Gamelands Tour

view of SGL#108

view of SGL #108 on last October’s tour (all photos in this post by Bruce Bonta)

I’ve always preferred to walk rather than drive through the fields and forests of Pennsylvania. Still, I was tempted last October by a driving tour in nearby State Gamelands #108 and persuaded my husband, Bruce, to accompany me. It was a lovely autumn day when we found our way to a gamelands access road in Cambria County, not far from Prince Gallitzin State Park, and lined up behind a couple dozen cars.

At the gate we were greeted and handed several information sheets and a map that designated stops along our 7.5 mile, self-guided, one-way tour. We also tested our outdoor knowledge along the route by guessing the identity of marked trees and wildlife mounts including fisher, mink, ring-necked pheasant, black bear, barred owl, and bald eagle.

But we especially enjoyed stopping and talking to the agency personnel. I noticed the incredible abundance of pokeweed and staghorn sumac along the road and was assured by Joe McAnulty, one of the Food and Cover crew members, that they purposely widen roadsides to let in the sun, which encourages the growth of wildlife food, for example, the pokeweed and sumac, as well as blackberries and sassafras. They also allow wild grapevines to grow.

“We manage for animals,” McAnulty assured us.

With the help of special machines, also on display, they create wildlife openings in the forest to support native plants, legumes, or annual grains. They had just finished a prescribed 87-acre burn to encourage scrub oak to grow, which almost always produces a large crop of acorns every fall. In addition to the 23,086 acres of SGL#108, four workers are responsible for managing the 23,000 acres of four other nearby gamelands, McAnulty told me.

At another stop, we talked to a couple law enforcement personnel who showed us the amazing array of tools they need to foil lawbreakers. A deer exclosure, a couple shelterwood cuts, and a vernal pond were also highlighted on our route, but I was particularly eager to see a rehabilitated strip-mined area, which had been converted to a small-game and grassland nesting bird habitat.

Samara Trusso

Game Commission biologist Samara Trusso with short-eared owl habitat

There I talked to biologist Samara Trusso who told me that short-eared owls winter on the grasslands in February and March. This is important because there is a chance that they might breed there too, although so far no breeding has been recorded. The short-eared owl is one of Pennsylvania’s rarest breeding birds and is listed as endangered in the state. Pennsylvania is the farthest south this mostly circumpolar species nests and then only rarely.

Trusso also said that the rehabilitated strip-mined area provides grassy habitat for grassland birds because the sites have acidic, nutrient-poor soils that produce grasses and legumes and have a slower rate of plant succession. But she assured me that the 40% shrub component of this large acreage has no impact on grassland breeding birds that have been documented for the site—grasshopper, Savannah, and Henslow’s sparrows, northern harriers, eastern meadowlarks and bobolinks.

That was our last stop, but we drove a couple more miles through the grasslands.

“This looks like harrier country,” I commented to Bruce just as a northern harrier flew up and over the grasslands.

Then, as the area grew more shrubby and medium-sized conifers, including larch and red pine, as well as deciduous trees provided more cover; two cock ring-necked pheasants strolled out in front of our car and fought. It seemed a fitting end to what had been a worthwhile tour and one that has been given every fall except for a year when it snowed.

wildlife opening on SGL #108

wildlife opening on SGL #108

To my surprise, we emerged at a gate on State Route 865 near Blandburg at the top of the Allegheny Front, a mere 26 miles from our home. I immediately made plans to return and see the breeding grassland bird species. Snow in late winter foiled my attempts to hike in and see the wintering short-eared owls, but one lovely Sunday in late June, hoping to see the documented grassland breeding birds, we parked at the Blandburg entrance and hiked back the way we had driven on the auto tour. Bruce was armed with gameland maps he had gotten off the web and had plotted out a circular route for us.

The first couple miles, amid the conifers and deciduous trees, we heard common yellowthroats, field sparrows, and song sparrows. But then, alternating with the singing of song sparrows, I heard the dreamy, lisping tsit-tsit-tsit-teee-taay of a Savannah sparrow. He remained hidden in the shrubs, but his song was unmistakable. A few minutes later, I heard the thin, dry buzzy tumble of notes of a grasshopper sparrow. He too remained out of sight in the shrubs.

