Stories from the Shore

PUB# WT- 877

Stories from the Shore

When science meets art, society advances.

Stories from the Shore

To all the people who have been drawn to the shore and shared that experience with others.

Cover by Dan Bartlette, Freshman, pastel pencil, 2007

Copyright Š 2007 by Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources. PUB# WT- 877.

Design & layout by Breese Design. BreeseDesign.com All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopiying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Publisher, Designer and the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources - Shoreland and Wetland Zoning Division.

Stories from the shore

“Rationality, lucidity, appropriateness of form, a clear simple rhythm...appeal to human satisfactions that lie deeper than the cultural surface of our personalities.”

Elbert Peets, planner 1930’s

Introduction & Acknowledgements Nearly all of us have had “that” experience, whether paddling down a tranquil stream, fishing with grandpa, or spending a fire lit evening with someone we love letting the nature of the shoreline enhance the moment. Unexplainable and yet unforgettable are these times. We cannot find the words to allow others into these memories. Yet the times are so vivid that we still can remember the sights, sounds and smells.

One thing is almost always part of the unforgettable times, the shoreline.

We are fortunate to have experienced these moments throughout the years. We think back with great reverence and remember the grandparents that have moved on. The parents who used these times not to teach, rather to appreciate and share love of moments. Siblings and friends who have the same fire and interests who bring smiles and stories each time we meet. The memories are so plentiful, there is almost a guilty feeling to “not take it all.”

This compilation of writings is a beginning. A beginning to help us all remember the moments and re-embrace the experiences. We hope you will enjoy the stories, poems, pictures, and times that are shared inside. Additionally, when you share our “Wading a Little Deeper” and “Quick Clips” you may even learn more about the things that make the water’s edge so amazing.

We are listening and collecting stories and when the time is right, we will print them again. If you are willing to share your stories, we are eagerly waiting to listen to them.

Intr o duct i o n

Those Who Shared Words John Bates, Mike Bozek, Gregg Breese, Carey Celske, Ellen Celske, Scott Craven, Deborah Frontiera, Sandy Gillum, Gail Gilson Pierce, John Haack, Kurt Helker, Justin Isherwood, Lisie Kitchel, Bob Korth, Frank Koshere, Kathi Kramasz, Sam Lewis, Lynn Markham, Erik Ness, Frank Romano, Greg Rutzen, Susan Tesarik , Patricia Trochlell, Bill Volkert

Editors Gregg Breese, Kathi Kramasz, Lynn Markham, Susan Tesarik

Those Who Shared Art Dan Bartlette, Terri Breese, Jim Campbell, McKenna Henker, Kathryn Holm, Jonathan Kangas, Hana Keller, Dani Klute, Bob Korth, Kathi Kramasz, Tanya Meives, Kiara Opps, Greg Rutzen, UW Lakes Extension, Lauren Walker, Rebecca Zeman

Stories from the shore

Land

Shoreline

Water

The Property.............................3

A Sence of Place......................32

Hodag.....................................73

Eagle ........................................6

Jewelweed................................37

Bluegill....................................78

Mosquito.................................10

Loons......................................40

Turtle......................................81

Ferns.......................................12

Cattails....................................42

Muskrat..................................84

Kingfisher...............................15

Dragonflies.............................46

Great Blue Heron....................86

New England Aster.................18

Mallard...................................50

Northern Pike.........................88

Oak Tree.................................20

Frog Chorus............................56

White Water Lily....................90

Bats.........................................22

Fallen Trees.............................59

Northern Water Snake............92

Yellowthroat Warbler..............24

Bulrushes................................62

Clam.......................................98

Giant Reed Grass....................26

Camouflage.............................64

Coots.....................................100

Whip-poor-will.......................29

Canada Goose.........................67

Water Strider....................... 102 Gracie...................................104

T ab l e O f C o nt e nts

Stories from the shore

Land

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• Stories from the shore

The Property I have a special place, a secret spot. This is the place I picture when I am lying in bed with a million thoughts keeping me from falling asleep. It’s the image I use to combat the road rage when someone rudely cuts me off. This land comes to mind whenever I start to consider the blessings in my life. This is the place that never fails to make me smile.

Driving past, you might never know its there. My uncle owns the land, a small parcel surrounded by county and state forest. There is a small driveway, just large enough to park a car, but no gate. There are no structures on the land so no reason to keep anyone out.

I remember visits to the land as a kid. Most of the trips were day trips when we were young – a Smokey Joe grill and a cooler full of drinks were all we needed. Of course Mom never went with us – there were no “facilities” on the property.

Those summer days were spent exploring. Exploring the cold sandy river bottom, exploring the meadow where the grass and flowers almost reached over our heads, and exploring the cool cedar forest with its carpet of moss. We saw butterflies and birds, trout and turtles, dragonflies and deer, and swatted a lot of mosquitoes. We devoured patches of luscious ripe raspberries and gorged ourselves in the blueberry bog.

We wet more worms than I could count and must have caught fish because I remember the taste of the flaky white flesh.

As I grew older, I finally had the chance to visit the property alone. It was then I realized that this was a four-season land and not just a summer retreat. Sliding down the frozen river in the winter, the air heavy

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with silence, and the only sound is the squeak of my boots in the snow. What a feeling it is to know that there is a hidden rushing river beneath your feet as your breath puffs out and the cedars bend with their frosting of snow.

Spring at the property was an amazing time for smells. Who can ever forget the perfume from an early season crabapple tree in flower or the slightly fishy, earthy odor of the exposed mudflats as the river retreats from spring flooding? And the sounds! The cheep and boom of the mating frogs, the call of the red-winged blackbird, and the honk of the nesting geese warning you away from their nest.

Fall at the property was, and still is, my favorite time of the year. I hoard my vacation days until September and October so I can sneak up there mid week. It feels like I am the only human on the planet those days. The colors of the season are the perfect backdrop to those drowsy Indian summer skies. Every plant and animal on the land is busy storing energy for winter and my only assignment is to relax and enjoy the activity.

I brought my future husband to the land for the first time in the fall. It was one of those magical days that last forever in a memory. We hadn’t been dating long but I think both had felt an immediate connection and wanted to explore that connection deeper. Our plan was to make this another day trip (what if we didn’t get along?) But we had both cleared our calendars for the next day and had thrown the tent in the back of the Jeep.

We left home before dawn with a large thermos of coffee for the trip. We were both sleepy and didn’t really feel the need for conversation. Of course it was a beautiful sunrise, the orange and yellow brightening sky just beginning the day’s magic. We got to the property before the sun had a chance to burn the dew off the plants. The sparkling drops looked like diamonds on the green stems and when we stalked through the grass we left an easy-to-follow trail. It was so exciting to show off my special place! And even more exciting • Stories from the shore

was his reaction to the purple and gold New England asters, to the fallen cedar that we both knew was the perfect hiding spot for fish, and to the endless discovery of teeming life on the site.

We both had an affinity for the river and without discussion knew that was where we would spend time.

We brought the sleeping bag down from the Jeep and laid it beneath a towering cedar. Sunlight peeked through the branches and a blue jay squawked from above. I pulled out my paperback and he pulled out his fishing pole. I will never forget the feeling of “rightness” as we sat in silence, each enjoying an individual activity, but connected by our feelings for each other and for the land. By the time we had eaten a picnic lunch and had a short nap nestled together, we both knew where our future was headed.

I ended up marrying that man, and we have been blessed with two rambunctious kids of our own. Our children have the same love of Uncle’s land as we do, how could they not? We spend a lot of time on that property as a family, passing on our knowledge and our sense of discovery. Every time I watch my husband wade into the river holding my son’s hand or watch he and my daughter fall back into the cool water with a “timberrrrrrrr” I fall a little more in love with the man. And I appreciate the land even more and feel so grateful knowing that my future grandchildren will have the same opportunities that I have had to get to know this special place. ≈

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Eagle Clouds and wind do not change our minds so we pack a camera, binoculars, and a picnic basket before heading out. A short ride on the Great River Road brings us to the bottom of the trail that leads to the top of the bluffs.

