Mushroom

While walking through town today, I was scanning the cottonwood trees for birds.  I saw only crows, pigeons and house sparrows and was grumbling over the lack of a new species to put on my blog when I saw some mushrooms perched on top of a pruned tree. 

The first photo is zoomed as far as I could make it, because I wanted to try to identify what mushroom could possibly be growing in the middle of January.  In the following picture, you can just see the mushrooms perched in the top center.   The last picture is a mushroom growing out of the cut branch on the left side of the cottonwood.

I know very little about identifying mushrooms, but my best guess is that these are a type of wine cap mushroom, Stropharia rugosoannulata.  I may be completely wrong here.  Besides not knowing much about mushroom species, I couldn't get close enough to these specimens to see all the details.  So all I'm saying is, don't hold me to it and don't even think about eating them.

This blog post is going to be total guess work.   I'm suspecting the fungi spores got into the wood during or soon after the pruning of this tree.  Were the spores on the chain saw?  Can the gusty Wyoming wind blow spores that high?  Are these mushrooms still alive after the single digit temps of the other night?  If so, are they damaging the cottonwood?   Or is the tree already dead?  I won't know the answer to the last question until spring.   As for the other questions, Google and Wikipedia aren't helping too much this time.  This experience obviously reveals a great gap in my nature knowledge and makes me predict that I will be noticing and photographing--and hopefully learning more about--a lot more mushrooms this year.



Map Lichen

I tried to go downhill skiing this morning, but the lack of snow coupled with gusty winds made conditions pretty awful.  I gave up and decided to go for a walk instead.  There were only a few inches of snow on the ground near the Little Laramie River above Centennial, even though it's January in the supposedly snowy Snowy Range.  There was definitely no need for skis or snowshoes, though.  Except in a few drifted places, I didn't sink in at all.  The wind had blown some bare spots--grass was even visible at times!--and rocks were sticking out of the snow.  On numerous rocks, I noticed green map lichen, Rhizocarpon geographicum. 

During summer hikes, I often enjoy looking at the lichen growing on rocks, finding all kinds of colors and shapes.  Most rock lichens are known as crustose lichens (crust-forming) as opposed to the other kinds that grow on trees or look more like plants.  The species can be very difficult to distinguish.  I try to avoid walking on lichen-covered rocks, because lichen only grow very slowly on undisturbed areas.  They also do not do well in polluted air, so it's nice to know that the air quality of the Snowies is still very good.

The site wisegeek.com describes lichen as a symbiotic relationship between fungus and either algae or cyanobacteria.  "Lichen is a kind of primitive plant species that's nothing more than strands of alga linked with roots and branches of a fungus that together absorb minerals from the ground and conduct photosynthesis." 

I found this relationship further explained at ohioline.osu.edu:  "The alga or the cyanobacterium (the photobionts) produce carbohydrates through photosynthesis which then serve as food for the fungus. The fungus, in its turn, provides a steady supply of moisture to the photobiont, provides a substrate helpful in providing the right amount of light to the photobiont, and protects this alga or cyanobacterium photobiont within the fungal tissues. There are many variations of this relationship...bottom line, as the great lichenologist Trevor Goward once said: Lichens are a case of 'fungi that have discovered agriculture.'" 

Before today I had never really thought about lichen in winter, because they were usually buried beneath feet of snow.  They generally tolerate the severe cold just fine, and further research revealed that this species of lichen can even survive in space.  Leslie Mullen for Astrobiology Magazine reports:  "The lichen were subjected to the vacuum, wide temperature fluctuations, solar ultraviolet (UV) and cosmic radiation of space for over two weeks.  Two different species of lichen flew in the Biopan [on the outer surface of a satellite] -- Rhizocarpon geographicum and Xanthoria elegan -- and they remained dormant while in space. When they returned to Earth [protected from the heat of re-entry], they exhibited no physical damage, and soon resumed their normal photosynthetic activity. Lichen are multi-cellular and eukaryotic, making them the most complex organisms to survive exposure to space conditions so far."  How's that for an amazing creature?