Sassafras on SGL #108 (seen on the October tour)

sassafras on SGL #108 (seen on the October tour)

We passed a large field white with daisies and heard a common yellowthroat sing both his familiar “witchity” song in addition to one of the less common variations of his song. A sudden breeze carried turkey vultures and a red-tailed hawk past. The hawk was then sent on its way by several red-winged blackbirds.

Eventually we reached the largest open section of grassland. The sun was hot and bright, and already it was late morning. I began to wonder if I would see any of the grassland birds. And then our luck changed. A Henslow’s sparrow sat in a dead shrub near the road and sang his quiet tsi-lick hiccup of a song. He was so close that we could watch him open his beak and sing over and over. I noted his short tail, flat, olive-colored head, big pale bill, finely striped breast, and reddish wings through my binoculars before he flew away.

Henslow’s sparrows are found mostly in the western part of Pennsylvania on rehabilitated strip-mined areas because they like a buildup of dead litter and perennial stalks, according to Andrew M. Wilson in the Second Atlas of Breeding Birds in Pennsylvania. The State Wildlife Action Plan lists the Henslow’s sparrow as a species of High Concern because we have about nine percent of the world population. This native of the tallgrass prairie has lost much of its habitat to agriculture in the Midwest.

I was especially pleased to see favorites of mine—bobolinks that rose from a couple shrubs beside the road, the three males scolding, their buff-yellow napes and white wingbars a striking contrast to their black bodies. Then a brown-backed female with a brown stripe on her head joined the agitated males.

timber rattlesnake coiled to strike

the timber rattler that Bruce insisted on photographing

At the same time I noticed a timber rattlesnake crossing the gravel road in front of us. Bruce rushed up to snap several photos before it slid off into the field, causing still more anxiety on the part of the bobolinks. We watched them for as long as we could as we continued our hike past the grassland. Just as I was lamenting that I hadn’t heard or seen an eastern meadowlark, a male flew up from the middle of the field, flashing his yellow chest and throat, the latter with its black V necklace. Both the bobolinks and the eastern meadowlarks prefer to nest in hayfields, the bobolinks particularly in fields at 2,000 feet on the Allegheny Plateau. But early mowing has led to the demise of many young birds and so this high-altitude unmowed field is of great importance to those species.

From the top of the open grassland, we had a view in every direction encircled by mountains and forest. Despite the dry day, it was hot in the grassland, and gratefully we descended a trail down to a series of forested ponds. We sat on rocks beside one pond to eat our lunch. At another pond a female wood duck with her ducklings swam into cattail cover when they saw us. Singing woodland songbirds included wood and hermit thrushes, black-and-white and black-throated green warblers, ovenbirds, scarlet tanagers, cedar waxwings and indigo buntings.

Looking down on still another large pond from a small planting of red pines, we flushed a great blue heron. A ruffed grouse with half-grown young flew from the edge of the woods.

We spotted the first monarch butterfly of the season nectaring on yellow hawkweed, but it was near large areas of common and poke milkweeds growing beside the access road. That was where it would no doubt lay its eggs because monarch caterpillars only eat the leaves of milkweed species.

The last half-mile of our six-and-a-half mile hike was along State Route 865 where we saw and heard our first sign of people since we had parked our car. We were impressed by the remote peace and lack of even one piece of trash on this section of the gamelands. It was as far from the madding crowd as any place near our home—a prairie on a mountaintop where increasingly rare grassland birds thrive.

White-footed Mice

White-footed mouse from Squirrels and Other Fur-Bearers

Illustration from Squirrels and Other Fur-Bearers by John Burroughs (1909)

“I think mice are rather nice.” So began the children’s poem by Rose Amy Fyleman that I read to my three sons when they were young.

Fyleman was an English writer who lived in earlier times (1877-1957) and her mice were not the primary hosts for the larvae and nymphs of black-legged (Lyme disease) ticks or the possible carriers of hantavirus. Unfortunately, our winsome, large-eyed, big-eared white-footed mice are. They can be covered with the larvae and nymphs of black-legged ticks and build up huge concentrations of the Lyme disease bacteria Borrelia burgdorferi, which doesn’t sicken them, and thus remain the principal reservoir for the disease.

