phenology

When I was just a little roly-poly child, my parents used to take my brother and I on 'season walks' through the neighborhood. We'd stroll around hand-in-hand - in April, June, September, February - looking for signs of the changing season. We felt like detectives, keeping our eyes peeled for the patch of melting snow, the first crocus, the wilting daffodil, the reddening maple leaf, a patch of silvery frost clinging to a garden bed. There was always some sign. Our parents crowed like we were Holmes and Watson incarnate, come back as plump, towheaded toddlers.



Another upcoming phenological change: when our loons finally pick up
and take off for sunnier weather; like many of Michigan's
elderly residents, they'll hit up Florida. Love the beaches.

In essence, we were scientists in 'phenology,' a beautiful word that comes from the Greek 'to show, to bring to light, to make to appear.' Phenology is the study of periodic events, of cycles, of how plants and animals change throughout the seasons.

Here on Isle Royale, living as we do smack in the middle of things, nature constantly thrown in our faces, we are all phenology detectives. It's hard NOT to notice as things change over the season; suddenly, the walk to work is swarmed with bright red berries, where earlier there had been white flowers; the view from the Visitor Center is changed by the newly blooming fireweed; long lines of merganser chicks appear in the harbors. Those employees who've been here for many seasons notice the differences from year-to-year, as flowers bloom earlier than usual, or chicks appear later.

The seasonal change is most poignant, I always think, as summer slowly begins to burn out into fall. It's especially the case here, because the end of summer means we'll all be leaving the island. Of course, many of the employees will stay on til the end of October, but the majority are gone by the end of September, and our interpretive staff starts dropping next weekend. On Isle Royale, humans are migratory creatures.



Fireweed seed pods.



Here in Snug Harbor, we're just starting to see signs of a fizzling summer.

The fireweed flowers have nearly all become seed pods, ready to release their silvery puffs of wind-adapted seeds.

The chickie-poos swimming behind their mothers are, for the most part, nearly as big as she is.

The most common wildflower sighting is the broad-leaved aster, which to be honest, is kind of unspectacular after the spring explosions of orchids and columbine and the like.

Mayflies are gone, but swarms of dragonflies fill sunny clearings with their shows of hunting prowess.

The berries - raspberries, blueberries, serviceberries - are turning into shriveled ghosts of their past juicy selves.

And, of course, the ferry boat numbers dwindle, as employees begin to curb their grocery orders and pack up their rooms.

The end of summer can be a melancholy time, but remember - just as summer bursts into flame, a new island spring will emerge in a few months from the snowy ashes.



I wish merganser chicks stayed this fuzzy forever.



snug summer scenes

"Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still."

(Dorothea Lange)

"If I could tell the story in words, I wouldn't need to lug around a camera."

(Lewis Hine)

This time of year, the trailsides are all sprinkled with bright red bunchberries, the Canada dogwood.

If I could answer the question "What's your favorite fruit?" with "Dewberry" and NOT sound like I'm trying way too hard to be "different," I definitely would. Because these little jewels are super delicious. Sadly, they seem to now be done for the season.

Bluebead lily, the most commonly asked about fruit, as in, "Can I eat those?" Sadly, no - they do look good though, right?





Raspberries, on the other hand? Eat your FILL.

Snug Harbor is full of families, boyscouts, and backpackers; like these three, awaiting the seaplane in Tobin.

In case you guys were suffering fungi withdrawals.

How great is this picture? Here we have the Ranger greeting crew, prepared for absolutely anything in our spiffy hard hats. Come on, sky - you just try to fall on us. People wanna throw rocks? Let 'em throw rocks. (Back row, L to R: Brian, Zim, Konrad, Ben, Col (not technically an employee, but he's around enough), Brett, Jacob, Erin; Front row, L to R: Liz (me!), Scott, Derek, and Alina.)

This is another personal favorite: the residents of the Ben East (minus Melissa, who was returning that day on the Ranger.) 

As you can see, life is good in Snug Harbor, where the trees are always green and the hard hats always shiny. We've even had a resident moose lately, munching around the campground and cabins with her calf; thank you, Ms. Moose - visitors love us when you do that.

the 'C' words: climate change

As interpreters, we talk to people, every day. As interpreters in Rock Harbor, we talk to a lot of people every day - at least by Isle Royale standards - at least in August. This often means dealing with some touchy subjects, and using some gentle language.

"Oh, you heard several wolves howling in Tobin Harbor last night? Of course, you might be right, and that would be very exciting, but have you ever heard a loon call before? Loons have four different calls, and one is actually often mistaken for wolves."

