SGL#166 Beaverdam Wetland

On a rainy Sunday afternoon in early October, my husband Bruce and I joined fellow members of our Juniata Valley Audubon Society on a field trip to SGL#166.

George Mahon, a member of the Juniata Valley Audubon Society, in the Beaverdam area

George Mahon, a member of the Juniata Valley Audubon Society, in the Beaverdam area (Photo by Bruce Bonta)

This 11,776-acre game land includes the Beaverdam Wetland Biological Diversity Area (BDA), which is tucked in a remote wooded valley in southern Blair County between Canoe and Brush mountains and forms the headwaters of Canoe Creek. And it lives up to its name because beavers still occupy the creek and wetlands.

Since Beaverdam Road is only open during big game seasons to a parking lot four miles from the game land’s southern boundary, we had a reasonably short hike on the gravel road to reach the Beaverdam area.

The rain stopped when we started off through a diverse upland hardwood forest that includes such trees as American basswood, sugar maple, and white oak, as well as limestone-loving yellow or chinquapin oak and the thicket-forming shrub or small tree American bladdernut that favors moist, floodplain forests and stream banks.

A winterberry growing along the trail

A winterberry growing along the road (Photo by Bruce Bonta)

From the road I saw invasive stiltgrass and garlic mustard and occasionally a fern understory, but according to the Beaverdam Wetland BDA report, this forest also contains the usual invasive multiflora rose, Japanese barberry, and European privet as well as the native spicebush and black haw shrubs. We also stopped to admire a young American chestnut tree, a patch of partridgeberry and a winterberry, covered with red berries.

The BDA report lists a wide variety of spring wildflowers in the forest such as blue cohosh, wild ginger, jack-in-the-pulpit, mayapples, false Solomon’s seal, yellow fairy bells, and sweet cicely.

We were in, what I later learned from Justin Vreeland, Regional Wildlife Management Supervisor for the Southcentral Region of the Pennsylvania Game Commission, is the Canoe Creek Old Forest Unit (OFU), a 3,922-acre portion of the game land managed for late-successional forest attributes.

A view of Canoe Creek in the Canoe Creek State Park, downstream from the Old Forest Unit

A view of Canoe Creek in the Canoe Creek State Park, downstream from the Old Forest Unit (Photo by David Brossard in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

In addition to protecting the Canoe Creek riparian zone, it is hoped that this contiguous tract of mature hardwood forest will attract many forest-interior and riparian birds of conservation interest including Acadian flycatchers, blackburnian, black-throated green, black-throated blue, worm-eating, Kentucky and cerulean warblers, Louisiana waterthrushes, red-shouldered and broad-winged hawks, scarlet tanagers, wood thrushes, and yellow-throated vireos.

During our visit our bird list was meager—gray catbird, blue jay, eastern towhee, field sparrow and ruby-crowned kinglet—due to the weather and because most of the previously mentioned forest birds were already on their way south for the winter.

The beaver pond in the wetland area

The beaver pond in the wetland area (Photo by Bruce Bonta)

Once we reached the wetland complex with beaver ponds on either side of the road, the trees and shrubs changed to what the BDA report describes as “a mosaic of graminoid [grassy] meadow, shrubland and palustrine [wetland] forest communities.” The BDA report adds that “the floodplain holds an especially interesting palustrine woodland with a high diversity of plant species,” such as poison sumac, royal, interrupted and marsh ferns, white turtlehead, yellow marsh marigold, five sedge and two grass species.

We saw the shrub buttonbush and the vine virgin’s-bower, both wetland species, as well as thickets of alder. The bark of the latter is sometimes eaten by beavers, although they prefer aspens above all, followed to a lesser degree by willows, but they will eat the bark of other tree species if neither aspen nor willow are available. In spring and summer months, they switch to non-woody vegetation especially grasses and aquatic plants.

For instance, a study in Mississippi found in the stomachs of beavers material from 42 tree species, 36 genera of green plants, four kinds of woody vines and a lump of grasses, according to Ben Goldfarb in his engaging book Eager, the Surprising Secret Life of Beaver and Why They Matter. He writes that “beavers are among our closest ecological and technological kin” because both humans and beavers are “wildly creative tool users who settle near water, share a fondness for elaborate infrastructure, and favor fertile valley bottoms carved by low-gradient rivers.”