They also enjoy life in our old farmhouse, and we are compelled to keep traps laced with peanut butter especially in early autumn when they are seeking warm winter homes. Live-trapping and moving them are not an option even if we wanted to. The late, great mammalogist William J. Hamilton, Jr. once live-trapped and marked white-footed mice and released them a mile away from their home territory. A few days later they were back, exhibiting an amazing homing ability.

In addition, they know their home ranges of approximately one-fifth of an acre so well that they can quickly find hiding places whenever they are needed.

White-footed mice in an old bluebird box by Mark Lethaby

White-footed mice in an old bluebird box by Mark Lethaby (license)

But as Hamilton once wrote about the white-footed mouse, “It often takes up residence in houses; the first evidence of its presence may be a boot half filled with cherry pits or hickory nuts.” In our house, I find sunflower seed stashes not only in old boots but stuffed under the cushions of our sofas and chairs. And occasionally I’ve uncovered shredded sweaters or shirts balled up into nests on some forgotten closet shelf or in an old bureau drawer.

However, most white-footed mice find homes outdoors in abandoned squirrel, woodchuck, or bird nests, bird nest boxes, tree cavities, half-rotten stumps, rock piles or even in a ball of leaves underground. Recently, researchers have noted that they especially like the humid conditions under the rapidly expanding invasive shrub Japanese barberry, which is also favored by black-legged ticks, still another connection with Lyme disease and white-footed mice.

White-footed mice use their long tails as props and balancing organs, to climb trees, although they are not as adept as their longer tailed congener’s deer mice. White-footed mice (Peromyscus leucopus) and woodland deer mice (P. maniculatus) look alike, and often live in the same habitat in our Appalachian forests. The length of their tails can sometimes be their distinguishing characteristic because the tails of white-footed mice are slightly less than half the total length of their bodies while the eastern woodland deer mice have tails more than half their total length. But the best way to tell them apart is by comparing their skulls. Since I’m not inclined to measure their tails or study their skulls, perhaps some of the mice in our home are deer mice because they too can create havoc inside homes and camps and are carriers of hantavirus, although so far they’ve not been indicted as primary hosts for black-legged ticks.

Both species of mice are abundant over a wide range of North America, but white-footed mice have drastically increased their distribution over the last few decades and now are found in the eastern two-thirds of the United States except for Florida, as far west as portions of Wyoming, Colorado, and eastern Arizona, south through eastern Central America and north in Ontario, Quebec, southern Nova Scotia, and even Labrador.

White-footed mouse by Patrick Coin

White-footed mouse by Patrick Coin (license)

Back in the 1980s, J.O. Wolff did extensive studies of both white-footed mice and deer mice in the Appalachians of southern Virginia and found that female white-footed mice lived in separate home ranges while males had ranges overlapping one or more females with which they mated. It seems as if white-footed mice are usually polygamous, but can also be monogamous, and even in at least one known case polyandrous. These choices may protect their mothers and their young because males can recognize their mates and children and will not kill them. They even often help raise their offspring, although females do most of the work.

Mating begins in early March and continues through late October in Pennsylvania. Their gestation period is usually 23 days unless a female is still nursing a previous litter. Then gestation can be anywhere from five to 14 more days. Most litters contain four or five young but can be from two to eight.

Born tiny and naked, they develop rapidly, and at three weeks of age they are able to leave their nest, although if they are threatened they can leave at 16 days. Previously, if their mother is disturbed while nursing, she runs from the nest with her young clinging to her teats and sometimes falling off as she heads for the nearest hiding place.

These young can breed as early as 46 days of age, but most are two months or 60 days old before they do. Still, it is easy to see how many would survive if they did not have many predators such as skunks, mink, weasels, raccoons, foxes, coyotes, bobcats, black bears, and black rat snakes.

