Starting in 2011 with Ryerson Woods Dam, many of the low dams along the upper Des Plaines River have been removed — they hinder a healthy ecosystem, endanger kayakers, and don’t serve a purpose. There’s more on these dam removals here.
A bigger project has been happening on the Klamath in the Pacific Northwest, where much larger dams have been removed. It appears that chinook salmon are returning. Enjoy the peaceful tinkling sounds of the flowing river.
I was curious about the reopened hotel at Illinois Beach State Park, so went there for a drink and appetizer — with a lengthy detour to the souvenir shop. The lobby still feels empty, and I wonder if there will be any renovation work. It was hard to tell if there’s work in progress, stalled, or not yet begun. There also weren’t many people around, but there might not be mid-afternoon.
The restaurant was also uncrowded. By mid-drink, the only other patron, several tables away, began a monologue on a slight pretext and went on for at least 20 minutes or more — almost nonstop. I can’t tell you about what because I tuned out the barrage of words. There may have been a “how times have changed” theme. Later, the staff apologized, but of course not their fault. Some people need someone to hear them, I suppose.
We didn’t have a lot of time left and I wasn’t up to walking, so we drove around for a bit. Illinois Beach State Park is the only place where I’ve seen 13-lined ground squirrels. The first time there was one in the shorter grass alongside the road. I always hoped to see them again — and now I have.
This time they were in the grass around the parking lots. They popped up like midwestern meerkats. I didn’t count their lines.
For dinner, we went to Stone Creek Grill in Winthrop Harbor, which has the outdoorsy vibe I love.
As long as a canoe doesn’t fall on my head.
This winter the Illinois Audubon Society held a Zoom series on the black-crowned night heron (BCNH), a species with worldwide distribution that is endangered in Illinois. At one time they nested in the Calumet area, but for the past few years they’ve moved their rookery to the red wolf exhibit at Lincoln Park Zoo.
This isn’t as odd as it may seem. The wolves aren’t a threat to the adults or to chicks/fledglings who stay out of reach. They are a deterrent tot raccoons, skunks, snakes, etc., who otherwise could reach eggs or chicks. It’s the same reason I believe people sometimes find fawns in the grass, shrubs, or flowers by their door. People’s presence and activity keep hungry predator mouths away. The BCNHs also like the mix of deciduous trees.
The zoo closes the red wolf exhibit while the BCNHs are nesting — something to keep in mind if you’re planning a spring/early summer visit to the zoo (maybe call ahead).
When as a participant in several Zoom calls about the BCNHs I received an invitation to “Twilight in the Rookery,” I went for it. I haven’t been to an evening event in years, and now usually by late afternoon I’m in agonizing pain. Admission was expensive, but I’m working and how else would I get to see the rookery? If I were in such bad shape I couldn’t make it, it would just be a donation. And now I can take a cab vs. two buses. Done.
The evening began near the Japanese macaque exhibit. I’m embarrassed to say how long it took me to find the partially hidden building. After introductory speeches, we were divided into groups to spread out over the area.
It was hard for me to stand for 30 to 40 minutes before we moved on (thankfully to an area with a bench — I didn’t care that it was wet).
At first I saw only a few BCNHs. Counts from previous years have been as high as 600. I started to see some flying around — incoming and outgoing. After we had moved to the second area, I saw more and more BCNHs peering at us from the foliage. It was evening and overcast, so a bit dark, but their shapes were clear. The biologists must have a methodology for finding and noting nest locations and counting. I couldn’t do it. I’d lose track.
Toward the end we saw the heron trap they’d mentioned. Should a BCNH be tempted to enter, a human observer brings the door down. The BCNH undergoes measurements, examinations, etc. It may even be fitted with a wee backpack — more on that in a bit.
At this point, I should mention someone had told me earlier about a friend who rescued great blue herons. They’re big and not always cooperative, and one had used its stabby bill to put its rescuer’s eye out. When you see videos on social media with gushing comments about how wild animals appear to be grateful to their rescuers, remember the rescuer with one eye.