The sight of the vegetation brings back memories of colorful fall sights and I relish the closeness of the greenery. After winter’s bitter cold and snowy season it is refreshing to walk through the canopy of old oaks, cherries, maples and hickory trees.

The trail rises sharply and frequent stops to catch our breath allow for one great view after another. Our first real rest stop is near the edge of the woods at the top of the bluff. We have not traveled far and already we can see the breathtaking expanse of the Mississippi River in both directions and the well used Great River Road some distance below us.

Above us a bald eagle traverses a rising air current, flapping infrequently, circling up and up, in search of a field mouse or unsuspecting rabbit, until it disappears from sight. Squirrels’ barking, and the brilliant red cardinals’ loud songs compete with the steady sound of the barges moving up and down the river. I think to myself, “a sign of the world’s advancements that have taken a toll on this mighty river.”

Immersed in the beauty of it all, I am temporarily able to forget the deep impression man has made on this water, focusing on the magical colors and essences of the river bottoms that stand before me. There are thousands of us using this corridor yet I cannot see another soul. We are entranced by the reds, yellows, whites, all shades of greens, and my favorite, the unique greenish-brown color of the river as it flows south.

• Stories from the shore

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Further up there is patch after patch of orange forget-me-nots, mixed in with the purple colored New England asters, green blackberry bushes and the tall Canada bluejoint grass. These precious sights, along with many outcroppings of sandstone and dark brown fertile soil, blend together to fill our souls with their glamour, and at the same time take our breath away along with the exertion of the climb. The only sight that can top all the lush vegetation is that of the churning waters of the Mighty Mississippi and the bluffs that frame it.

Once we crest the top of the bluff on this steep outing, we find a prairie-like opening and cast our blanket to the ground. The view is magnificent and inspirational. ≈

• Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Until the 1800s, bald eagles bred throughout Wisconsin. As the state was settled, eagle populations began to decline. Habitat disturbance and destruction and shooting of eagles were major causes. With the passage of the Migratory Bird Treaty in 1916 and the Bald Eagle Protection Act in 1940, it became illegal to shoot bald eagles.

But enforcement of the law was weak. By 1950, eagles no longer existed in the southern two-thirds of the state.

Eagle populations remained stable in northern Wisconsin until the 1950s, when use of pesticides like DDT became common. Pesticides accumulated in eagles and other animals that fed high on the food chain (like eagles, which eat fish). High pesticide levels caused physiological changes in

Quick Clips eagles that had serious impacts: eggshells became thin and broke under the weight of incubating adults and parenting behavior changed.

The bottom line was that eagles were unsuccessful at rearing chicks. They were unable to produce enough young to offset adult mortality, and the population plummeted.

In 1972, bald eagles were placed on the Wisconsin Endangered Species List. The same year, the federal government banned the use of DDT and other organochlorine pesticides in the U.S.. But eagle populations were slow to recover. The number of bald eagles breeding in Wisconsin has gradually increased from 82 pairs in 1970 to over 1000 in 2005. In 2007 eagles were removed from the federal endangered species list.

The bald eagle was listed as an endangered species in 1973.

Bald eagles have great eyesight which allow them to see one to 1.5 miles.

Bald eagles can live 15-25 years in the wild, and even longer in captivity.

Both male and female adult bald eagles have a blackish-brown back and breast; a white head, neck, and tail; and yellow feet and bill.

Once paired, bald eagles remain as a “couple� until one dies.

Mosquito

Familiar whine in my ear You settle on my forearm Prepare to pierce my skin with your proboscis I raise my hand to strike Wait!

What if I let you complete the cycle?

You might feed the songbird Who cheers my day.

Your larvae might feed the minnow Who feeds the fingerling Who feeds the pike Who feeds me.

You might be a meal For the brown bat Whose guano fertilizes Tomatoes for my salad.

10 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Though mosquitoes certainly can be annoying, they are part of the food chain that feeds the wildlife we enjoy, as well as feeding us! In fact, mosquitoes can be a sign of a healthy environment.

This is the paradox of nature – that which is an annoyance to us, and even a source of disease in many places of the world, is also an integral part of a functioning ecosystem.

Mosquito larvae are a significant food for breeding and young waterfowl, for aquatic insects such as dragonflies, and for larval amphibians, such as frogs and salamanders. As adults, they are a major food source to many predatory insects such as dragonflies, and also feed birds, bats, and other wildlife.

Quick Clips Removing sources of standing water around homes can reduce mosquitoes in a neighborhood.

To minimize mosquito reproduction around your home, remove old tires, tin cans, buckets, barrels, bottles, or any water-retaining container. Because these unnatural water sources do not harbor the many kinds of insects and other animals that feed on mosquitoes, the mosquitoes quickly reproduce.

With the recent appearance of West Nile Virus, this has become a greater concern around the home.

Wetlands are not the problem. A healthy wetland is more part of the solution because it is home to frogs, fish, dragonflies, bats, and others that feed on mosquito larvae or adults, which share these special places.

Wisconsin has 53 different species of mosquitoes. Only a few actually bite humans.

Male mosquitoes are far better behaved than their mates. Simply stated, they are vegetarians and therefore biteless.

Dragonflies, damselflies and water striders all eat mosquitoes and depend on healthy wetlands to survive.

Mosquitoes require about 7 to 10 days to develop from egg to adult.

A single discarded tire can produce up to 500 mosquitoes.

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FERNS Before the maple, before the pine, long before the apple and the aspen, all the trees of this world were ferns. I cannot be on a lakeshore, seeing ferns in their cool collection, without wondering about the distant Jurassic woods. Did the relatives of my ferns feed the dinosaurs so many millions of year ago? I am harkened by that; I don’t know why.

My father taught me to fish after a fashion. I say “fashion” because we farmed, and I mean we farmed hard. The summer was devoted to first crop, followed by second, then oats and straw. We had little time to fish. Besides, my father couldn’t swim so he never gladly ventured into a boat. We fished for brook trout in the little wandering creeks and seeps that trickle and tinkle through the marsh. Was it he who taught me to wrap the trout in ferns? I never did know why.

We had a basket creel, but most times I used my shirt, the sleeves knotted together and stuffed with ferns to carry the trout home. This was my father’s instruction to me. During a dry summer we mowed and baled the bracken fern on the marsh to use for bedding when the oats failed. To sleep a night in a bracken haymow is to sleep on incense and myrrh, as though worshiped by the earth itself, smelling of it for days.

This maybe explains why he put fern in the creel, to worship the trout. ≈

12 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Ferns are a primitive family of plants, as evidenced by ancient fossils and the ferns’ lack of flowers.

While they have been on this planet for a very long time, their gentle shape still graces our forest floors with their form. They provide little food to humans or wildlife and are not sufficient to provide shelter or nesting sites, yet a woodland without ferns seems to be missing something essential.

There are more than a dozen different kinds of ferns known to Wisconsin. Many have a similar appearance which can make them difficult to distinguish. A few of the ferns have a very distinct form and are readily identified, such as the bracken which has triangular shaped fronds/leaves. The maidenhair fern has a stem or rachis that is divided into two main branches and the smallest part of

Quick Clips the frond attached by a narrow stalk. The unique royal fern is found only in a bog interior.

Ferns add texture to a woodland understory as well as to native wildflower gardens. They complement a planting of woodland wildflowers and add a distinctive character to a shoreline. While ferns are increasingly available through private nurseries, as with any wildflower garden, be sure they are of a local origin and avoid exotic species that may be too aggressive and spread beyond our yards. The ostrich fern, for example, while easy to grow and attractive, can form dense stands and crowd out native plants.

Ferns do not have true flowers or seeds, but reproduce by spores.

Ferns are very adaptable with different kinds growing in woodlands, bogs, along shorelines, and in sand barrens.

Ferns have prehistoric origins and are thought to be more than 300 million years old. Studies have shown that decomposed ferns make up a large portion of the fossil fuel coal.

While many types of ferns are cooked and eaten for food around the world, a few species are poisonous.