American Crow

American crows, Corvus brachyrhynchos, have been busy in town recently. I have seen them roosting in large flocks in the bare cottonwood trees and feeding on the ground in large numbers.  I'm not sure what they are finding in the barren brown grass, but these omnivores eat just about anything.  I enjoy watching their stiff-legged gait as they move about the ground.

Several times at work today, when I looked out the window, I saw crows flying by.  They were often in pairs, but once I watched a group of about twenty fly past.  No, looking out the window at work is not slacking.  It's practicing my observational skills.

Crows are often thought of as black, but if you really look at a crow's feathers in the sunlight, you can often see shiny green and purple hues.  I wish I could see what these birds look like to one another in the wavelengths of light that we can't see.  It's probably pretty fantastic.  Here is a better photo, taken when the grass was still green, in which a hint of color can be noted.

I have often seen crows in the middle of the road, eating up some poor car-smushed critter, but, according to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, "despite its tendency to eat roadkill, the American Crow is not specialized to be a scavenger, and carrion is only a very small part of its diet. Though their bills are large, crows can’t break through the skin of even a gray squirrel. They must wait for something else to open a carcass or for the carcass to decompose and become tender enough to eat."  Crows will often eat pet food left outdoors and garbage.  They like to make sure they're not missing something good in local city park trash bins.

Crows and ravens can be difficult to tell apart, but I have learned a few helpful tricks.  First of all, ravens rarely visit cities, so the townies are likely crows.  Ravens are bigger birds with thicker bills.  They can soar more easily than crows, who tend to flap their wings a lot.  If you see large black birds in the air, the one with the fanned tail is the crow.  A raven's tail is wedge-shaped.

Crows are social, roosting in big colonies in the wintertime and also maintaining extended family ties.  Young crows often stay around their parents for a few years, helping feed and protect younger siblings before going off to find their own mates. 

This species is very susceptible to West Nile virus, which could potentially cause the population to decrease.  I hope their numbers are not reduced too much, because it is encouraging to see a native bird that has adapted so well to human landscape.  They are intelligent; you can see it in the way they almost analytically eye your approach.  They have shown an ability to fashion and use tools.  I read an article once that they can even recognize faces, so be sure not to antagonize a neighborhood crow, or you might just find yourself dive bombed the next time you go outside.

Common Juniper

It finally snowed a couple of inches, so I was able to get out for some cross-country skiing in the soft powder. It was single-digit cold, though, and windy, so most critters were holed up somewhere warm. I did, however, see quite a few common juniper shrubs, Juniperus communis var. depressa, peeking up through the new snow.

This plant is another hardy evergreen that manages to provide a little color in the Wyoming winter. 

In Wyoming's harsh environment, common juniper is also known as dwarf juniper since it tends to stay low, shrubby and almost mat-like.  In more hospitible climes, it can become more of a tree.  It is called "common" because it is the most widespread conifer in the world, being, according to Plants of the Rocky Mountains, the only "circumpolar conifer in the northern hemisphere".

The blue 'juniper berries' are actually female seed cones that can be used to flavor gin, enhance meat, or provide herbal remedies for things like kidney problems.  According to numerous websites, though, this herb may actually be harmful to people with kidney problems.  I think I will just leave them on the tree for the birds.

Fox Squirrel

Around Laramie on just about any day, one can usually spot a fox squirrel, Sciurus niger, in a tree, bush or garbage can.   They are entertaining guys to watch, scrambling agilely up a tree trunk or down a brick wall.  They're keeping an eye on you, even if you're not paying attention.



They'll happily take a handout, but don't expect them to trust you.  One sudden move and they're off.  Or perhaps they'll play that hide and seek game of always keeping on the opposite side of the tree trunk from where you're standing.  But don't blame them for being extra cautious--they do have hawks, foxes, coyotes, dogs and cats to fear.  Not to mention cars.  And guys with weapons.