"I understand that your backpack is very heavy, but we do have a one-night consecutive stay limit in Rock Harbor."

"I know the trails are very narrow and not very flat - yes, I appreciate your suggestions, but remember this is a designated wilderness area."

People have good ideas and bad ideas; are super well informed and are total newcomers to the island. They are friendly and grumpy; have had great experiences and some very bad ones. As representatives of the Park Service, we do our best to turn the grumpy ones into happy ones, the bad experiences into better ones. As interpreters, we want to educate and inform our visitors. At the same time, we have to protect this wild wilderness, uphold the ideals of the National Park Service, and adhere to our park's regulations and management plans. It's a balancing act, for sure, with our best balancing tools a solid sense of humor and a deep respect for both the park and the visitor.

One critical issue, on a much broader scale, is that of climate change. Even with its widespread acceptance over recent years (months?), the term can still cause grimaces on some people's faces. Even skirting the issue, avoiding the topic directly, and only briefly mentioning something like "warmer winters" can make some people in your harbor-walk audience scowl. Believe me. I know.

But climate change is not something to be skirted or avoided; we know it's happening, we know human activity is a huge part of the problem, we know it has the potential to create big problems, and our little island here on Lake Superior is in position to be hit hard.

How many moose can an island hold?

Are they being affected already?

An island moose whose been severely affected by
winter ticks; to see something REALLY gross,
google 'moose ticks.'

Islands, because of their isolation and separation, are always more susceptible to changes in environment, but Isle Royale is also home to two keystone species - the moose and the wolves - who will likely be strongly affected by a changing climate. This island is already at the southern range for moose, and if it gets warmer, they'll be affected more by the winter ticks that plague them, will need to rest more in the summer heat, and won't be able to forage and eat as much as they need. The wolves, of course, need the moose to survive; if the moose don't make it, neither will the wolves, even if they can recover from their current low numbers. It's also highly unlikely that we'll see any more of them crossing the ice to the island these days, since it's becoming more and more rare that an ice bridge forms between here and the mainland. Every species on Isle Royale is linked together, they are all isolated here by their water barriers, and they all are strongly affected by the weather, the temperature, the lake levels, and each other.

Climate change means change for Isle Royale, and that's why we can't let the grimaces and mutters keep us from talking about these issues with visitors. Having a deep respect for the park - and the visitor - means diving into the big issues, even if the surface water is a little bit warmer and easier to swim in.

-Liz Dengate
Snug Harbor Reporter

a joyful farewell

Goodbyes can be sad, painful things; somehow, however, they are acts of joy. We bid good luck and well wishes to someone we know and respect, someone who is moving on but not disappearing. Last weekend, we said goodbye to a long-time employee at Isle Royale. Pete was a ranger, an EMT, a diver, a mariner, a friend, and a neighbor. He left this peaceful island to work at Voyageurs National Park in Minnesota, and while we will miss him here, we're glad for his chance at new adventures at Voyageurs, and we know they're so very lucky to have him.

He’s worked here for years, under balsams and spruces

Alongside the otters and red squirrels and mooses

He’s heading off now to a new park and job

So excuse us if we let out a sniffle or sob –

‘Cause we’ll miss dear Pete, our neighbor and friend

Who can grow tall tomatoes and tie a sheet bend

He taught us to swing dance and make hula pie

To play EcoFluxx and to scuba dive.

He showed us how to make crack dip correctly

And was always available if needed “directly.”

He is patient and kind and full of good laughs,

Always there to lend a hand to the staff.

The dive lessons might end; he won’t be our EMT;

But we don’t need special powers in order to see,

That he’ll continue to succeed in his new endeavor,

And be surrounded by happy people forever.

Pete left on the Ranger III Saturday morning, after a final breakfast-for-dinner party, hosted by Marshall at the Ralph House. There were gifts and stories shared, breakfast sandwiches and bacon, laughter and photos. It was a fitting send-off - only missing Pete's famous red-hot pancakes, which, believe me, are about a thousand times better than they sound.

Good luck, Pete, and have fun. We'll miss you.

snug harbor's exploding with...fungal growths!

Mushrooms are everywhere, churning the soil
We'd all be buried in dead stuff if not for their toil
Some are bright purple and some look like coral -
Let's cook them in garlic and spices and oil!

Okay, maybe not that last bit - too many can kill you and anyway, as we all know, they should be left to do their mushroomy thing right where we spotted them. (LNT Principle #4: Leave what you find!)