13

Greg Rutzen

14 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Kingfisher The kingfisher perches on a limb above the shallow water. He stares down intently, waiting for the flash of sun on a minnow’s shiny side. Patiently, he guards his fishing hole and watches closely for the chance at dinner. In a burst, he leaps off his perch, dives into the water and lifts himself out into the air, clasping his catch in his beak.

Returning to his favorite perch, the kingfisher needs to prepare his meal for its eventual consumption.

The desperately active minnow flips and struggles to release itself from the clasp of the bird’s beak, but to no avail. This active fish will be difficult to swallow, with the risk of escape as the bird readjusts his grasp in order to ingest the minnow head first. So the kingfisher, with the breed’s unique manner of meal preparation, takes the tiny fish in its beak and begins to slap it silly against the branch on which it is perched. From a short distance, on a still day, you can actually hear the fish slapping on the branch as the bird stuns and often even kills its hard-won prey. The kingfisher swallows his now inactive prey and turns his gaze on the water again, searching for more minnows below.

I recall few Latin bird names, but the belted kingfisher’s scientific name Megaceryle alcyon sticks with me, because it tells the story of Alcyone, one of the seven sisters of the Pleiades. The story goes that her husband Ceyx drowned in a shipwreck, and Alcyone, in her grief, threw herself into the sea and also drowned. She and Ceyx were later transformed into kingfishers through the mercy of Thetis.

The story continues that kingfishers were believed to be seabirds that made nests of fish bones on the ocean surface in December. To allow the eggs to incubate, Zeus declared that he would quell the seas for

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Alcyone during the winter solstice period. And so calm, peaceful, carefree weather came to be known as “halcyon” days. If you are blessed with good weather on your paddles, and believe in Greek mythology, you have the mythical kingfisher to thank.

Kingfishers always appear top-heavy to me, like they should tip right over on their oversized beak.

Their long, heavy bill and large blue-gray head with a conspicuous crest contrasts greatly with their small body, short tail, and tiny feet. They remind me of punk rockers. ≈

16 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Kingfishers belong to a unique family of birds that are widely distributed around the world. In most of North America we have but one species, the belted kingfisher. This bird is a supreme fisherman, as its name implies, and hunts its prey by plunging into the water from an overhead perch.

The male kingfisher assumes an equal function with the female in nest building, incubation, and care of the offspring. In fact, kingfisher males typically display a significant degree of sex-role reversal, where they give more time and energy to these activities than the females. Interestingly, the female is the more conspicuously colored of the two, she showing a rust-red chest-band that the male doesn’t possess. Perhaps the male kingfisher should be called a true Renaissance bird given his parenting efforts, though some species of shorebirds outdo the kingfisher, showing almost complete role reversal where the male assumes nearly all parental activities.

While kingfishers are readily seen along lakeshores and stream sides, they nest in burrows which they dig into river banks and even gravel pits sometimes at a distance from water. Their tunnels may be as much as six feet deep which they excavate with their long bills. Here the young are safe from nest

Quick Clips predators, but the stench of rotting fish and bird droppings increases as the young mature.

Despite their name, kingfishers are not a significant threat to anglers. In an excellent habitat area, such as a stream riffle, a kingfisher may eat 10 fish in the 3� to 4� range. Kingfishers are opportunistic feeders and also consume their fair share of tadpoles, frogs, crayfish, mussels, insects and small snakes.

Its hard to get close to a kingfisher. They will consistently wait until you are about 100 feet away, then drop from their perch branch and fly ahead to the next good perch branch, giving their rattling cry as they fly. This pattern will continue for about 500 to 1,000 yards downriver, where the kingfisher will reverse course and wing back to the original perch, having politely escorted you out of their territory.

The female belted kingfisher is one a the few bird species that is more colorful than the male, with a red-rust stripe across its lower breast.

These birds nest in a horizontal tunnel made in a river bank or sand bank. The female lays 5 to 8 eggs. Both parents excavate the tunnel, incubate the eggs and feed the young.

Their call is a loud, penetrating rattle given on the wing and when perched.

Kingfishers will wait until you are about 100-feet away, then fly down river while making their rattling call.

After leading you 500-1000 feet down river they circle back to their original perch.

Kingfishers can be found in Wisconsin at anytime of the year where open water can be found. They may even remain in the state throughout the winter as long as open water and available food provide the necessities of life. Their call is a long series of chatters or rattles that are common sound heard across the open water.

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New England Aster

On my autumn walk I am surrounded By vibrant, stunning color Crimson basswood, golden maple Tall green grasses fading slowly Sunny yellow goldenrods are past their peak As asters finally steal the show White and yellow, feathery flowers “Look at me” they seem to say One fall aster blooms tall and bright Dressed in a school team’s shades Purple and gold, GO TEAM! Standing sentinel in wet roadside ditches Or waving to everyone that passes From a thicket in a swamp New England aster with colors of a royal fall day Soaking up the last warm rays of the sun

18 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r New England aster is a common flower found in “drier” wetland areas and adjacent to waterways.

This purple plant grows best in areas that are wetter in the spring and less wet in the late summer and fall, so it thrives along shoreline areas.

New England aster is also one of the latest flowers to bloom and its bright purple and yellow flowers are often seen in fields or wet ditches.

Asters are one of the most complex flowers in the plant kingdom. Asters are part of the composite family, which is considered one of the most evolved plant groups. When you look at a single New England aster flower you are actually seeing hundreds of flowers clustered together. The inside yellow disk flowers are actually a different type of flower than the purple petal-like ray flowers. Each

Quick Clips seed is actually produced by an individual flower (have you ever seen a sunflower head?).

Butterflies, bees, and moths find this fall bloomer attractive, aiding in pollination.

The name aster comes from the Greek word for star, which was used to describe the flowers’ appearance. Stars were important to the ancient Greeks and when something went wrong it became a “dis-aster”. Some stories concerning the origins of aster flowers describe an angel visiting a young tired boy. When the boy asks to be taken to heaven with the angel, she explains that the boy is not yet ready and uses the example of the stars in the sky as the flowers of heaven and how hard that would be for the boy to look at. But the angel agrees to plant seeds so earth can have flowers (asters) that resemble the stars of heaven.

The crushed root of the New England aster can be made into a poultice to treat muscle pain, fevers, and diarrhea.

New England aster tea made from the root of the plant is sipped to aid digestion; tea made from the leaves of the plant is used to relieve fever.

Robert Frost may have been describing a New England Aster when he wrote:

“... picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.” ~ Robert Frost (1874–1963), U.S. poet. “A Late Walk.”

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An old proverb says, “Every majestic oak tree was once a nut who stood his ground.”

Oak Tree The oak said to the reed that grew by the river, “It is no wonder that you make such a sorrowful moaning, for you are so weak that the little wren is a burden for you, and the lightest breeze must seem like a storm wind. Now look at me! No storm has ever been able to bow my head. You will be much safer if you grow close to my side so that I may shelter you from the wind that is now playing with my leaves.”

“Do not worry about me,” said the reed, “I have less reason to fear the wind than you have. I bow myself, but I never break. He who laughs last, laughs best!”

That night there came a fearful storm. The oak stood erect. The reed bowed itself before the blast.

The wind grew more furious, and, uprooting the proud oak, flung it to the ground and in the water.

When the morning came there stood the slender reed, glittering with dewdrops, and softly swaying in the breeze. ≈

20 • Stories from the shore

Lauren Walker, Senior, pastel pencil, ‘07

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Loved by squirrels, the strong, sturdy oak begins as a small acorn. Oaks usually have spirally arranged leaves that are lobed. The deepness and roundness of the lobes help identify different species. In Wisconsin, the not-very-politically-correct saying is, “if the oak leaves have rounded lobes, they are like the white man’s bullets and it is a white oak.

If the oak leaves have pointed lobes, they are like the red man’s arrows and it is a red oak.” There are, of course, many different species of red and white oaks and some people use the “waist” near the base of the rounded tip leaf to identify the burr oak leaf. Oaks usually have a deeply grooved grey bark and are often the trees that have bundles of brown leaves clinging to branches late in the winter.