This species is called the fox squirrel because of its pretty, bushy, rusty-colored tail that may perhaps resemble that of a fox.  They're much more expressive with their tails than foxes, though, whipping and shaking them as they chatter at anything that displeases them.  And they do get displeased.  I once found some of my tulip flowers maliciously chewed off in what I interpreted as a fit of squirrel pique because I had allowed the bird feeder to become empty.

These guys, also known as eastern fox squirrels, are native to the plains, and they thrive in Laramie at the western edge of their natural range.  I generally don't see them in the mountains; the national forest in this area hosts the much smaller red squirrel instead.  But why should a fox squirrel leave the city limits with its numerous planted trees interspersed with irrigated lawns?  These critters tend not to like thick forests, prefering some open spaces between the trees and spending more time on the ground than other tree squirrels.   Urban landscapes also come with convenient escape routes in the form of power lines or telephone wires or handy roofs that are often inaccessible to most predators.  City life also provides access to alley garbage and backyard birdseed.  I have yet to see a squirrel-proof bird feeder.

And I once saw a fox squirrel take an entire piece of pizza out of the garbage bin and up a tree.  

Clark's Nutcracker

I have been scolded on more than one occasion by a Clark's Nutcracker, Nucifraga columbiana.   This species likes to complain about intruders into its territory, perhaps concerned that I might steal a pinecone or two (which I am not entirely above doing on occasion).  They are related to crows and jays, which explains a little about their loud voices.  Today, I definitely heard the birds before I saw any.

Clark's Nutcrackers live throughout the west, but do not feel the need to migrate to more temperate locales.  They cache their store of nuts and are content to stay, seeming to like the ponderosa and limber pines and douglas firs of the region.

Clark's Nutcrackers have been shown to have very good memories, like other jays, remembering their secret stashes of seeds for many months.  And, if they should happen to forget a hidey hole, they just may have planted a new tree!

Although vocally critical of humans, these birds are not necessarily selfish.  The male even helps to incubate the eggs, unlike other species of jays where the male doesn't take his turn on the nest.  But, just like other jays, they are opportunistic and will eat any tasty tidbit they find, even if that means stealing it from a campground.  In such cases, their loud calls might just be complaints about the menu.

Full disclosure:  these photos were not taken locally nor today.  The nutcrackers today did not feel like posing for pictures.  These pictures were taken at Mt. Rainier, WA, hence the spruce tree perch (not a local Wyoming tree, for you observant readers).

Lodgepole Pine

The lodgepole pine, pinus contorta (subspecies latifolia), is a very widespread tree in Wyoming.  It is nice to see green this time of year, and lodgepoles are the most prevalent species in the Medicine Bow National Forest.  The healthy trees that have survived the attacks of the mountain pine beetle provide a welcome break from all the brown, tan and white of winter.

I still haven't mastered the art of identifying tree species.  Steve Aitken on Finegardening.com has helpful tips on differentiating pine, spruce and fir trees:  " If a twig bears needles in groups of two, three, or five, you can safely call it a pine. If the twig carries its needles singly, it’s a good bet you’ve got a fir or a spruce. Pull off a needle, and roll it between your fingers. If it feels flat and doesn’t roll easily, it’s a fir. If the needle has four sides and, thus, rolls easily between your fingers, it’s a spruce."  My problem is that I don't remember these sort of rules when I am out in the woods!

I think I have all of these photos identified correctly (I hope).   Lodgepole pines have only two needles per bunch, which makes it a little easier, since it is the only paired needle tree around here.  Also, the upper branches often spread upwards, while the lower branches tilt downward.  This tree enjoys its sunlight and doesn't thrive in the shade.

 I tried to get pictures of various aged female cones to show the possible differences.  Lodgepole cones open in high temperatures, so this tree is often one of the first to return after forest fires.

The evergreen needles live an average of 4 to 6 years, but can be even older.   Here is a photo of the male pollen cones as well (but the pollen won't be shedding until the late spring).

Lodgepole pine bark is gray-brown and often flaky, but the timber is good.  The name 'lodgepole' comes from its formerly common use in tepee lodges.

Today, while cross-country skiing on the very limited snow available in the Pole Mountain area, squirrel activity was evident in the numerous nibbled-off cone branches scattering the forest floor.  Lodgepoles provide great habitat for wildlife.