Before Europeans arrived in North America, researchers calculated that the continent had between 15 and 250 million beaver ponds. “The Lehigh River,” Goldfarb writes, was “almost choked with beaver dams, which helped form the ‘Great Swamp’ at its headwaters…” Beavers still change the landscape and by doing that create prime songbird habitat.

A beaver dam

A beaver dam (Photo by Tom Gill on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

In another study in coastal Maryland back in 2000, researchers found that a single beaver pond slashed the discharge of total nitrogen by 18%, phosphorus by 21%, and total suspended solids—waterborne particles classified as a pollutant by the Clean Water Act—by 27%.

These clever engineers build their dams for safety from predators—black bears and coyotes in our area—shelter from weather, and food storage. Propelled in water by their webbed feet, they can hold their breath for 15 minutes, have transparent eyelids that allow them to see underwater, and a second set of fur-lined lips behind their upper and lower chisel-shaped teeth, that enable them to chew and drag wood without drowning.

Beaver fur consists of two-inch-long coarse guard hairs over a soft, thick, buoyant and waterproof underfur. A Scrabble-letter-sized patch of it has as much as 126,000 individual hairs, more than we have on our heads. Their flat, scaly tails are rudders and alarm systems and they have a net of tightly meshed blood vessels that can regulate their temperature.

A beaver at work

A beaver at work (Photo by Tim Lumley on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

They fell trees by balancing on their back legs with their tails beneath their bodies, and use their large teeth to chip away at the trunk until the tree falls. Then they gnaw off the branches and cut the trunk into manageable pieces before hauling them off to their building site. Researchers report that 62% of the trees beavers cut fall in the direction of the dam they are building. They peel their lodge or dam sticks and eat the inner bark before weaving them into their constructions.

The dams they build can be as small as a couple feet to half-mile-long dikes. A family unit of between four and ten consisting of mating adults, newborn kits, and yearlings can build and keep up more than 12 dams and change a narrow stream into a broad chain of ponds. They also construct burrows and lodges where they sleep, raise kits and winter. Since they don’t hibernate the adults spend the winter dragging sticks and roots from their submerged larder to feed their family.

Needless to say, we didn’t see any beavers during our field trip. Vreeland hopes to develop higher-quality beaver habitat along Canoe Creek by planting aspens.

The Canoe Furnace used trees from the Canoe Valley as fuel

The Canoe Furnace used trees from the Canoe Valley as fuel (Photo in the Penn State Special Collections in Flickr, Creative Commons license)

There have always been beavers in this valley, although trees were first cut as early as 1807-1809 and into the 1870s to fuel Canoe and Etna iron furnaces. A lumber railroad operated in the upper Canoe Creek watershed and mining railroads along the southern ridge.

Since that time, at least one lumber company early in the twentieth century “turned [the valley] from a splendid forest to a desert waste,” according to outdoor writer and hunter, Harry P. Hays, who frequented the valley then. He also visited Margaret Aurandt, whose grandfather, John Hancuff, was the first settler in the valley in the early nineteenth century.

Aurandt was born in 1866 and lived in the valley most of her life, the last 17 years—from 1912 to 1929— alone and on her own, “her friends the trees, birds, flowers, animals, and other things of the forest. Her home stood at the edge of a magnificent stand of white pine trees, where the mid-day sun could only send scattered shafts of gold.” The logging “was a great blow to the lonely woman, who grieved deeply, and was bereft of much of the former joy of her woodland life,” Hays writes.

One hundred years have passed since the logging occurred. I think Aurandt would be pleased to learn of the establishment of the Canoe Creek Old Forest Unit, which Vreeland hopes will benefit many mature-forest-dependent species including a wide variety of birds such as northern goshawks, wild turkeys, and winter wrens, as well as mammals—fishers, silver-haired bats, white-tailed deer, black bears, gray and southern flying squirrels.

Furthermore, according to the comprehensive management plan for the OFU (shared by Mr. Vreeland), officials want to “promote late-successional forest conditions on higher quality soils.” Such forests “are rare because these historically were converted to agricultural land uses or subject to multiple timber harvests.” For this reason, large parts of the OFU are on good growing sites for both hardwood and conifer forests. The plan also calls for providing “an extensive area of unfragmented forest,” although it is now bisected by the game land’s road and a 100-meter-wide electric right-of-way corridor.

Still, the OFU is unique in southcentral Pennsylvania, and Vreeland says in an email, “I firmly believe if we are to conserve wildlife diversity, we need to maintain forests, to include areas largely left to nature’s processes, on an array of soil types, including productive ones, because these will produce different structural and compositional characteristics than a similarly aged forest on poorer soils.”


