I delayed renewing my fishing license this year because I was having so much fun observing and photographing wildlife that I almost forgot about fishing. But last week as I was taking pictures of egrets on Goose Island something changed all that. An egret was perched in a tree very close to me when it launched from the branch and swooped towards the water. Instead of landing as I expected, it opened its beak and scooped up a nice bluegill as it flew by, something I’d never heard of before.

While it flew over the water with the fish, a school of bluegills swirled on the surface in fright. Something snapped in me. As amazed as I was at the unexpected phenomenon I had just witnessed, I rushed to Ace Hardware, bought some worms, renewed my fishing license and headed right back to the egret’s fishing spot. Then I caught my own supper.

The place where I caught those bluegills is normally dry most of the year, and I never saw anyone fish there before- ever. I give thanks to the spring flood and thanks to the wise and instructive egret!

Bloodroots and bees

With the arrival of May, the wildflower population virtually explodes. “April showers bring May flowers” is one adage that is certainly on the mark. As April was ending, I photographed one of the remaining early bloomers, the pretty white bloodroot flowers.

The same day, I also saw fern fiddleheads uncurling in the woods along with the first leaves of the May apples just beginning to show. Before long we will also see the spectacular trilliums, Dutchman’s breeches, columbine and a host of others.

But what caught my attention that day with the bloodroots were some wild bees buzzing about. We have all heard the sad tale of colony collapse disorder, a mysterious condition that is causing many colonies of domestic honeybees to disappear. Since they are a species that is vital to many of our crops and fruits, dire predictions are made of the threat to our food supply. I hope the problem gets solved.

But wild bees are still buzzing around pollinating wildflowers as they always have before we came along and they come in a tremendous variety of species. Some are as small as ants, others are almost as big as hummingbirds. Some can sting, others don’t. Some look like honeybees while others come in metallic greens and blues. Some live in colonies and others live solitary lives. Nature usually has a wide choice of creatures working in concert in an intricate web of life.

We humans often put all our eggs in one basket and sometimes we pay a price for it. Nature has profound lessons for us, and I take heart when I hear that many farmers and gardeners are learning to work in closer harmony with nature and are changing the way they grow and market their crops and livestock.

Snakedom’s great actor

Usually the first snake I see every year is an early emergent like the garter snake. But this year I didn’t see any snakes until April 23, when I nearly ran over a hognose snake on a gravel road in Jackson County’s Black River State Forest. The snake was fine but it was very belligerent when I approached it with my camera.

It puffed up to look larger and flattened its head and neck much like a cobra, even having the frightening “eye spots” on the back. Next it hissed and struck at me, looking very dangerous indeed. Some people call it the “puff adder” and fear it greatly, but the performance is all bluff. In fact, the hognose is a great actor.

I picked it up and it went into Act II of the show. When I set it down again it squirmed and twisted as if it had been dealt a mortal blow. Finally it remained totally still and lie belly up as if dead. After awhile it stopped playing possum long enough to peek around and when the coast seemed clear it rolled over and crawled away.

In spite of its initial show of ferocity, the hognose snake is completely harmless. They are found over most of the state in rather sandy terrain and if you are lucky enough to see one, enjoy the show.

Unamphibious amphibian

On one lucky day in April, I got a call from Mike Bogard at the U.S. Geological Survey’s Upper Midwest Environmental Sciences Center in La Crosse and from Bryan Kostuch, a friend from Sparta, both telling me that they had a mudpuppy for me to photograph. I had wanted to see an adult mudpuppy for years so that was a very happy coincidence.

Bogard was preparing to use some of the creatures for testing a pesticide that is supposed to be toxic only to lamprey eels. Kostuch had caught one while fishing in the Wisconsin River for walleyes. He told me many anglers who caught them there frequently mostly feared and hated them.

Mudpuppies are rather odd-looking amphibians. They are large permanently aquatic salamanders with four legs, a finned tail, slimy dark brown or gray blotched skin and prominent red feathery gills behind the head.

They differ from most other amphibians. The name Amphibia means that most species go through an aquatic larval stage and change into a land dwelling, air breathing adult stage.

The mudpuppy however stays in the water its whole life. They lay their eggs in a sac suspended from a rock or some other underwater cavity. The adults retain some larval characteristics, especially the prominent gills. They feed on crayfish, insects, snails and small fish and can be found throughout the state.

Whaditiz

It was the trout lily, (Erythronium americanum).

Contact Jim Solberg at nitefrogger@charter.net.