Rock Dove

Temperatures were a bit colder today in town, staying just below freezing, and the mountains look like they are getting some snow.  But Laramie is all brown and gray and tan and brown, and some of the most colorful things around are the rock doves, Columba livia.

Thinking of these birds calls to mind great feral flocks in big cities, filling Trafalgar Square or the Piazza San Marco.  But small town Laramie has its share of these common pigeons, too, who seem to find plenty of attics, garages and barns in which to roost.

According to Whatbird.com, the pigeon has associated with humans for more than five thousand years.  I know some people who think of them as feathered rats, full of disease, but I think they only cause real problems when their numbers get too high and their droppings start to pile up.  Some cities have outlawed feeding them because the numbers were getting out of control (too few predators!).

The Cornell Lab of Ornithology argues for the relative merit of rock pigeons:  "Recent research indicates that pigeons may have some cognitive abilities comparable to three-year-old children. Pigeons depend on humans for food and nest sites, resulting in little competition with native birds. Where they aren’t poisoned, they supply nourishing food for urban raptors."  Laramie's population seems reasonably sized, since we have fox, coyote, hawks, and, of course, cats.  So, although they are an introduced species, I think we should cut them some slack and throw them some crumbs on occasion.

For those of you looking for high scoring Scrabble words, baby pigeons are called "squabs".

White-breasted Nuthatch

The warm spell continues, so I decided to go for an April-like walk in the nearby national forest at Vedauwoo. It was a very quiet day; my main man and I didn't encounter any other people until we were nearly back at the parking lot at the end of our hike. We didn't see any large wildlife, either, only some moose droppings that suggested that the moose cow and yearling I have seen twice before were still in the area.

I did see and hear some birdlife, though, including ravens, chickadees and the agile white-breasted nuthatch, Sitta carolinensis.  This bird can often be seen upside down, creeping down the side of a tree or even hanging from the underside of a branch.  They exhibit similar behavior to red-breasted nuthatches, but have different, lighter coloring.

The white-breasted nuthatch is a non-migratory year-round Wyoming resident.  I have occasionally seen this species in town, as well at in the pine/aspen forest.

I don't know this bird well enough to form a definite opinion of his personality (I've only seen this species occasionally, and usually for a very short period of time), but I like the description by Winsor Marrett Tyler published in the 1948 Smithsonian Bulletin:  "The white-breasted nuthatch is a droll, earnest little bird, rather sedate and unemotional. He is no great musician and seems to lack a sense of humor. He has none of the irrepressible fidgetiness of the house wren, none of the charming happiness of the song sparrow; he appears to take life on a matter-of-fact level. He is short-necked, broad-shouldered, sturdy, quick and sure in his motions, suggesting an athlete, and as we study him on his daily round, as he hops up and down over the bark, we see that he is an athlete with marked skill as an acrobat, like the tumbling kind, as much at home upside down as right side up."

Winsor Marrett Tyler, by the way, was a Massachusetts doctor with a great interest in birds.  He also reportedly read Shakespeare for fun each winter -- my kind of guy.

House Sparrow

Do house sparrows really have more neck vertebrae than giraffes? I read this factoid in an Edwin Way Teale book, but I don't really have any verification for it.   A quick search of the Internet revealed that giraffes have the same number of neck vertebrae as humans (seven), just bigger ones, so this informational tidbit about sparrows may not be as surprising as it first seems.  One website states that sparrows have nine vertebrae, which may give them quite some neck flexibility, but it's really nothing compared to the twenty-three vertebrae of the swan.  But since Laramie is lacking a swan population, I am going to blog about the ubiquitous house sparrow.

Laramie in January is filled with the twitterings of the house sparrow, Passer domesticus.  Introduced from Europe, they have become some of the most common birds across the lower 48, and are quite adaptable to city life.  If you see little brown birds (or LBJs as I heard a birder refer to any 'little brown job') at a picnic area or in a town park, they are likely to be these English house sparrows.