Oak trees are somewhat shade tolerant, often needing mostly full sun to thrive. Oaks like disturbance and may be regenerating at a slower pace in today’s world because we have controlled the spread of fire. One of the major competitors that take over oak forests are sugar maple. Ground fires really help oaks because they are deeper rooted than the maples. Oaks were part of the original northern mesic forest but are difficult to regenerate today.

Quick Clips A shelter wood cut is a commonly prescribed forest management tool for oaks. In the initial cut, almost 50% or more of the trees are harvested to open the canopy. Eventually all the mature oak are cut. Many landowners think of this as almost a clear cut and often know that the profit from the new forest will belong to the next generation. Young oaks grow slowly for about the first 10 years of life and are a favorite food source for deer.

Oak trees can start producing acorns when they are 20 years old, but sometimes can go all the way to 50 years for the first production.

In Wisconsin, northern red oak is the 3rd highest tree species by volume and white oak is the 8th.

Many of these oaks are large, older trees. Most of our oaks are between 40 and 100 years old.

Although oaks are long lived trees, the lack of young oaks will affect future populations.

Oak trees can live more than 200 years.

In 2002, an ancient oak in Maryland blew down in a windstorm. The oak was 32’ in circumference and was determined to be about 460 years old!

As a lakefront property owner, you have the ability to assist in oak regeneration by planting trees. You will need to continue to cause “disturbance” around the oaks and try to keep the deer away. And you might never have the chance to climb the trunk and nestle in the branches. But the acorns will provide a great food source for wildlife, and your grandchildren will have their own stories about the grand old oak.

Oak trees grow best when there is mycorrhizal fungi in the soil. This naturally occurring or additive fungus uses sugars from the trees’ roots in exchange for mineral and moisture that the fungi is able to pull from the soil.

Although squirrels are known to plant acorns for storage later, only about 1 in 10,000 acorns actually grows into a tree.

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Bats

Furry flier in the night sky Using echoes for guidance instead of your eyes Are your wings really hands like mine?

When dusk begins to fall, a whispery sound

A silent swoop of a darkened shape

As wings of skin flap all around

Is all it takes to raise the hairs on my nape

Skimming near the ground

A tiny vampire in a black winged cape

Snatching mosquitoes in mid air flight

By daylight I know you are just another bat

Sleeping by day, hunting at night

Being helpful by eating flies and gnats

Pouring out of the cave you make such a sight

Hanging by your feet where ever you’re at

Why do you sleep with your head hung low?

In the light of day I hang a bat house

Where do so many bats go?

Thinking that you look like a flying mouse

What do you see of us sleeping far below?

Hoping that I’m in bed by the time you arouse

You glide beneath the evening stars

You are welcome to all the bugs in the air

Returning at dawn after travels afar

You can dart and fly and glide up there

Daylight means rest for your night radar

But I’m still going to scream if you fly close to my hair!

22 • Stories from the shore

Quick Clips

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Bats are a source of fear for many people. They have appeared in numerous horror films, and stories of vampire bats, fears over rabies, and concerns over getting them tangled in your hair create a deadly fear of these important mammals.

a hole along the roof line of a house will suit them.

The best solution to having bats in the house is to wait for them to depart for evening feeding and then fix the problem. Killing the bat helps neither us nor them.

While credit is given to swallows and martins for eating so many mosquitoes per day, most mosquitoes come out after dark, when birds are sleeping but bats are feeding. Bats are among the best insect control we have. Having bats around the home is actually a good sign, while having bats in the home is a sign of structural problems in the home and a need for repairs. Bats are simply looking for a comfortable day-time roost site and anything from loose tree bark, to shutters, or even

Bats are well-known for their echo-location, which gave us the idea for developing sonar systems. Many kinds of bats actually have rather good eyesight, but night flight and feeding requires other senses to aid their special lifestyle.

In many areas bat populations are declining due to habitat loss. Only recently have people begun to show concern and some have even developed an appreciation, if not a love, for these mysterious animals of the night.

Wisconsin is home to 7 species of bats, with some 950 species worldwide (one-fifth of all the known mammal species on earth).

Bats are warm-blooded mammals which have developed the ability to fly.

Bats, like birds, migrate south for the winter, or hibernate in caves where they drop their body temperature and lower their metabolism to survive the long winter on small fat reserves.

The Neda Mine, located in Dodge County, is the largest bat hibernaculum (over-wintering site) in the upper Midwest with more than 150,000 bats wintering there.

One bat can catch 1000 insects per hour.

23

Yellowthroat Warbler Our waterfront is what many would call “wild.” Some might even go so far as to call it unkempt. It’s mostly wetland graced by the swaying of cattails and rushes kept in nearly constant motion by the lake breeze. Back from the water’s edge grow shrubs like alder and sweet gale.

We access the lake via a narrow pier – big enough to secure our kayak and a bait bucket. From that pier we can survey the whole lake and witness the changing of the lake’s seasons. In winter, it’s the frozen stillness punctuated now and again by the booming of the ice. In spring, it’s the frog chorus. Summer brings the nightly wailing of loons, and fall passes rapidly from golden stillness to screaming windstorms.

But there is a shoreline season that is so subtle and fleeting that few bother to observe it…warbler season.

It starts with almost imperceptible movements among the low-growing shoreline shrubs. If I sit quietly on the pier keeping an eye on that movement, I might be rewarded with a flash of yellow, yet it flits among the shrubs so quickly that it’s difficult to identify this flashy character by sight alone.

When it starts singing, though, there’s no mistaking my shoreland companion. It’s the common yellowthroat, a wren-like member of the warbler family. With its staccato wichity-wichity-wichity, it’s difficult to mistake it for anything else.

Male yellowthroats arrive in early May and begin establishing a nesting territory. Females arrive 2-3 weeks later. Mating occurs and eggs are incubated for 12 days before chicks hatch, grow feathers and learn to fly. By August the shorelands are once again quiet, and the yellowthroats have begun their journey south for the winter.

I would miss these tenacious little birds if they didn’t return to our shoreline year after year. ≈ 24 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Among the red-twigged dogwoods appears a suspicious yellow character wearing a dark black mask. It curiously and cautiously checks me out from the safety of the dense growth by the lakeshore. Then a warning goes out with a rapid “witchity, witchity, witchity” and announces not only its presence to others, but also readily identifies itself as a yellowthroat warbler.

The yellowthroat is a member of the large family of warblers, among the most colorful and smallest of our songbirds. While most warblers inhabit the middle to upper portion of the forest, the yellowthroat has found a special niche among the shrubs in wetlands or the water’s edge. Its habits easily reflect its relationship to the other warblers, but its lifestyle is somewhat unique. The yellowthroat is a very wren-like warbler, both in

Quick Clips build and habit. It appears more stout than its more slender cousins. It also has a shorter tail that is often times held a bit erect, and it perches among the shrubs with its strong feet as you may see a wren do. But its noisy habits and brilliant colors make it easy to detect among the dense shrubbery.

Like nearly all warblers, the yellowthroat is a neotropical migrant; meaning that it nests in Wisconsin and surrounding regions, but spends its winter in the tropics. These are the birds that link us to conservation concerns that span the continents. While we are responsible for protecting the essential nesting habitats for these birds, we share a responsibility for protecting the land that supports them, from Wisconsin to the rainforest and in-between.

The yellowthroat is a member of the warbler family which has 48 members: 33 of those are seen in Wisconsin.

Yellowthroats nest in Wisconsin and spend their winters in the tropical regions of Central America.

At least 13 subspecies of common yellowthroats are recognized and all have black masks and yellowthroats.

The common yellowthroat responds readily to pishing or squeaking.

25

Giant Reed Grass A Menomini Legend Once after a long journey Manabush entered a pleasant little valley. Here he heard the sound of a drum, rattles and people singing and dancing. As he drew nearer he saw the dancers stepping about in a very lively fashion. Their head feathers were moving about in every direction. It was just at dusk, he did not recognize any of the dancers. No one paid any attention to him. He received no friendly greeting. He felt like dancing and wanted to join in this dance. He laid his hunting bag and knife at the roots of a tree.

