's 'lake-effect snows' 

Marblehead Light and Lightkeeper's House.

The lake was frozen over except for an open lead way out beyond the stacked shore ice.  A lone eagle (one of dozens I would see today) watched rafts of sea ducks. It was a sobering scene, dark and foreboding with rain clouds overhead. I quickly made for the shoreline to check out the  ancient limestone  reef on which the light and the town of Port Clinton are built upon.  I had to be careful of icy ledges as I kept one eye on the threatening skies overhead and the other eye on the rich fossil rock under my boots. 

Frozen Lake Erie beneath a threatening sky

Maclurites - a reef snail from Middle Devonian Period.

Receptaculites - an ancient relative of the sand dollar.

The matrix around this Receptaculites is thick with Crinoid stems and 'flowers'

Horn Coral.

The shelf the lighthouse is stands on represents the top layer of limestone that defines a Middle Devonian reef. It is packed with  fossils and had it not been for the rain becoming steadier, I would have switched to my macro lens to capture what paleontologists call "fossil hash." But I was getting wet so I jogged over to a boat shelter and joined a older couple already tucked in out of the rain.  Mike and Linda were Port Clinton residents out for a walk to the Point and were thankful it was 43 degrees above zero and not 43 below. Mike had been a laker's mate, an ore carrier pilot's assistant, assigned to helping the guy who got those big ships through of tight places and into the shipping lanes where the captains would take the helm. He had served on a lot of ships before he was made pilot. He retired in 1995 after forty years of laker service and moved here.

Bald Eagle watching sea ducks.

Mike knew of the Edmund Fitzgerald and had been aboard the Wilfred Sykes loading next to her the night she left port for her last voyage carrying 26,000 tons of ore on November 10, 1975. Standing under the boat shelter listening to Mike describe that night I could only shiver while looking out at Lake Erie. Lake Superior of course is a much bigger lake - really an inland sea - so I can only imagine how angry that body of water must have been and how hellish it must have been for the crew and captain of the Edmund Fitzgerald. "All souls lost, not a soul found," said Mike, "This coming November will mark forty years. Seems like yesterday." Linda was quiet the whole time, except to nod and say "Yes, yes."  For the rest of the day I had Gordon Lightfoot singing "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" stuck in my head.

I realized that the gravel we were standing on was crushed limestone from a quarry nearby. I quickly snatched up some crinoid fossils. Linda suggested I visit the Castalia quarry about fifteen minutes inland to see the full reef, now a park. It sounded like a good way to wait out the  rain that was falling and hope for better light. I was getting cold and a nice warm drive in the car sounded nice.

Wagner Quarry at Castalia - now an Erie Metropark.

Limestone reef - over a hundred feet tall - was mined to make crushed stone aggregate.

Castalia Quarry 1930s.

Wagner Company steam shovel on track - 1930s.

It was warm enough in the car but as soon as I got out at the quarry to do the two mile hike around and into the pit, I realized I would soon be slogging in foot-deep slush, working up a sweat, and most likely start to shiver again. Which I did. The light was getting a bit better however. I finished the hike and changed clothes in the parking lot. (I didn't care who saw what.)

My final destination for the day - Ottawa National Wildlife Refuge!

Another thirty minutes in a warm car and I was pulling to my final destination for the day! I love our National Wildlife Refuge system and everywhere I travel I make a point to visit the refuge closest to where I am working/staying. The lake was just beyond the trees and ponds and I couldn't wait to get out on the trails. But first - the very nice visitor center - the very warm visitor center.

Does this even need a caption? I think not.

A replica of the warming room of the now gone Cedar Point Lodge, circa 1890s - 1920s.

I chatted with the desk ranger for a good while. I'd never been to Ohio. He'd never been to Pennsylvania. We swapped information on refuges - Ottawa for Blackwater, Heinz, and Eastern Neck. Then out to the trails - oh no! A foot of slush and light rain! Hell with it - this is my free day! Out I went!

The whole inshore area once looked like this - the great Black Swamp is now a tiny fraction of what it was.

Mid-Western Fox Squirrel - as big as a large cat!

This is one big squirrel - more orange than than the Delmarva Fox Squirrel.