This time of year, they seem to like to congregate in large flocks and take up residence in hedges or lilac bushes all over town.  They make a lot of commotion for such little birds and always seem to be hopping about.

Interestingly, in reference to my previous blog, the domestic cat is responsible for 30% of house sparrow mortality, according to Wikipedia.  I hope Gangle Cat leaves these little guys alone.

My best photos of house sparrows are all of the males, since they are the most distinctive in coloring.  I must remember to take some pictures of the ladies as they are piggishly devouring all of my birdseed.

Domestic Cat

Okay, perhaps the housecat, Felis catus, does not exactly fit into a nature blog, but it was a pretty gloomy, blah day, and, hey, I like cats. On my walk today I saw a neighbor cat Millie, who I call "Gangle Cat" because I first met her when she was in that long-legged big kitten phase. She is no longer gangly, and is a quite pretty grey and white cat with a nose that nicely matches the wall in this photo
.

Interestingly enough, at least to me, she is not sitting in front of her own house, but in front of another neighbor's, whose garden has a bit of bare dirt suitable for rolling in.  Millie was looking quite dusty and pleased with herself.

Further along my walk on this gray but not snowy day, I saw a kitty in a south facing window, trying to absorb all the warmth he could.  I think our temps here today were warmer than Wisconsin, but this cat could rest easy content in the knowledge that the Packers are having rather a good season.

Tomorrow, I'm hoping to encounter a little wilder wildlife.



Desert Cottontail

This morning, while walking to work, I spotted two desert cottontails, Sylvilagus audubonii, in the middle of town. The bunnies seem to be enjoying the unseasonable lack of snow.  Not having to dig through snow drifts must make finding grassy tidbits a whole lot easier.

These rabbits seemed to be finding enough to eat in the grassy margins of the stadium parking lot.  I bet they are happy that college football season is over and the stadium is nice and quiet.

The second cottontail seemed to be doing her best to blend into the ground, matching the winter grass almost perfectly.  She looked so scared that I felt sorry for her and left her alone as soon as I snapped this photo.

I am always impressed by the hardy creatures that manage to thrive in Wyoming's harsh winters.  And, while I am ready for some more snow to make the town prettier (and allow for some good ski days), I don't begrudge the animals a welcome warm spell.

Downy Woodpecker

You call this January? I arrived back in Laramie expecting to find sub-freezing temperatures and winter landscapes a harsh reality after my beachy getaway, but today the temperature reached nearly 50 degrees.  Hardly skiing or snowshoeing weather.  So, I took a walk around town, which was very quiet for the holiday Monday.

 

On a few different cottonwood trees, I saw downy woodpeckers, Picoides pubescens.  These tiny woodpeckers--the smallest in North America--have decided to stay in town for the winter along with the crows, pigeons and the English house sparrows.  I also often see their distant cousins hairy woodpeckers both in town and in the nearby woods.  Hairy woodpeckers are larger, with a longer beak, but they have almost identical coloring, black and white with a red patch on the head of the males.

The downy woodpecker is difficult to get a good picture of because he is always busy.  He flits and flutters and pecks and bobs and just refuses to hold still.  But he is a pretty little guy, showing lovely white spots on his wings when he lets you get close enough.

I can't help but have a fondness for these birds, since they are kind enough to visit my yard year round and entertain me with their insistent drumming.  They are the most common North American woodpecker, but being widespread doesn't make them any less lovely.

Ring-billed Gull

In an attempt at a New Year's not-quite-resolution, I'm going to restart my blog as an observational record of one year.  I plan to get outside at least a little bit most every day and focus on one animal, plant or natural vista that presents itself to me.  The more I pay attention to nature, the more I notice and the more I notice, the more fascinating things become.   Last year, I spotted more birds then I ever knew passed through Laramie, and more wildflower varieties than I ever knew even existed.  I saw and photographed my first pocket gopher (a funny looking little creature) as he dug a tunnel.  I followed bear prints in the snow.  I got down on the ground to smell the flowers and watch the little insects that always seem to be inside them.  I hope my sharper observation leads me to one day see the mountain lion that I know has seen me.