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.

Different Worlds

What a difference a few miles can make.  From our home on the westernmost ridge of the Ridge and Valley Province to the Allegheny Front is only a couple miles as the crow flies, yet, as I teetered across a log and cable bridge over Bell Gap Run on State Game Lands 108, I felt as if I had entered another world.

The geology is different.  Two hundred and fifty million years ago, the North American plate collided with the African plate.  The collision folded the entire cover of sedimentary rock that had blanketed Pennsylvania.  Because the Ridge and Valley area was closer to the collision, its folds were longer and more open than the long, gentle waves of the Allegheny Plateaus.  The mountains of the Ridge and Valley were then higher than the Rocky Mountains are now and were gradually eroded down by streams that deepened and widened the valleys.  Every winter the freezing and thawing of the earth slowly moved the soil farther down the mountains, which eventually produced the rounded hills we see today.

But while the rocks of the Ridge and Valley are tilted and lying next to each other, the rocks of the Allegheny Plateaus lie in flat layers stacked on top of one another like a multi-tiered cake as they were laid down over the eons.  Because of the branching patterns of streams, the Plateaus area has a more irregular landscape than the Ridge and Valley, and, as hikers and hunters have discovered, it’s easier to get lost in.

Canada violets

Canada violets

When those streams cut down through the rocks, they often left cliffs or rounded benches.  The Allegheny Front, as the eastern edge of the Plateaus section is called, stretches from Pennsylvania to Alabama.  Its large, rounded cliff marks the end of the horizontal rocks and the beginning of the tilted rocks of the Ridge and Valley. Around here, when folks speak of going up the mountain, they mean the Front, not our gentler ridge.

During the European settlement of Pennsylvania, the Front provided an almost insurmountable barrier to the West.  For instance, during bird artist John James and Lucy Audubon’s stage coach overland to Pittsburgh in April of 1808, the coach upset as it ascended the Front and was dragged on its side for a “considerable distance” before the driver gained control of the horses. Lucy was badly shaken and after that, she ascended every mountain on foot despite the constant rain and so did the other passengers. No wonder the subsequent construction of the Allegheny Portage Railroad impressed later travelers as not only safer but an amazing engineering feat.

The weather is harsher on the Front.  During the winter, the snow is deeper and spring arrives a few weeks later than it does on our mountain.  Even though most of our storms come from the west, the Front seems to blunt their severity before they reach us.

broken oak

broken oak

“A beetling escarpment,” Ben and  Elizabeth R. Marsh call the Allegheny Front in The Atlas of Pennsylvania, and it was that escarpment we climbed last Memorial Day.  Led by Dr. Todd Davis, a poet and professor at Penn State Altoona, who had discovered the trail a few miles from his home, several of us, ranging in age from four to sixty-nine, trekked slowly upward along a shaded old logging road that drops off steeply on the right toward Bell Gap Run at the base of the slope through a mature, mixed deciduous and hemlock forest.  The left side of the trail is an often-exposed rocky cliff that displayed, on that day, a treasure trove of blooming wildflowers and ferns.

A hillside of painted trillium was a special treat.   According to Ann Rhoads and Timothy Block in The Plants of Pennsylvania, painted trillium grows in northern Pennsylvania and at higher elevations along the Allegheny Front.  This late-blooming trillium species likes a cool, strongly acidic, humus-rich soil underneath a bower of deciduous and conifer trees.  The wavy edges of its three white petals account for its species name undulatum.  The “painted” refers to the dark rose, inverted V at the base of each petal, the rose radiating outward along the petal’s major veins.  Also know as “striped wake-robin” and “painted lady,” this trillium species almost springs out of the ground during sudden warm spells.  As soon as it emerges and while it is still small, its flower opens.  If it is pollinated then, the petals quickly turn translucent, dry and fall, disappointing trillium seekers.  But those we saw on SGL# 108 were in full-size bloom.

wood sorrell

wood sorrell

Another white wildflower with a deep pink center and veins was the common or northern wood-sorrel Oxalis montana, which also grows in northern Pennsylvania and at higher elevations along the Allegheny Front.  Even without its showy, five-petaled flower, its heart-shaped, clover-like leaves are distinctive.  And after sunset, the leaves droop and fold close together as if in prayer.  Known as “Alleluia” in England because it blooms near Easter, legend has it that wood-sorrel is St. Patrick’s shamrock.  Supposedly, he was trying to explain the idea of the Trinity to his followers when he spotted a wood-sorrel at his feet.