I learned real fast to stay atop the levees as the trails through the woods were too wet. The levees are part of an old ditch, canal, and pond system that dates back to when the great Black Swamp was drained and logged to make way for farming. In the rush to create farmland in the 1830s-40s, this enormous swamp, the size of the state of Connecticut was destroyed. The Ottawa Indians who lived along Lake Erie's shores and in the high ground of the swamp were removed in the 1840s. When the refuge was established here in 1960, farmland was re-acquired and again flooded in an attempt to 're-grow' the swamp. With regenerating swamplands come the fox squirrels, repopulating the refuge over the last 50 years. 

The last two Ottawa to leave the swamp - Victoria Caderact and cousin.

This landscape has undergone such brutal change. I kept in mind the visitor center display photographs of how the swamp had looked logged out. In the 1840s ditch diggers carved drain tile into the land to dry it out. Levees were built - even the roads you drive on are atop levees. Everything was constructed to keep the water off the land, although with a foot of melting snow, there's water everywhere. Now, with controlled flooding, there are cattail marshes and muskrat push-ups where once a dense five thousand year-old swamp stood. As I made my way across the almost snow-free levees, I thought of the pictures of the Ottawa people who had found not only sustenance here but a great wealth of food and resources from the lake to the forests. Even though the plan is to bring back the swamp, the people will never return.

Muskrat marsh - regenerating swamp in the background.

Muskrat trappers set flagged poles to mark their trap lines.

A marsh with muskrat greatly reduced.

Today muskrat trapping is a vital tool in controlling the damage these 'water rats' can do to a marsh. Without adequate numbers of natural predators to keep populations in check, human trappers are allowed permits to harvest muskrat. The pelts can bring in a little extra cash and the meat isn't too bad. But the real value is in the quality of marsh that is allowed to flourish after a population has been reduced. I met two trappers cutting and flagging poles to mark a new trap line. They were snug in their waterproof hunting bibs. I was shivering again! So I picked up the pace and hiked quickly along a three mile section of paved road. I saw red...

Red osier dogwood

Red-tailed hawk feasting on a gull.

Northern shoveler with his red flank and flashy white breast and rump.

My bird count was low, but there were too many bald eagles and red tailed hawks to count!  Just past the refuge entrance I caught a red-tailed hawk finishing a gull. Fairly close, it kept pulling and pecking at its meal even though I was within fifty feet. I saw eagle nests everywhere, with the head of an eagle just visible over the lip of the nest and a mate perched nearby. Canada geese honked  throughout the ponds, acres and acres of ponds. Northern shovelers were the duck of the day in the drainage ditches. Finally, on my way back to the main entrance, walking fast on the road to keep my heat up (sweating again) I turned a bend near the last pond and thought I heard a familiar but not quite familiar whistling hoot - tundra swans? Hmmm.  Trumpeters! A large flock of trumpeter swans was tipping up in the open waters of a stream. I've been watching for trumpeters all year back home and here in Ohio - where they are found throughout the Central Flyway - I finally had them! 

The regal trumpeter! This pair will mate for life.

Shivering hard again after standing for almost a half hour admiring the swans, I practically jogged back to the car in a light rain. I stopped at the visitor center to say thank you, and was in the car with the heat on full blast - wet with sweat and cold. The two hour drive south to Columbus in a steady rain was warm enough, but it was worth all the chills and cold to have birded the Lake Erie shore.

Notes: 

Black Swamp Conservancy is a group dedicated to bringing some of the Black Swamp back to function ecologically within a predominate agricultural landscape. http://www.blackswamp.org/

Ottawa National Wildlife Refuge http://www.fws.gov/refuge/ottawa/

PA: Ice Hike - Pinnacle to Tucquan Ravine, Holtwood, Lancaster Co.

The last day of February, locked in frigid cold streaming out of the Arctic. I started out Saturday from The Pinnacle, a promontory overlooking the Susquehanna River in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and followed the Conestoga Trail north. My plans to hike an out-and-back to the Tucquan Creek Ravine included fitting my winter hiking boots with a set of ice spikes/mini-crampons. The ravine trail section and many stream crossings on the way up are thick with ice this time of year. The starting temperature was 10' F with a light wind. But it wasn't long before I was shedding layers, gloves, hat, and jacket for the heat I was generating on this tough winter hike.

Strap-on ice spikes or crampons are a necessity on this hike in deep winter.

I looked out at the Susquehanna from atop The Pinnacle: the view of the frozen river was stunning. Wind-driven frozen waves of snow and ice patterned the surface. A fly-by of an adult and juvenile bald eagle below the summit added to the drama.  To my left an orange blaze painted on a tree beckoned.