So, New Year's Day.  I had the opportunity to spend a little time on a Hilton Head Island, South Carolina beach on the last day of my Christmas vacation.  The Carolina coast attracts numerous birds throughout the year, and on this visit I saw beautiful hooded mergansers, numerous herons and egrets, cute dunlins and sandpipers, and even a bufflehead.  On January 1, though, the ring-billed gulls were putting on a show.

The Ring-billed Gull, Larus delawarensis, is often thought of as a garbage bird, hanging around dumpsters or restaurants, but it shows its beauty when riding the breeze on the beach.  These birds are acrobatic and nimble and can catch and steal food in mid-air with amazing ease.  I observed an entire gang in a long and involved game as a whole piece of sliced bread changed possession from beak to beak.

These adaptable birds generally spend the summers inland -- even in Wyoming! -- but also winter on the coast.  Watching them riding the sea breeze and suddenly congregating wherever a person had bread or other treats was a cheerful start to the year.

Geek Humor

I have to say I wish I'd thought of this idea. Daleks in Literature. It made me laugh. I never said I wasn't a geek. Shall I go on here to discuss how Matt Smith has yet to prove himself to be the Doctor, especially after David Tennant's excellent portrayal? No?
See more at the link:

Daleks-in-Literature

Footprints

2010 has definitely been my year of the black bear. Not only did I see that large, handsome bear in Rocky Mountain National Park in June and have a close encounter with Mama bear and three cubs in the Tetons in August, but on a recent hike in the northern part of RMNP, I saw further evidence of a furry beastie.

Three inches of snow had fallen a few days before my hike, which preserved lots of animal evidence that would usually go unrecorded.

As I hiked a trail on a mid-October morning, I encountered no other humans and few other creatures. I saw birds, squirrels and a long-tailed weasel, but most big animals must have been hiding from hunting season. "You can come out; we're in the national park," I tried to tell them, but they obviously thought it was a trick. I did see plenty of animal tracks, though, so they were definitely in the area.

These black bear tracks followed the trail for quite a ways. The bear even crossed the narrow log bridges that were meant for people. I'm not sure how old they were, since the snow was pretty frozen, but these were the clearest bear prints I've seen.

Also in abundance were moose tracks. I kept looking through the trees in the hopes of seeing one of these guys in person (in moose?), but no luck. I had to make do with just looking at their tracks and trying to guess how many were in the area and how big they were. Here is a close up of a big moose print.

In the spring, I took this photo of big cat tracks in the fresh snow on nearby Sheep Mountain. I think they were made by a mountain lion. I found the bloodied, severed leg of a deer farther down the trail that supported this hypothesis. No sign of the cougar, but he could have been watching.

I did not see any cougar prints on my recent hike, but I did see these and other similar fox prints. I have also seen more fox recently that I have before, and I'm not sure if that's because I'm more observant or if I'm just spending more time out in nature. In any case, I'm glad to see them.

The fox prints are smaller than coyote prints, and fox also tend to walk a little more daintily. Here is a photo of some coyote prints, also from Sheep Mountain in the spring. I guess spring and fall are the best time to find tracks in the snow, because in the middle of winter the snow is so deep it is often harder to tell the tracks apart.

One exception in winter are squirrels. They are light enough to sit on top of the snow and make their cute little prints. Often their prints will be around their nibbled pine cones, too, so that helps identify them. Then they will come out and chatter at me for disturbing their snack pile, so there is no doubt in the matter.

The snowshoe hare also makes recognizable tracks in deep snow, because their furry feet splay out and keep them from sinking in very deeply. Here are tracks of a hare on the move in northern Colorado. I didn't see the actual creature, but since they turn completely white in winter, this one might have been sitting right out in the open completely camouflaged to my weak, human eyes.

Every season I learn more about the animals and plants that inhabit the Rockies. It's fun to be able to look at tracks and know that a wild animal has passed that spot in the recent past. I try not to stamp out the prints, so that any other interested hiker might see them, too. It's nice to know that the woods are nowhere near as empty as they sometimes appear.