There are an awful lot of incredibly cool mushrooms out there right now - a mushroom being, "an enlarged complex aboveground fleshy fruiting body of a fungus." Psssh, of course. One of my favorites is the weirdly purple Cortinarius violaceus, whose scientific name hints at its distinctive color. Alina, Erin, and I spotted a few of these on the horrendous portage between Duncan and Tobin; I've also seen them near Moskey Basin. This plump mushroom has a few honors under its belt: it was one of just a few fungal species that were personally named by Carl Linnaeus (father of taxonomy) himself, and it's also the darkest member of its genus. They are apparently edible, but as we said earlier - stop that! I'm swatting your hand away. Let it do its thing.

The coral fungi is another interesting group. For those of you interested in things like scientific taxonomy (hello, fellow nerds), the group that we commonly lump together with the term "coral fungus" actually spans several families and three different orders, so even though they all look similar they are NOT all very closely related. (Remember: Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species; humans are in the order of Primates, along with things like gorillas and orangutans and lemurs.) We refer to things as a coral fungus when they have many closely clustered vertical branches, often found on decaying wood (which, to be honest, describes a great deal of other fungi as well.) Some of them are very brightly colored. Many of them are fleshy and edible (but not ours! hands off.) Most of ours here are white, tan, or pinkish.

Those of you out here, let me know what crazy fungi you've seen! Email photos to snugharborreporter@gmail.com.

So it's not only berries this time of year; in a different way, fungus is another fruit we have in August, part of the same 'burgeoning cornucopia" I mentioned last time.

how to tell it's August

The Top Ways to Tell it's August in Snug Harbor:


Yes, they're the same color as bluberries;
but these are the fruits of the bluebead lily,
and please, please don't eat them.



1. The thimbleberries (finally, finally, oh hooray!) are ripe. August is that blissful month when every single day you can wander around Snug Harbor and it seems like, even though you SWEAR you picked every single ripe one the day before, the bushes are suddenly loaded with super red, luscious, juicy berries once again. They keep on coming. If you get sick of thimbleberries, well, the raspberries are ripe too. In fact, this whole island is a burgeoning cornucopia of ripening fruits, in all colors and ranges of delicious-ness. Instead of questions about flowers, we get questions about berries. ("What are the nice big shiny ones? Are they poisonous? I just ate a bunch.")

2. On a related note: you spot Captain Don wandering the back woods of Snug Harbor with a plastic Folgers container and an old shirt so stained with thimbleberry juice it looks like he killed three men. He's got a slew of secret spots and comes back with literally pounds of berries. Pounds. He's basically a professional.

The First Episode in Don's Famous 'Berry Man' Series

3. Visitors stop complaining about how cold the water is, and instead Tobin is always overrun with happy swimmers, laid out on the docks like the sunning turtles.

 4. It's getting awfully crowded. The Ranger III, the Queen IV, the Voyageur II, and the seaplane (it needs a catchy name - does it have one and I'm just unaware?) have all been working ceaselessly, bringing full loads out and back. The campgrounds, including the group sites, are beginning to bulge somewhat at the seams. Our permit program, "Trakker", has this very angry, bright red face icon pop up (very official) whenever a campground is full, and I don't believe I've completed a permit without at least one angry red face in quite awhile now. (If you're ever in the VC and hear us talking about 'frowny faces' or 'the scary angry face,' well, now you know. This is how our computer communicates with us.)


A dramatic photo of the Queen IV,
thanks to endlessloopphotography.com

 

5. The waves are picking up - and by that I mean the Queen IV was quite liberally splattered with vomit when it bounced and rolled into the harbor this morning. Yep. Gross. Sorry to throw it at you so bluntly there. And today was the better day; yesterday, 13-footers and big storms in Copper Harbor made its trip impossible, stranding a few dozen passengers here for an unintended extra night (who can complain, really?) Today, the Queen will make two trips with quick turnarounds. They arrived at noon and started back at one pm; they'll return to Rock Harbor with about eighty more people at 8:30 pm (or thereabouts), do as quick of a turnaround as humanly possible, and hopefully make it back to Copper Harbor by one am. Woohoo - night ride on the Queen!

Besides the occasional nauseating boat rides, visitors are having a great time here in Snug Harbor, and our staff is as well - with canoeing trips to Duncan Bay (holy portage - my neck is still angry at me), 'Cinco de Augusto' celebrations, and lots of our own swimming and sunbathing. This Snug Harbor Reporter hopes YOU'RE enjoying your August as well.