“Here,” he is purported to have said, “Is God manifesting His own threefold being in the form of a simple flower.”

Joseph Harned, writing in Wildflowers of the Alleghanies told that story.  He also maintained that “the mere mention of the name of this dainty plant suggests at once a vision of cool, moist, and mossy woods” such as we experienced during our hike.

Foamflower, miterwort, sweet white violets, and Canada violets were almost at the end of their blooming cycles, and Todd assured me that there were many other wildflower species earlier in the season.

walking fern

walking fern

Walking fern crept along the edges, cracks, and crevices of the large rock outcropping.  Of course, it doesn’t literally “walk,” but the tips of its long, leathery, narrow, pointed leaves often sprout new plants when they touch the ground, hence its species’ name rhizophyllum which means “with rooting feet.”  Also known as “walking leaf,” it likes to grow on shaded, moss-covered, limestone or sandstone rocks.

The shrub layer overhanging the trail was very familiar to me — wild hydrangea, red elderberry and mountain laurel, with lots of rhododendron near the top of the ridge.

Many of the singing birds we heard were also familiar to me as breeding birds on our property — black-throated green, black-throated blue, black-and-white, and cerulean warblers, red-eyed vireos, indigo buntings, scarlet tanagers, ovenbirds and Acadian flycatchers, as well as the “chips” of a Louisiana waterthrush as we crossed the stream.  But three species we heard or saw during our hike are only migrants on our ridge — Kentucky and Canada warblers, and the ethereal hermit thrush.

hikers in Bell Gap

hikers in Bell's Gap

Halfway up the trail, a Canada warbler flew toward us, scolding energetically, fanning her tail and fluttering her wings in a typical distraction display, which indicated the presence of a nearby nest.  Since they often build their nests low to the ground at the edge of a bank in a forest edge area about 1000 feet in elevation, we assumed she had a nest hidden nearby.  Apparently, the Appalachian Plateaus have always been a stronghold for this lovely gray-backed warbler with yellow underparts that sports a distinctive necklace of black streaks on its breast.

Our encounter with the Kentucky warbler was only aural, his loud, rollicking, two-syllable “tory-tory-tory” song emanating from the damp forest below.  This southern species too is a regular breeder on the Appalachian Plateaus, even in small woodlots and has been moving steadily north in Pennsylvania.  Yellow spectacles and black side burns distinguish this brown-backed warbler with yellow underparts that skulks and nests in woodland undergrowth.

pickerel frog

pickerel frog

I could only stop in happy wonder when I heard the singing hermit thrush and argue with myself over which thrush’s song — the wood or hermit — is the most beautiful.  Since we must make do with breeding wood thrushes on our mountain, I’ve given it preference, but on the rare occasions when I hear a hermit sing during migration, I want to persuade it to nest here too.  It’s aggravating to know that at least a few hermit thrushes only fly across the valley to nest on the Front.

With five youngsters on the trail, we tended to see the creatures at our feet.  Once an American toad crossed our path.  Another time everyone gathered around to admire a brown-splotched pickerel frog.  Both species need water to lay their eggs, but otherwise both dwell on dry land.  In the case of pickerel frogs, after mating in water, they spend their time in deciduous or deciduous/coniferous forests, wooded ravines, low-lying fields open fields or meadows.  By late May, their mating season is over, but still this one was found near a spring and pool about halfway up the trail.

American toads are the least dependent on water, and by May they too have finished their mating.  They can be found everywhere from suburban backyards to rocky hillsides, which is where the youngsters found the one at SGL# 108.



Even insects did not escape our attention.  The amateur entomologist of the group called our attention to a sawfly that looked like a bee except that the attachment of the thorax to the abdomen was broad instead of narrow like those of bees, wasps, and ants.  Sawflies are probably more primitive examples of Hymenoptera, the same order as bees, wasps, and ants; because they have no stingers and their larvae feed on plants.  But surprisingly their larvae look like the caterpillars of butterflies and moths.  There are many species of sawflies and our entomologist did not hazard a guess as to the species of the one he showed us.

With all the new wonders and old to look at and listen to, I was most impressed by the peace of the forest.  I didn’t hear the cars, trains, trucks or airplanes that I hear from our ridgetop.  It was as if we were miles from the nearest town, and yet we weren’t.  But to me it was indeed a different world.

All photos taken by Dave Bonta on the day of the hike at Bell’s Gap. See the complete set.