Several times he asked to be invited to dance, but the dancers brushed by him and none replied to his request. So he joined in the dance anyway and greatly enjoyed himself. Then the bright moon overhead revealed how he had been deceived. He had wandered into a field of tall reeds, mistaking these with their feathery plumes for warriors with eagle feather headdresses. Wearily now he spread his blanket beneath a tree and went to sleep. ≈

26 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r If you’ve driven down Wisconsin’s highways in the last 10 years, you’ve likely seen giant reed grass, also known by its scientific name Phragmites, in a wet area of a roadside ditch. This tall grass often grows over ten feet and has a distinctive feathery seed head. Although the seeds do benefit wildlife to some degree and the roots do provide protection against erosion, this grass grows as a clone, crowding out native wetland plants. As a result, it is taking over wetlands and beaches along the great lakes and at inland sites at an increasing pace and impacting these valuable resources.

Quick Clips Cutting does not eradicate giant reed grass, but will only encourage new growth and may even aid its spread. This is one of the most recent, and also more aggressive, invasive species in our state and many agencies and institutions are researching its spread and control methods.

Giant Reed grass can grow in both fresh water and salt water environments.

One giant reed grass clump can spread up to 15 feet per year.

Giant reed grass is reducing the diversity of infested wetlands and beach areas.

There are native species of giant reed grass in Wisconsin.

27

Whip-poor-will Every spring, upon completion of another successful school year, our students gear up to enjoy summer vacation and so do we - literally. The first items unpacked from winter hibernation are the kayaks, canoe, mountain bikes, and camping gear. Other essentials like the headlamps, coolers and fleeces get a workout year-round during hunting trips and Packer Game tailgates. Each year, Memorial Day inaugurates the first trip to the Chequamegon National Forest. Nestled in the Forest vastness lies a two hundred acre lake that a handful of families call their summer getaway. Some lots have dwellings, others do not. We are a part of the latter, but without a doubt have the best campsite on the lake.

Every summer for the past couple of years, the part-time human inhabitants host and participate in “Happy Hour.” Even those who don’t have dwellings with roofs, doors, windows with screens, or walls that drown out animal calls and strange noises, can host Happy Hour. This evening event simply entails paddling, walking or mountain biking, armed with headlamps and supplies, over to the property of whichever neighbor is hosting that night. While we all have the commonality of calling it our home away from home, the permanent inhabitants like the pack of wolves and thieving black bear only leave us with evidence of their arrivals. Even the nursery of raccoons, surprisingly, keep their distance.

Don’t get me wrong, there is an abundance of wildlife. They are either fearless or they let you know they are there to stay. The deer and turkey try to be elusive, but we spot them. The loons and coyotes are vocal and appear about the same time everyday. There is one critter, however, that seems to be the main topic

28 • Stories from the shore

Rebecca Zeman, Junior, color pencil, ‘07

L A nd • 2 9

of conversation at every Happy Hour. It’s the whip-poor-wills. Like the part-time inhabitants of the lake, the whip-poor-wills have their own evening Happy Hours. They usually start about the time we return from our Happy Hour tour and seem to continue until daylight. It’s really easy to track their whereabouts because of the distinct singsong “whip-poor-will” call, especially from a two-person tent as they get louder and louder mimicking our route from earlier in the evening. While originally the cause of much lost sleep and spirited words by moonlight, the whip-poor-will has now become our unofficial mascot.

If you are lucky you may sport the whip-poor-will call as your ring tone or have mastered the call to become Lake Champion. When we slumber in our two-person tent and are awakened by the whip-poor-will call, it spreads a pleasant smile across our faces. As we roll over we remember that this is vacation and that the whip-poor-will just wants to celebrate with us.

30 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a l i t t l e d e e p e r Anyone who has spent a few quiet moments in an evening woodlot is probably familiar with the call of the whip-poor-will. The bird says its name in its call. But these robin-sized, drab birds are not as familiar to sight as they are to sound.

Whip-poor-wills can be so elusive that scientists once thought that their call was a secondary call of the nighthawk; they did not know that the whip-poor-will was a different species. Both these birds are members of the nightjar or goatsucker family and look very similar, but all have distinctive calls. All nightjars have small feet because they do very little walking and long, pointed wings.

Whip-poor-wills usually lay two eggs but do not build a nest. The eggs are laid on the forest ground, sometimes in a small depression among the leaves. With their mottled brown, black and grey coloration the nesting birds blend into the forest floor and will often not flush from the nest unless directly underfoot.

These are nocturnal birds that sleep during the day and hunt for night-flying insects to eat.

Their feathers are “fluffy” so that flight is almost soundless and their bills are small but wide with

Quick clips fringed bristles so that whip-poor-wills are flying insect traps. Whip-poor-will eggs are said to hatch during the full moon, the time when nocturnal insect catching is easiest.

A 2007 National Audubon Society report found that whip-poor-will populations are in serious decline.

Forty years of data compiled from winter bird surveys indicate that the populations of whip-poor-wills have declined 57%. The population decline is largely blamed on of loss of habitat due to urban sprawl and large-scale farm operations. These threats have the potential to become even worse with impacts of global warming and by ever-encroaching invasive species.

The whip-poor-will, which depends upon brushy woodlands for nesting, is especially susceptible to the fragmentation of Wisconsin’s rural landscape into residential lots with large homes and manicured lawns.

Hundreds of years ago, if a whip-poor-will called only once, a young European woman thought she would not marry for a year. If it called twice, she would marry soon, if it called three or more times, she would not ever marry. Others believed that a young woman could wish for marriage on the first call of a whip-poor-will.

Whip-poor-wills are also called “goatsuckers” because folklore held that these birds sucked milk from goats. In reality, they are hunting the insects that hang around the goats and have no interest in the milk.

Legend says the Whip-poor-will can sense a soul departing, and can capture it as it flees.

A whip-poor-will will not leave its ground nesting area unless it is about to be stepped on.

Whip-poor-wills eat night flying moths.

Not only are the whip-poor-will songs one of the most known, whip-poor-wills are also commonly mentioned in song. Randy Travis sings about the whip-poor-will in ‘Deeper than the Holler.’ The Ozark Mountain Daredevils have an entire song called ‘Whip-poor-will’ and Jim Croce compares himself to the whip-poor-will in ‘I Got a Name.’

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32 • Stories from the shore

Shoreline

S h o r e l i n e • 33

A Sense of Place It was an innocent age, back then, many years before I shouldered the double burden of discovering that my father knew nothing, and that I knew everything. I stood on the shoreline of a small northeastern Wisconsin lake, watching dragonflies light on rotten logs, all blur and stop-motion and there-they-are and there-they-aren’t.

“Go ahead and take the canoe out,” Dad yelled. “Catch us some bluegills for supper while I set up the tent.”

I suspect that a lot of today’s kids would be unable to conceive of the joy of being a small boy, free from adults, and alone in a canoe with a new fishing rod. I casted while my father’s swear words filtered through the trees. Setting up a tent was in those days akin to assembling a nuclear weapon from the household junk drawer, and this was no ordinary tent. It was a tent made of “miracle fiber” fabric, and we were testing it as a service to the manufacturer, Dad’s employer. This was the 1970’s, and New and Improved was the law of the land. Tang replaced orange juice on shiny, forward-thinking breakfast tables, and if we as a society could routinely send men to the moon, then we could damn sure come up with a better tent fabric than the traditional heavy canvas.

Late in the afternoon I pulled the canoe up onto a spit of sand. Dad filleted my fish as a storm approached, and we retreated to the tent as the first big drops smacked the canopy of the trees. Above our heads the water pooled and then began to drip through, first in trickles in a few spots, and then in torrents, everywhere. My father laughed, and I joined in, drinking from my can of Jolly Good while Dad sipped his nightly martini from a mushroom jar.

34 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

S h o r e l i n e • 35

Since that long-ago moment I have stayed in expensive resorts, and on a cruise ship, but I haven’t found anything which will match the pleasure to be had in the combination of a tent, a canoe, and a wild shoreline.