These “most abundant and ubiquitous rodents in Pennsylvania,” according to mammalogist Joseph F. Merritt, also have catholic food tastes, eating whatever fruits, seeds, and small creatures are available. A short list includes various grass seeds, raspberry seeds, shadberries, the fruits of viburnum species, hickory nuts, basswood seeds, and conifer seeds, and in the summer they add meat to their diets in the form of caterpillars, ground beetles, snails, centipedes, occasional small birds, and even other small mammals including young white-footed mice. But their favorite foods appear to be pitted wild black cherry seeds, acorns, and the seeds of jewelweed. The latter taste like walnuts and have turquoise-blue endosperms that turn their stomach contents turquoise-colored in late summer.

northern red oak (Quercus rubra) acorns by free photos & art

northern red oak (Quercus rubra) acorns by free photos & art (license)

On a study of the impact of small mammals on northern red oak regeneration by Colleen A. DeLong and Richard H.Yahner from October 1989 until December 1990 in Huntingdon County, Pennsylvania, they attributed most red oak acorn loss to white-footed mice from 67% to 88% in autumn and 94% to 100% in spring in a section of mature forest where they had planted 400 red oak acorns. Certainly, we’ve had fewer mice in our traps lately, and it may be because we haven’t had a good acorn crop in three years. In fact, many wild fruit and nut crops were sparse or nonexistent in 2013, including wild black cherries.

But by mid-autumn white-footed mice have collected caches of food to get them through the winter. Hamilton discovered that they are also fond of storing clover seed and beech seeds, and once found almost a peck of beechnuts they had stashed in a beech tree cavity in New York State.

Here in Pennsylvania, some white-footed mice have periods of torpor from late December until early February, but most remain active. They stay warm by nesting with other white-footed mice and/or deer mice huddled in tree cavities or by nesting underground.

During all seasons of the year, though, in our home, “they run about the house at night; they nibble things they shouldn’t touch, and no one seems to like them much,” as the poet Fyleman wrote. She may have thought mice were nice, but despite their beguiling appearance, I think they are an attractive nuisance.

Bridge Swallows

Cliff swallow in flight by Don DeBold

Cliff swallow in flight by Don DeBold (license)

One hundred swallows perched on our electric line early last August 20. At first, I thought they were barn swallows. And a couple barn swallows were perched at the end of the line, but they were apart from the wing to wing closeness of most of the birds. Those swallows continually pushed each other off the line like rowdy boys on a playground.

They had white breasts, square tails, orange rumps, chestnut-colored throats and a white, triangular-shaped forehead band on their dark heads. Those field marks made them cliff swallows and bird species number 172 for our property.

I had not expected this species to be breeding anywhere near Brush Mountain, but when I contacted Audubon friend Stan Kotala, I learned that “most of the PennDot concrete bridges over streams have cliff swallow nests,” and that there had been a colony under the I-99 off ramp/on ramp bridge at Grazierville, a mile and a half as the crow flies from our electric line.

When I checked the site in late April, it was still too cold and early for the birds, but I counted 10 intact nests when I walked under the far end of the bridge spanning Little Juniata River, but even though there were more I couldn’t see, the swallows probably had come from other nearby bridges too.

Cliff swallows feed nestlings under a highway bridge in California (video by Larry Jordan)

McWilliams and Brauning, in The Birds of Pennsylvania, write that “cliff swallows have colonized new areas as concrete bridges replace steel structures”…because “concrete structures create a more secure base…for the swallows to attach their mud nests…” Those globular-shaped nests with an entrance hole are distinctive; hence, other common names for them such as “jug swallow,” and “pipe swallow.” If the colony is large enough, their nests are jammed next to each other just like the swallows on our electric line.

“Nowhere is the essence of the cliff swallow better captured than by birds sitting on a powerline,” writes Charles R. Brown in his charming Swallow Summer. Brown, who has been studying cliff swallows in western Nebraska since 1982, continues that “despite plenty of wire space, they always crowd together…These creatures insist on being together.”

Cliff swallows on wire by Lostinfog

Cliff swallows on wire by Lostinfog (license)

“They also insist on confrontation. An incoming bird often attacks one already sitting on the wire and tries to knock it off its perch. Others light, sidle toward an adjacent bird, peck at it, and try to make it fly.” Watching this, I was mesmerized by the action and regretted when, after an hour, they swirled off together.