On the way back, we stopped to watch two BCNHs fly and vocalize at each other. Our leader recognized them and said they do that often. We also saw a group of up to a dozen headed north.
Back at the half-hidden building, we passed around one of the wee backpacks a few lucky BCNHs are fitted with. They’re lightweight enough not to bother the bird. Somehow, a few have managed to lose theirs, although in some cases not before recording trips north to Wisconsin before their migration south. It’s like driving to Florida by way of Milwaukee or Green Bay. Why?
Heading out, I noticed people had stopped by the lions and thought, “Why not?” His Majesty was snoozing. One of the others rested unperturbed in a position reminiscent of a domestic cat. Another seemed to be resting, but keep a wary eye on me.
There was an extra bonus waiting for me outside the west gate — a huge amount of lilacs in full bloom. That heavenly scent. It was the last of the lilacs for me for 2024, and a happy way to end an informative, enjoyable Twilight in the Rookery.
If you had come to North America from Europe, especially Great Britain, in the 1500 to 1700s, you had to have been overwhelmed by some of the differences between home and here, especially in landscape and species. The British coped by giving some American animals the same or similar names as more familiar ones, even when the animal was clearly different. The European robin lent its name to the American robin. The European hedgehog was transformed into the groundhog (aka woodchuck).
The.2024 emergence of Brood XIII and Brood XIX in Illinois makes me wonder about those who moved here from Europe or even the eastern cities. With only the annual dog day cicada for reference, what would you think when one May day you found numerous holes in the ground, insect-shaped husks clinging to branches everywhere, and red bug eyes staring at you by the thousands, millions, maybe billions? And then you are deafened by their calls until they die off en masse several weeks later? They don’t appear again the next year, or the next, or the year after that — not for another 13 or 17 years. Nothing would have prepared you for them.
I recall the last emergence only vaguely, although I don’t think I saw any cicadas. I may have heard them a couple times, mostly while dining outside. I assumed they occur in western New York, but a U.S. Forest Service map shows they occur in a small area east of my hometown,
This time, however, I was able to see them in a few places — first at Black Partridge Woods, finally at Bremen Grove, with Riverside, Morton Arboretum, and Chicago Botanic Garden in between.
I love them and am going to miss them. If I live that long, I’ll be just shy of 79 when Brood XIII next appears.
When you think about a frail nymph burrowing underground, eating for 17 years, emerging, shedding its exoskeleton, drying out its wings (sometimes imperfectly), finding mates, laying eggs that hatch into nymphs that burrow underground to emerge and repeat the cycle in 17 years — it’s nature at its weirdest. Only through sheer numbers do they survive. As the Field Museum said, “Here for a good time, not for a long time.”
I hope the numbers are on their side in 17 years, with not too many paved over. Broods can go extinct, and I’d hate to see (or not see) that happen in 17 years.
Long live Brood XIII and Brood XIX.
Spotted during a short visit to Black Partridge Woods near Lemont, Illinois. Seen but not heard. Yet. Presumably the famous Brood XIII. I wish I had more and better photos, but I was being swarmed by another insect — mosquitoes.
Brood XIII is on the merge of emerging. Although I don’t expect to see them in my Chicago neighborhood, I’m ready with cicada postcards and a new “Love is in the Air” cicada t-shirt from Christopher Arndt. Then a co-worker alerted me to this video from the Forest Preserve District of DuPage County explaining the life cycle of the 17-year cicada. Enjoy.
Squirrel wasn’t going to let the red-tailed hawk perched on the stump keep it from a snack.
Christmas present for birders from the feeders at Sapsucker Woods (Cornell). The pileated woodpecker to your right (middle feeder on the post) is the male.
Nearly five minutes of tranquility (with traffic) along Fleming Creek in Parker Mill County Park, with guest appearances by an eastern comma and some barely discernible ebony jewelwings.
Sometimes on Saturday mornings I check out the Sapsucker Woods Pond webcam from Cornell. Today it was especially worth it for this very hungry female pileated woodpecker.