Looking north from The Pinnacle - frozen solid Susquehanna.

The Conestoga Trail is a 60 mile long Lancaster County backpacking trail that can be accessed in many places for day hikes such as this. Blazed orange and maintained by the Lancaster Hiking Club, the lands are under a partner stewardship agreement between the Lancaster County Conservancy and the power companies who manage the watershed for the big dams at Holtwood and Safe Harbor. In addition to the scenic Tucquan Ravine, the trail passes by the Wind Caves (open for cavers),  pre-historic rock shelters, a magnetite mine (entrance blocked), and valley upon valley of native wildflowers in bloom come spring and summer. There are several established single tent camping sites that for the most part are kept clean and attentive by backpackers, though there are sometimes issues with 'trail squatters' in summer, and party groups will be sites trashed. The conscientious hiker will bring along a garbage bag to help keep things picked up, for it is truly a beautiful area. 

I've been hiking for over thirty five years and the Conestoga ranks  as one of the most challenging in the area for difficulty. There are numerous hill scrambles and steep rocky descents, while the seasons present their own versions of hot/ humid or frigid/ icy, I prefer to get my Conestoga workout in winter when snows cover and cushion the rock-strewn path - but the trade-off is ice. The hills and valleys are aligned with river drainage east to west, so south facing slopes can melt during the day and refreeze at night. It can be sticky mud  or thick berms of ice depending on what time of day you hike. The north facing slopes stay in shade for most of the day and can retain snow well into spring. Ice spikes or mini-crampons are the safest way to travel this area in winter. But hiking with sharp spikes on the bottom of your boots takes a little practice. The mantra for ice hiking is "Stay off your poles and stick your points!"

North-facing hillside still thick with snow.

As I started down the hill from summit of The Pinnacle, the snow deepened. What in summer is a rocky, precarious trail in the first half mile was now thankfully blanketed in snow, but steep and slick. Few people had been out since the last storm, but there were a few sets of snowshoe tracks that were easy to follow, so I didn't have too look hard for orange blazes. Instead I concentrated on my toothy kick-step on the steep pitches and on the incredible river views all along the way.

Frozen wind waves.

The river looked solid but certainly wasn't quiet! It groaned and bellowed and made weird whale sounds, including a deep thrumming sound that traveled south to north. I've seen the river freeze over in the past, but have never observed the zig-zaggy waves of snow and ice that I'm almost certain were the result of many weeks of high winds we've had spilling out of the Arctic. 

Rock shelter and orange blazes.

The trail weaves in and around many rock formations, some of which may have served as shelters for people thousands of years ago. The Shenk's Ferry people, who some archeologists suggest may have been absorbed into the Susquehannock nation as it spread southward out of New York, occupied this river valley soon after the last Ice Age and utilized its many rock features for temporary camps and storage. The Susquehannocks who moved in to the valley 1000 years ago established large villages and farming sites on the hilltops where today farms and beautiful crossroad neighborhoods function much now as they did then as places to grow and store crops, gather, celebrate, and trade.

Icy ledges can be skirted around but I chose to kick-step right across!

With the sound of woodpeckers working the forest around me I came to the high ridge that frames the south wall of Tucquan Creek Ravine. The trail follows the spine of the ridge down to the river and involves ledges and narrow passages through sharp schist and gneiss. The sharp rock path was covered in snow-over-ice so I went verrry slowly.  I noticed where the snowshoers chose to skirt down through the steep woods, but I decided to follow the blazes. Now the icy fun began!

A tricky path to the valley bottom!

I solo hike a lot but this was one trip I made sure to text my son and daughter about.  I gave them the approximate time of my start when I expected to be back (I always add an hour), and exactly where I would be. We've done enough trekking as a family that checking-in is routine. But there's nothing routine about hiking in winter, especially solo, so it was good to remember that someone knew where I was. Each step down the ridge was intentionally taken: kick in - step down - dig in - add weight - steady - repeat - all - the- way -to- the - bottom. The river boomed and wailed (is ice-out coming?). Woodpeckers wrapped loudly on hollow wood (a sign of spring!). And though I did take a stumble (ouch!) into a sharp rock wall (blood!), I made it to the bottom where normally the Tucquan Creek would have been rushing out to meet the Susquehanna.

Normally loud and dramatic - an ice and snow quieted Tucquan Creek.