Since August is the height of their migration period, and they migrate along mountain ridges, they were on their way to southern Brazil, south-east Paraguay or south-central Argentina where they spend their winters in flocks of thousands.

As spring approaches, cliff swallows begin their migration back to North America where they breed from Alaska to Nova Scotia and south from northern Mexico across to the Carolinas, although this species was once only found in the west. And, as Charles Brown and his wife Mary, who assists with his research, have found, especially in southwestern Nebraska. There they favor road culverts and highway bridges for their nests.

The Browns have found sites with as few as two nests and as many as 3,700. The “little butt-heads,” as Charles Brown refers to them because of their quarrelsome nature, are “competitive, cooperative, mean, insecure and thoroughly social” and their society is full of “theft, rape, aggression, exploitation, parasitism, competition and cooperation, egotism and altruism.”

Cliff swallow colony by  Don McCullough

Cliff swallow colony by Don McCullough (license)

They will not necessarily return to old nest sites, having shown an east to west shift in Pennsylvania during the second breeding bird atlasing compared to the first atlas. But Brown has found that nests infested with “swallow bugs,” blood-sucking bedbugs as big as wood ticks that are brood parasites, discourage their reoccupation of old nests. However, there are fewer such ectoparasites in smaller colonies, so cliff swallows mostly reuse old nests by repairing them or finishing nests begun the previous year but never completed. Even though they seem to prefer nests that share their neighbors’ walls, probably because they are easier to build and weigh less, those built singly cling to the substrate better.

Cliff swallows are not territorial, defending only their nest site and nest itself from other cliff swallows. They pair up to build their nests, gathering mud in their bills from nearby water sources. Extra-pair copulations occur there, but pairs copulate within their nest after it has been partially built. Usually the male calls the female to the back of the nest with a soft “chur” call, and when she follows him and crouches, he mates with her. They also sleep in their nests when they are partially complete.

When their nest is three-quarters built, they line it with dry grass stems they gather from creek banks, haystacks and pastures. They frequently steal wet mud and grass from their neighbors’ nests if they are left unattended and continually repair their own nests as the season progresses.

Cliff swallow chick by  Richard Griffin

Cliff swallow chick by Richard Griffin (license)

Egg-laying often begins before their nest is finished. They lay anywhere from one to six, lightly-spotted, whitish eggs, but three eggs are the usual number. One parent guards the nest because their neighbors may enter their nest and throw out their eggs, so that they can lay parasitic eggs in them or move their own eggs into the nest.

Here in Pennsylvania, egg-laying begins in late May and into late June, but some have been laid as late as the third week in July. In small colonies, most pairs lay their eggs within six days of each other, whereas in large colonies egg-laying occurs over a three-week period.

Even though only the female has a true incubation patch, both parents take turns incubating the eggs an equal amount of time. The incubating parent stays at the back of the nest while the other parent is out foraging for food. Depending on how cold it is, incubation takes from 13 to 15 days.

Born naked and pink, the young are fully feathered by the time they fledge at three weeks of age. Both parents brood and feed them, catching beakfuls of flying insects and pressing them into a tight bolus for the nestlings. Once they fledge, the parents either transfer the food to them bill to bill while in flight or a parent drops an insect and the fledgling catches it.

Cliff swallows prefer swarming insects at all times of the year, and in Nebraska the Browns have identified 84 families of insects they consume.

Cliff swallow chicks by Richard Griffin

Cliff swallow chicks by Richard Griffin (license)

The young remain dependent on their parents for food for three to five days after fledging. But as soon as they fledge, they travel as far as three miles from their natal home to a crèche site where young of the same age from several nesting sites gather. Because parents learned the begging calls of their young in the nest, they are able to find and feed them in the crèche. The young also show incredible diversity of color and white speckling on their throats and foreheads which also may help their parents distinguish them.