We’re not exactly cachet here in Wisconsin. We don’t have large rodents acting as mascots. We don’t have palm trees, and our few nude beaches show that modesty is not only a virtue, it is also frequently a necessity. The latter circumstance is not our fault. What else can be expected when, as the old saw goes, the Wisconsin year consists of nine months of winter and three months of poor ice conditions?

Okay. We’ve established that we’re not trendy. What do we have? We have cheese curds, and the Green Bay Packers. Oh, yes—and more than 15,000 lakes. Not to mention more than 54,000 miles of streams.

Sure, we have mosquitoes. But we also have the dragonflies to eat them.

Consider ourselves blessed. ≈

36 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Jewelweed Alexis, Fairy Princess of the Shore, lived near a rushing stream. She was only 2 inches tall so when she walked among the shoreline plants the green stems were tree-sized and the leaves formed a dark canopy over her head. Princess Alexis was lonely, it was early in the spring and her insect friends were still either sleeping off the winter chill or on their long journey north. Her frog friends didn’t have time to visit, they were too busy calling to mates and producing tadpoles. It seemed everyone was busy with spring chores except Alexis and she often found herself dozing on a rock at the river’s edge.

Shoreline • 37

The sound of a large animal stomping through the brush woke Alexis. Was it a spotted fawn coming to sip from the river? It seemed larger than a fawn and Alexis saw with surprise that this creature had only two feet. Two bright yellow feet with enormous lady bugs crawling up the legs. The feet were as long as the princess was tall and seemed to smash everything in its path. Alexis let her eyes travel up and up, and up and up. Alexis had never seen a giant fairy like this; she had to be ten times as tall as the princess. And where were her wings? The giant had some type of a hood covering her head but nowhere that wings could be tucked in….

The giant was humming to herself, reaching out to touch everything she could. The bristly head of a sedge, long pointy hawthorne twigs, everything was of interest. Alexis leaped along, following in the footsteps of this curious giant, wishing she could tell her the names of all the plants that she stopped to sniff, or the pesky insect buzzing around her ear. But Alexis was bound to stay silent and could only play hide and seek with this new friend.

Alexis’s giant paused at the shoreline. She sat down on a spongy bed of moss and before long her eyes were closed in sleep. Alexis looked around her kingdom, wanting to give something to her new companion. She spied the orange spotted flower of the jewelweed plants. The flower hung like a necklace pendant from its green stem and Alexis had an idea. She pulled the flower from its stalk and gently laid it at the neck of the giant. Her new friend had a jewel of her own to carry home. ≈

38 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r One of the true jewels among our wetland flowers is aptly called jewelweed. Its other name is touch-me-not. Its brilliant orange flower hangs from a stem as a true jewel of nature, and its shape and color make it attractive to hummingbirds.

This flower is an annual, meaning that it lives for only one season and then grows anew from the seeds it produces. As a result it grows abundantly with ideal conditions in moist soil. While the name jewelweed is given due to its lovely flower, its alternate name touch-me-not has been attributed

Quick Clips to its method of seed dispersal. By late summer the jewelweed flower has wilted and a small elongated capsule is formed in its place. It begins to swell in preparation for dispersing its seeds for the year.

When the seedpod is ripe it will literally explode at the slightest touch, thereby tossing its seeds wide among the surrounding moist soil where new plants will grow the following year. I once took the time to observe this mechanism for seed dispersal, but it took a long time to intentionally detonate several dozen before I could determine what it was doing in only a split second.

The seed pod, by swelling, also builds up pressure along the seams. When the end of the pod is touched it causes the outer shell to separate under built up pressure. The shell of each chamber curls inward, thereby stripping the seed contained within and essentially flings them in all directions, up to six feet or more in the blink of an eye.

Jewelweed belongs to the impatient family.

It commonly grows close to stinging nettles in moist soil, but the juice found in its stem is also a natural medicine that relieves the burn of nettles and the itch of mosquito bites.

Jewelweed can easily be grown in areas of moist soil although collecting its seeds can prove to be a challenge.

Perhaps the best technique for gathering seeds to introduce to a new area is to cover the seedpods with a bag and set them off to gather the seeds within.

39

WHO??

Loons Loons consistently return to our lake each spring at the precise hour that the ice goes out. We live on the lake, and we can’t predict “ice out” with that sort of accuracy!

But loons don’t have a sixth sense about these things. They simply start heading north with the lengthening days, and make reconnaissance flights to determine just how far north they can fly each day in their search for ice-free water.

Even though we live in the heart of loon country, for several years, loons were conspicuously absent from our lake. As more houses were built around the lake, less natural shoreline was left to shelter nesting loons.

They prefer islands or well-vegetated shorelines where they scrape together a simple nest of mud and plant material close to the water’s edge.

Without loons on the lake, something important was missing. So our lake association constructed nesting platforms, and the loons came back. We’ve put signs up at the boat landing asking boaters to slow down and give the loons some space. And each year more lake residents get interested in restoring native vegetation on their shoreline, perhaps inspired by the loons.

My husband and I always make a bet to see who can best predict the day the ice goes out each spring.

I almost always win. But that’s nothing compared to the pleasure I get from hearing the loons announce their return. ≈

40 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r There is nothing common about the common loon.

Loons have become the symbol of Wisconsin’s northern lakes. These birds depart for the winter, but our northwoods lakes are filled with their haunting cries from ice-out to mid fall when they start south again. John Muir described the loon’s call as “one of the wildest and most striking of all of the wilderness sounds, a strange, sad, mournful, unearthly cry, half laughing, half wailing”. Recordings of loon songs can be found in horror movies, on CD’s, and on the internet. But if you are lucky enough to visit a northern Wisconsin lake in the summertime you can enjoy this unforgettable melody personally.

Loons are unique in the bird kingdom because they have solid bones, rather than the hollow flightrelated bones of most other bird species. The loons’ heavier weight assists them in diving for food, especially fish, but also frogs, crayfish and insects.

Loons mate for life, but each nesting pair needs a lot of solitude. Often a smaller lake only has room for one “couple.”

Quick Clips Loons are perfectly suited to water, but have a hard time on land because their legs are set far back on their bodies. This is an aid to diving, but makes it almost impossible for them to walk. Usually the nests are located at the water’s edge, and often at the base of a steep bank to protect the nest from predators. Loons are good fliers that take off by running on the surface of the lake to gain enough speed for flight. Their heavy bodies prevent them from lifting off of the water’s surface as a mallard might.

This low-rider of the lakes is losing ground to human interference. Shoreline development, acid rain, boat traffic, and mercury all affect the survival of the common loon. In some ways, we are loving our lakes to death, and one of the casualties of that is the decline of a species we all associate with the very environment that we treasure.

Loons are one of the oldest known species of birds, with fossil evidence extending back about 40 million years.

Loons can dive to depths of 200 feet.

In the late 1800’s, loons were known to nest along lakeshores in southern Wisconsin and even northern Illinois.

As people moved in, the loons moved out.

Loon hatchlings can swim from their first day on, but are carried on their parents’ back for up to eight weeks to conserve energy.

Loons from Wisconsin migrate to the southern Atlantic and Gulf coasts to over winter.

41

Cattails Most lakefront property owners understand that plants along a shoreline uptake nutrients and help improve the water quality of the lake. Well, here’s a story about how a cattail-fringed shoreline really held onto some nutrients.

Have you ever walked down 100 steep steps, slid into the cool water, and swam what seemed like half way across the lake to slither up onto a raft and bake in the sun? Well, one summer day three young girls with sunburned shoulders and noses did just that. We were 10, 8 and 6 and tired by the time we reached that raft!

Of course once you reach the raft you scurry up the steps as quickly as your arms and legs will carry you.

The cavern under the raft is SCARY! Its dark and musty and the bottom is so mucky you feel like one step will keep you trapped there forever.

So it was with great relief that we lay on the raft, catching our breath and working on adding more freckles to our summertime skin. I have to admit I didn’t really notice my sister fidgeting, who can lay still on a slivery piece of floating wood? I didn’t even pay much attention when she started a whisper of a whimper. It wasn’t until the tears flowed that I finally realized we had a situation.

