Drought

I love visiting Crex Meadows. If you follow me, by now you know that and have seen enough photos to understand it as a place filled with lakes.  Anyway, it was. Steve and I went there this afternoon. The plan was for him to do much of the driving through the area, so I had hands free to shoot, especially since most of the photo ops seem to happen on the passenger side of the car.

The drought didn't stop me from shooting. But I'll help you "see" what isn't there that used to be and needs to be again.

Our first stop was an area south of Grantsburg that used to be a huge lake with a few scattered shallow places where cattails grew. Hundreds of trumpeter swans, plus assorted other birds would nest there, and the population would temporarily more than double. The lake went from huge body of water to huge pasture... sort of, if lots of muddy berms define a pasture. This photo proves it wasn't completely dry, and in fact had a small handful of geese in addition to this family of swans with two grey cygnets, the most we found anywhere. Previous years a family with five young was not rare. Many places still held an adult or two, few had young.

My apologies for a terrible photo. We hadn't planned a stop in this spot, across the gravel road from the south end of Phantom Lake. I trust you recognize the doe as the subject, and perhaps have had the experience of tall roadside grasses being blown back and forth in front of your lens. BLUR! What you may not recognize is the background behind her of dying water lilies. Some are still green, most not. But it is still edible food and bits of water still go through through it. I don't know if she can still produce milk. The fawn we saw behind her mostly had its head buried in lilypads choping way. It should soon learn the need to raise its head enough to scout for danger, like Mom was doing. An arm adjustment from inside the car , an attempt to get a shot of more than part of a fawn's rump, was enough to startle mom back into the woods away from the road. the fawn followed promptly, and only as the pair disappeared into the woods and cameras were set down was the fawn's twin finally bolting from where it had been hiding, presumably eating, to follow the others. So far, two still surviving, an amazing sighting. The picture just rubs in the miss of not getting a good picure. It's here to show the quality level of remaining food supply.

The  cormorants on the floating platform tell another story one has to be informed to understand. I had stopped in at the visitor center to discuss wildlife. The same fellow I'd talked with the week before was again at the counter. I passed on what I'd learned from the earlier visit  so far, and mentioned the platform. This week his comment changed from not being aware of it, to imparting knowledge about one way of managing the grounds (and lakes) was much akin to sinking a ship in the ocean so it can become habitat for what lives there, like the start of a coral reef. Low water levels revealed its presence to passers by. (Hmmm, somebody had done some research since my last visit.) He was going to check in with some staffers who were to arrive next week and ask them if this raft was such a contrivance. I'm sure we'll chat again after he finds out and then we'll both know. This time the cormorant count - not shown well in this photo - had climbed from  6 to 7. Life is getting crowded here in select places as water levels drop. At least some of this lake remains. For now anyway.

This mated pair of trumpeter swans did not raise young this year. The water around them offers one patch of black mud to stand on, as long as they get along. It's next to the old abandoned beaver lodge where they usually nest, then one minds the eggs and young while the other swims around the greater area marking territory and defending it from intruders.  I've followed them for several years now. By now their feathers should all be snowy white, with a possible exception for their necks, but most years their bodies shine brilliant white and a little yellow is all that's tinting their necks. These guys can't get a proper bath, usually a benefit to them  from taking a completely vertical dive in place to pull weeds up off the bottom. Their food is usually under the surface. Now there's nowhere to get clean while feeding. 

 

 

There was a short spot of more water - or should I call it "hope"? A pair of trumpeters were watching over their  cygnets while they slept. These were still as dirty as the others around this lake, but there was actual water here. Several other birds joined them, ones I've not seen  around before, much less in the company of swans without bothering the parents. Somebody was willing to share, leaving me with a small bit of optimism for some of them getting through migration to a friendlier location. I guess questions  will be answered next year, both from seeing how much water is back where it's needed, and how many were strong enough to complete migration.

 

 

Another lake usually making a great nesting and feeding place of both great egrets and great blue herons is having its problems as well. When a car drives around the corner, the occupants see a large cloud of the combined birds startling up and outta-there! But where to this year? A trickle runs through what used to be a nice sized lake. The birds perch on dead logs and stumps either left or placed for that purpose while in repose. Last week all startled as a unit, the first one alerting all the others, both herons and egrets.
Today the herons seemed to have little energy to do more than move back from the road, land, and stop and watch to see if they absolutely had to move again... or not. No egrets were even here this day, where a week before a couple dozen scattered spectacularly, adding their white to the blues amid the herons and all retreated to the other end of bare lake bed, paralleling the road.

Today as we approached the far end of the lake, this was all that greeted us: mud cracked and a lone dying water lily baking in the sun. I hope the  missing egrets found themselves a haven.