Cliff swallows are amazingly adaptable birds. Unlike most species, they seem to thrive because of human-designed structures. Historically, they lived only in areas in the west that had vertical cliff faces with horizontal overhangs where they could attach their nests, hence their common name. But now they can live wherever there are bridges and buildings with overhangs to accommodate them. Ideally, most colonies are near open fields or pastures where they forage with a nearby water source.

The Browns continue to study these fascinating birds at 100 sites in Nebraska. They’ve discovered that common grackles prey on them by lighting on the nests and pulling the young out of the entrances. They also pounce on adults at mud sites, grab them with their feet and kill them with a couple pecks.

Cliff swallows and moon by Terrie Schweitzer

Cliff swallows and moon by Terrie Schweitzer (license)

Brown writes that “predators attack the larger cliff swallow colonies so often that an individual’s personal risk is actually greater in a larger colony than a smaller one,” but he believes in long-term studies of numerous sites before you can “correctly interpret what you see at a single site.”

As part of his many hundred thousand captures and recaptures of cliff swallows at mist nets, as well as the dead swallows he and his colleagues have picked up on the roads, they have found that over a 30-year period, the wings of the netted birds have gotten shorter while those killed on the road are longer. Shorter wings allow them to take off and maneuver more quickly and avoid being hit by vehicles. Also, while cliff swallow numbers have increased at his nest sites, cliff swallows killed by vehicles have decreased.

Charles Brown says that “evolution is an ongoing process, and all this—roads, SUVs and all—is part of nature or ‘the wild.’ They exert selection pressures in a way we don’t usually think about.”

Pancake Flats

Rhododendron along Green Springs Trail (photo: Stan Kotala)

Rhododendron along Green Springs Trail (photo: Stan Kotala)

On a cool, breezy day in late July, my husband Bruce and I decided to hike on Green Springs Trail. Following precise directions from our friend, Ruby Becker, we drove up the Allegheny Front, locally known as Wopsononock Mountain, on Wopsy Road, seven miles beyond the Penn State Altoona campus and parked in a State Game Lands #108 parking area. Since it was a seven-mile hike, and we are in our seventies, we planned only to hike the first portion, which our son, Dave, who had hiked the trail back in the spring with Juniata Valley Audubon Society members, said was the best part of the hike.

But we hadn’t counted on the seductive beauty of this trail. After a short walk on a gated road lined with a hedge of elderberry shrubs on one side and a bog on the other, we crossed a bridge over Tub Run and entered a mature second growth, mixed deciduous and coniferous forest. Most impressive were the healthy hemlock trees with not a sign of the hemlock woolly adelgid infestation. We followed a footpath through a tunnel of huge rhododendrons, many of which were still blooming. Black-throated green warblers sang “trees, trees, beautiful trees,” expressing our feelings for the impressive hemlocks.

painted trillium fruit along Green Springs Trail (photo: Bruce Bonta)

painted trillium fruit along Green Springs Trail (photo: Bruce Bonta)

The ground was a boggy sponge on either side of the trail and mossy hummocks provided habitat for a wide diversity of spring wildflowers, their leaves evidence that if we returned next spring, we would see blooming painted trilliums, starflowers, Canada mayflowers, Indian cucumber-roots, and trailing arbutus, among others. Beds of partridgeberry and a potpourri of club moss species, as well as lady ferns and cinnamon ferns also favored the wet ground while clumps of white Indian pipes lit up the dark understory.

In addition to black-throated green warblers, occasionally we heard the singing of the brilliant red and black male scarlet tanagers, the persistent red-eyed vireos, and twice a black-throated blue warbler. But a succession of ethereal hermit thrushes provided a continuous choir of music that followed us throughout the five miles of the hike within the forest. Once a hermit thrush and hooded warbler sang at the same time in an unintentional duet.

As we penetrated deeper into the forest, Bruce, armed with a map and compass, kept asking me if I wanted to turn back. He knew that I hate to retrace my steps, and I knew that the complete trail was circular, which is my favorite kind of trail. Furthermore, unlike our hilly home grounds in the ridge-and-valley, this trail was almost flat in an area aptly named Pancake Flats and thus was much easier than I had expected. For that reason, I saw no reason to turn around.