My sister had to go to the bathroom – number 2! Remember the across-the-lake swim and the 100 steps that would go up this time instead of down? There was no way she was going to make it back to the cottage.

Could she make it to shore and hide in the weeds? We had done this ice fishing with dad so I knew it could work? No? It was more of an emergency than that?!?

42 • Stories from the shore

I was frantic, she was crying by now, and we were all a little hysterical about having to make this decision without a sane adult nearby. As the oldest, the other two were looking to me for an answer. I could swim all the way out to the raft without a float, how could I not be able to solve this problem?

I stood up and paced the 2 short steps across the raft; I laid down and squinted into the sun; I rolled over and hung my head over the side of the raft to dip the ends of my hair in the water, searching for a grown up solution. And the dark, musty cavern under the raft caught my eye. No one, except maybe the high school boys who were not even afraid of waterskiing on one ski, ever went under the raft. In my mind, the poop would sink to the bottom and become part of the muck that no human ever, ever stepped in. It was perfect!

And it was time!

My sister slipped under the raft and took care of business. She hastily climbed back on the ladder and we all collapsed in a fit of giggles. This was definitely “what happens on the raft, stays on the raft!” None of us was brave enough to get back into the water right away, but we had all the time in the world now. We all laid down, still quietly snickering, just enjoying the moment.

Never in this clever plan of mine did I expect to see what happened next. The youngest of us was the first to notice and her blood curdling scream and shaking, pointed finger drew our eyes to the water beside the raft. Floating from under what now became our lifesaving platform, was a small brown torpedo. Well, smaller than a submarine anyway. Unfortunately, this was not the Caddyshack style Baby Ruth bar, this was the turd that was not supposed to float, that according to my calculations should have been sinking into the muck under the raft.

We screamed, we danced on our tiptoes like that would keep us from getting contaminated, and we laughed again. I knew that it was my responsibility to finish what my sister had started so I devised part 2 to address the number 2 in this Grand Plan. We gingerly reached our outstretched hands into the lake S h o r e l i n e • 43

and from as much distance as possible splashed the floating brown flotsam far away from the raft. Holding my head above water, I lowered myself down the ladder and paddled towards the invader. I kicked and splashed, kicked and splashed and managed to guide the b.m. to the shoreline. I was never so happy to meet the tall, thick clump of cattails as I was at the end of that endless journey to shore.

I gave the poop one last mighty splash into the thicket of cattails where I knew it would rest in peace. The sturdy stems seemed to grip the material and I was confident that no wave action would erode that bit of packed nutrients back into the lake. I called the “all clear” and my sisters made their weary way back to shore and up and up and up the 100 steps.

We have laughed at this story over the years, and have shared it with our children. I know that by now the material has broken down and the nutrients used to grow new shoreline plants. But have you ever really looked at a cattail seed head? ≈

44 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Cattails are among the most widespread of wetland plants. They occur along lakeshores, throughout many marshes, and even in wet depressions in roadside ditches. Cattails are obviously quite adaptable and can provide important wildlife shelter.

Cattails are not much of a food source for most wildlife, although muskrats will eat the new green shoots. The real value of cattails is the important shelter they provide. Cattails are a source of nesting sites for many marsh dwellers, from red-winged blackbirds to marsh wrens and grebes. They provide construction material for muskrats and the abandoned muskrat lodges become nesting sites for ducks and geese. In winter, a frozen marsh can even provide shelter from the cold winds for pheasants.

Quick Clips However, cattails also may grow to such a density that they limit wildlife use. Large expanses of cattails stands with no open water see less use from wildlife.

There are two types of cattails common to Wisconsin; narrow-leaved and broad-leaved cattail, which are known to hybridize and can best be distinguished by the seed heads.

So while a little cattail is important to wildlife, a uniform dense stand has less value. The encroachment of cattails into diverse wetlands may be a sign of excessive nutrient inputs from uncontrolled runoff that may result in the loss of other wetland plants. Everyone should know cattails by name, and know that it is a plant that can be of benefit to wildlife and can protect shorelines from erosion, but if it comes to dominate wetlands it can be a concern.

Narrow-leaf cattail was not found in Wisconsin until 1920: it spread here from the North Atlantic coast and may not be native to North America.

Cattail stems are D-shaped in cross-section, providing strength to stand up to 8 feet tall.

Cattails can grow from both roots and seeds.

Cattail roots are edible. In early spring the roots can be pealed and eaten raw but are better when boiled and served with butter and seasoning. The pollen of cattails can be shaken into bags and dried and used as a protein-rich flour for cooking.

The mature cattail fluff, or seedhead, is often used for tinder to help start fires or as a decorative addition to floral arrangements.

45

Dragonflies Darting scarlet here and there

See through wings stirring the air Do you breathe fire like your name implies?

Or only attack mosquitos and other pesky flies?

Deep emerald green, ocean blue Your colors look like flying jewels Long body, round eyes, clinging to reeds The near shore area serves all your needs Mother lays eggs near the water’s edge Sometimes in mud, or clinging to a sedge

46 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Young nymphs hatch as swimming pros And begin the endless of process of molt after molt Leaving old skin behind, changing shape Until the colorful adult makes its final escape Once you’re grown, your life is drier Now you make your living as a fearless flier We know who you are by your amazing color And how your wings lay flat when you stop to hover You’re so much a part of the shoreline scene Who’s that on your back, a fairy queen?

Shoreline • 47

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r There are over 110 different species of dragonflies in Wisconsin, all belonging to the order Odonata. Anyone who spends time near water in this state can identify a dragonfly by its long, transparent wings, elongated body, and large eyes. Fossil records show that dragonflies are one of the oldest living insects and have been around about 300 million years. The prehistoric dragonflies did have one significant difference from today’s insects – they were as large as a hawk and often had a 30” wing span.

You can tell a dragonfly from its close relative, damselfly by the speed of flight (dragonflies can reach up to 35 mph) and by the way the wings lay at rest. Dragonflies rest with their wings flat, like airplane wings, and damselflies hold their wings together over the back. Dragonflies spend up to 90% of their lives as aquatic nymphs, living in the water where they eat insects, crustaceans, worms, small fish and even tadpoles using a specialized hinged lower lip to grab prey. Dragonfly nymphs go through a process called metamorphosis in which the winged adult stage does not look anything like the larval stage.

Adult dragonflies are voracious insect eaters and are a major mosquito predator. Their acrobatic flying skills are especially important during mating, which they do in flight. A male dragonfly catches a flying female with his legs and curves

48 • Stories from the shore

his abdomen around, hooking it to the back of her head. The mating pair continue to fly in this position. The male transfers sperm from the tip of his abdomen to a pouch in a more accessible spot. Then the female swings her long, slender abdomen around to the sperm pouch, until the pair’s bodies form a wheel. Depending on the species involved, the two remain flying in this position from a few seconds to more than an hour.

Dragonflies begin their lives when adults lay their eggs on plant stems or the water’s surface. From here they develop into the hellgrammite that serves as one of the most popular summertime baits for Wisconsin perch. Depending on the species, they may spend from a few weeks to as much as 5 years in the larval stage. In their underwater world they are voracious predators, feasting on other aquatic insects and even small fish.

When the time is right, they will undergo a miraculous transformation to the adult stage. The larvae will crawl up the stems of aquatic plants or brush by the water’s edge and find a perch from which to shed their external skeleton. Like a butterfly that emerges from its cocoon, the dragonfly will crawl out of its old skin and spread its wings to dry. Now it leaves its watery world to course the skies, feeding on aerial prey and to find a mate and start the cycle over again.

Quick Clips The Hine’s Emerald Dragonfly (Somatochlora hineana) was the first dragonfly to be classified as Endangered by the federal government. There are several additional dragonfly species that are endangered in Wisconsin.

The flying mechanisms of dragonflies allow them to fly forward and backward. Human invention has never been able to mimic the flying skills of this insect.

Odonata means “toothed one”.

Dragonflies got this name because of the unique mouth apparatus that enable them to catch and hold prey.