The valley bottom, however, was eerily quiet. The entire creek was encased in ice and snow with an occasional collapsed section of ice shelf revealing almost silent swift water rolling along beneath. Where waterfalls and cascades tumble noisily spring through fall, the whole valley was hushed in winter white. A red tailed hawk wheeled overhead and let loose a long screech that echoed loudly up the ravine. I spent some time carefully making my way directly up the creek - as long as the shelf held my weight - to photograph a frozen waterfall.  Then with a loud crack I quickly made my way to  the ravine trail!

Frozen waterfall I.

Frozen waterfall II.

Frozen seep from the ravine wall.

The ravine trail is a popular summer hike but even then it is tricky in places: steep and slippery with water running from seeps in the ravine wall, boulder scrambles, a narrow ledge crossing just inches wide.  Today the trail was all ice and nearly impassable for anyone not prepared. The snowshoe tracks continued  with the claw-like scrapings of attached crampons. My ice spikes kept me solidly connected to the ice. I stopped so often, however, just to admire the scenes, that it took me a long time to make the climb up. Rhododendron blankets the valley walls that in summer creates a tropical tunnel of green and humid air, but today the wide horizontal leaves were curled tight into pendant tubes. An example of thermotropic movement in leaves, the Rhododendron demonstrates protective behavior in frequent freeze-thaw areas for which Tucquan Creek Ravine is a great example.

Freeze and thaw cycles occurs daily here and this can have serious consequences for plants at the cellular level. Without protective strategies, plants that are unable to protect against freezing soon suffer. Curling is a direct response to frigid temperature as a from of cellular protection. It's a bit like me taking off layers of clothing when I heat up (unfurling) and racing to throw everything back on before I freeze (curling). Although I was moving steadily along the trail and generating a lot of heat, it was still below 20' F and when I arrived at my turn-around spot and I noticed it was much colder in the shaded recesses of the creek valley where the Rhododendron thicket was most dense.

Hidden in the ravine below are several dramatic cascades.

I took my half-way break where the creek valley opens to direct sun, but I was shivering so hard in my own sweat that before snacking I put all my layers, gloves, hat, and jacket back on! But what a beautiful break listening to the deep thrum of the creek running rapidly below ice and snow, and feeling the warmth of sun on my face. In a patch of sun at my back a small red maple was showing its bright red twigs against the snowy hillside - a sure sign that spring is very close.

Red maple twig turning red - spring!

By noon the temperature had risen to 23'F and all things being relative, it felt quite balmy! I started back down the valley and up the steep ridge section, again building heat so quickly that I was soon pulling back off my hat, gloves, and jacket. I noted that since my earlier hike down, a wild turkey had crossed my trail. With his own set of sharp ice spikes at the end of each wide-spread toe, the turkey must have moved carefully across the ice encrusted snow. This was the slick, steep section where I'd taken my tumble and I noticed I'd left my own blood trail, not realizing I'd really torn open the side of my hand. Ouch. 

Turkey trail.

Sun-softened snow made for a slow return to The Pinnacle. It was almost two o-clock by the time I made the first overlook just below the height of the summit. I rested here again for no other reason that to soak it all in. I was joined by an Amish hiker who  smiled and rested in the warm sun near me as the river stretched out in front of us. "Been fishin'?" he asked after a long while and I thought this was a funny thing to ask, sitting on a ledge several hundred feet above the iced-over river. I told him I'd been to the ravine and back and hadn't thought to bring my fishing gear. He laughed a little and said I needed to stop in at Pequea upriver on my way home and check out the ice fishing going on there. "I augured down twenty-two inches yesterday! The ice is nice!"

First Overlook, a short hike downhill from The Pinnacle.

I returned to the car, ice spikes clacking on pavement. The weather is supposed to turn a bit warmer this week with some rain, some more snow, and the possibility of March flooding. It is now a season in change, that like early spring freeze-thaw cycles, is a process of cracking the shell of winter's grip.  Who knows what this river will look like next Saturday, or two Saturday's from now? Each day brings the promise of release from here on out!


Notes:
 
For more about the Lancaster County Hiking Club and the Conestoga Trail -
 http://lancasterhikingclub.angelfire.com/abouttheclub.html

The Lancaster County Conservancy maintains an excellent system of preserves and natural areas throughout the county.  See their list of properties and opportunities to get involved:
http://www.lancasterconservancy.org/about/
http://www.lancasterconservancy.org/preserves/