A view of the stream from Green Springs Trail (photo: Stan Kotala)

A view of the stream from Green Springs Trail (photo: Stan Kotala)

Eventually, the trail became rocky, and below us we could hear the gurgle of Green Springs Run. On the woods’ floor were several huge flat rocks with rugs of moss and an understory of wood ferns. Dark-eyed juncos scolded us, and an eastern towhee exhorted us to “Drink your tea.” At last we had a view of Green Springs Run through the hemlocks and rhododendrons and descended to a bridge of large boulders that crossed the water.

We emerged out on to a grassy flat area that was, in reality, an overgrown road. As Bruce moved to examine the taller grasses on the opposite side of the road, he heard the unmistakable rattle of a timber rattlesnake. Although we stayed on the road edge and searched with our eyes to see the elusive reptile, we never did see the creature, but it rattled whenever we approached the underbrush. Finally, we took the hint and plunged back into the deep forest following Green Springs Run along the cleared footpath.

Beside the trail we spotted a pile of feathers—an indication that a predator had found its prey. A rock that had been wrenched out of the ground was evidence that a black bear had been searching for ants. We also paused to admire an enormous white pine beside the trail.

Tub Run from the trail (photo: Stan Kotala)

Tub Run from the trail (photo: Stan Kotala)

We stopped to picnic next to a picturesque small waterfall under a welcoming hemlock tree and then continued on through a forest with many young hemlocks and a nice stand of mountain laurel beneath the larger trees. Apparently, the leaf fungus that has killed many of our mountain laurel shrubs had not reached this game lands.

Cinnamon ferns and unfortunately also the invasive Japanese stiltgrass formed a portion of the understory. But I was delighted to find blooming dewdrops, also known by its genus name Dalibarda. Still another common name is star-violet because its leaves resemble those of violets, but its single, white, five-petaled flowers do not look like violets. In fact, this lover of bogs, peaty barrens and cool, mossy woods is a northern flower that grows at higher elevations on the Allegheny Front, according to Ann Fowler Rhoads and Timothy A. Block in their definitive book The Plants of Pennsylvania. In addition, I noticed the three-leaf, clover-like leaves of northern wood-sorrel, another five-petaled, white flower, that one with pink veins, which lives in the same habitat as dewdrops in Pennsylvania.

The last two miles of the trail were on the gated road. Even though the foot trail looked heavily used, we had seen no one on it, perhaps because we were there on a weekday. But on the road we did see a few people walking past us near the middle of the afternoon.

The trail was also remarkably trash-free except for an upright balloon caught on a sapling, wishing a happy birthday to a one-year-old, that had floated in from who knew where. Billed as “biodegradable” balloons, they still can be ingested by wildlife and last for years. We know this because often we find them on our mountain land above Tyrone, especially after their St. Patrick’s Day celebration when they release 3,000 balloons. We learned years ago that whatever pollution is released in the air eventually returns to earth and the same is true of balloons.

Dalibarda (dewdrops) in bloom along Green Srpings Trail (photo: Bruce Bonta)

Dalibarda (dewdrops) in bloom along Green Springs Trail (photo: Bruce Bonta)

The sunny, open road, in contrast to the dark forest, where we saw only a couple common wood nymph butterflies, was a haven for butterflies—great-spangled fritillaries, spicebush swallowtails, common sulphurs, red-spotted purples, and tiger swallowtails. Common and tall milkweed provided nectar for the butterflies, but sadly we saw no monarch butterflies, despite their milkweed food source.

It had been a terrible year for monarchs, and I had seen not a single one on our property despite abundant milkweed in our First and Far fields. Much later we learned that the population of migrating monarchs in their Mexican winter quarters had been reduced by 80%, an appallingly low number. Not only are their wintering trees being illegally logged in the Mexican mountains, but herbicides, such as glyphosate, used by industrial agriculture in our country, are killing off native milkweed species, the only plants on which the monarchs lay their eggs. So we applauded the managers of this state game lands for providing food and habitat for this rapidly declining butterfly.

The healthy forest and wetland also provide food and habitat for a wide range of birds and mammals. Best of all, from our standpoint, is that this enormous game land provides a refuge for those of us who appreciate wild Pennsylvania.