The green darner, our largest dragonfly and among the most common, is a migrant flying south to escape Wisconsin winters.

In recent years, two species of dragonflies found in Wisconsin were entirely new to science.

49

Mallard “Before the sun rises we have to rise” is one of the internally famous sayings that I remember from these times. Is it worth it? Some say no. I say yes, with no hesitation.

Sleeping was an option at the planks based “stabin cabin.” The option was to fall asleep early and soundly, or stay awake the entire night. Of course sleeping on a plank (o.k. it was a mattress...1/2 inch thick with no springs) was not the problem. Sleeping right next to Dad, with no less than five others in the 12-by-20 foot cabin was the issue. Not that I minded small quarters, or even sleeping next to Dad. It was the unbelievable heavy breathing that occurs when grown men indulge in adult beverages after a complete day of hunting and fresh air. Some would say these gentlemen (loosely used) would pull the paint off the walls. I, on the other hand, preferred to think of it as though they wanted to make sure God knew where they were to watch over them in this time of need.

If you could manage to sleep through the buzz saws, there was always a train coming by. A train going 60 miles per hour less than 75-feet from the front door of the cabin meant two things. Ding-ding-ding every hour with flashing lights and vibrating beds as the train rolled by. Second was the occasional breaking of a glass that left its perch on the counter to meet the floor...still 1/3 full of “melted ice.”

After one of the longest nights in memory we rise from bed. Feeling right as rain, we would eat a Little Debbie breakfast and head into an already packed vehicle. The entire red-eyed group going on a seemingly endless ride that was all of a mile. Of course, I would be asleep before we completed the mile long ride, as any self-respecting child would be. “Let’s go,” Dad would say. That was the rally cry to wake up and carry

50 • Stories from the shore

S h o r e l i n e • 51

52 • Stories from the shore

some gear to the shore. I would grab the two guns, shell box, and glass-lined thermos. Dad would put the motor, gas, decoys, blind, boots, coats, and other gear inside the 12-foot john boat and pull it down the hill to the shore.

As we arrived at the shore, my arms “falling off ” from the 150 foot trek with all the gear. I would stand to the side as the men put all the gear and boats together. Dad and I were always last to leave the launch. As the lights from our friends would begin to dim, I heard it. The unmistakable “laughing” quack of the hen mallard. Then the rush is on, “come on Dad, let’s go, kick it in gear, why are we always last...” Casually he always looked at me and said, “cool your jets, we’ll get there.”

We motored across the marsh to the general location we wanted to be. Then, with a flashlight shining as brightly as a single candle we would look for “it.” After two minutes that felt like twenty, we would agree on “it.” The exact spot, which was without question, the best 48 square feet of hunting space on the marsh.

Then it always happens again, the laughter is right next to us. The sun is not visible but over the bluff you can see the darkness is lifting. Out go the decoys 20-30 yards in front of the spot. A short push pole to the cattails, and then pushing into the cover like a cheerleader kick line in imperfect unison. Being quiet while pushing and shoving a 12-foot “soap dish” into cattails is an oxymoron but we always convinced ourselves that it could be done.

Scrambling as quickly and quietly as a jackhammer we would uncase the guns, cover the boat except the bright white top of the Johnson motor, and get the calls out. Now is the moment of truth. Grab the gun and a handful of shells, and Dad would always say, “leave it alone, we have 20 minutes.”

He would pour a cup of coffee and take a sip. Steam rising from both his cup of coffee and his head as the past 30 minutes had tapped him for every bit of energy. Then it would happen again, the laughing duck, although this time it was followed by a splash. Curiously, I would study the decoys and try to find the S h o r e l i n e • 53

“live decoy.” Dad sat intently in the back of the boat watching the light rise over the horizon and the marsh come to life. Never saying a word but always looking well beyond satisfied.

After the coffee, Dad would slowly look up and carefully take his gun and shells. Without ever being told I would know it was time. I took my gun and shells as well. You would think load and go. Not with Dad, he would always show two fingers meaning two minutes. Other shots were ringing out in the area but he was certain that his atomic watch was the only correct one on earth. So we waited.

Finally, I would get a nod. We both stand up, look across the decoys and see nothing. Then the laugh, right behind us this time. I would turn around in the soap dish, almost fall over making a loud crashing sound when I tripped over the decoy which “I did not have time” to put in the water - then only to see the tail feathers of the hen mallard flying away. Almost every time another quack was heard over the decoys.

Gathering my balance and looking back that direction my dad would be smiling as he was sitting back down - after the drake mallard had gotten up from the decoy set and flown away. He always said “too far” or “I thought you had it.”

The sun would continue to rise as our day moved forward. A sure sign of morning arriving was the school bus. Dad would always say, “7:30, morning flight is over.” As the mornings passed, we had our share of chances and successes. While the successes of coming back to the cabin with a daily limit of ducks were exciting, they are not as engraved as other memories. The moments that I remember vividly are the ones where the mallards were laughing as they flew away together. They were quite a team.

Come to think of it, so were we. ≈

54 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Mallard ducks, or greenheads as they are commonly known to hunters, are the most abundant duck species and are found throughout most of the world. It is thought that all other duck breeds have descended from the familiar mallard. Male mallards are easily recognized through their glossy emerald green heads, white neck band, and rusty brown chest. Female mallards, like many birds, are more drab and brown speckled. Both male and female mallards have a brilliant blue speculum, or marking of feathers, in the area comparable to a human’s biceps. The speculum is hidden unless the duck is in flight or preening.

Mallards belong to the family of dabbling ducks.

Dabbling ducks are those that float on the water surface and “tip” themselves bottom up to dip their heads and especially beaks into the water. They are omnivores, feeding on seeds and shoots of sedges, grasses, and other aquatic vegetation, grain, acorns, insects, and aquatic invertebrates. In the springtime, females preparing to lay eggs increase their diet to twice the normal amount.

Mallard couples often begin courtship behavior in the fall and continue as a couple until nesting season in early spring. Once the eggs have been incubated for a week, the male abandons the family

Quick Clips to join a male flock. The female is responsible for the majority of the incubation and rearing of the young ducklings. Young ducklings may spend at least two months with the family group before gaining independence.

Like many species of waterfowl, mallards go through a flightless molting season. During the molt, the brilliant breeding feathers fall away and new flight feathers are grown. Males congregate in groups for the molt, but have a similar appearance to females at this time as the new feathers develop.

Even during the molt, beak colors are different between the male and female: the male has a yellow beak with a black spot near the tip and the female a dark orange beak. Once the male breeding plumage has regrown, the ducklings are also almost grown, and the ducks are ready to begin another autumn breeding season.

Mallards are migratory and an integral part of the annual waterfowl hunting season from Wisconsin to Arkansas to Mexico. They have an amazing ability to take off from the water vertically, going from swimming to flying almost effortlessly. Because mallards are so common, the call of the females is very well known. If you “quack like a duck” you are most likely imitating the decrescendo call of the mallard.

The Mallard is an ancestor of all domestic duck breeds except the Muscovy duck.

Dabbling ducks, which a mallard is, tip themselves face first into the water, (so you see their bottoms pointing into the air), and filter water through their beaks to harvest food from beneath the surface.

Mallards are able to take flight from the water almost vertically.

Once the duck is in flight they can reach speeds of up to 70 feet per second.

Hens can nest on the ground, among dead grass and reeds, near the edges of lakes and reservoirs, on top of muskrat lodges, and in marshes.

After mating they begin to lose their feathers (molting). After molting, the birds can’t fly for a period of time. The flightless period can last from 18-37 days.

55

Frogs Its one thing to hear the frogs in spring, but it’s an entirely different experience to feel their calls.

It’s primeval really, and nothing else aligns my own life with nature’s rhythms like this pulsing, frantic, shoreline chorus.

The spring chorus begins with the first notes of the spring peepers. It starts innocently enough with a few half-hearted “peeps” when the days and nights start to consistently stay above 50 degrees or so, and builds to a mind-numbing crescendo when spring temperatures start to hit daily highs of 60 or more.

That’s when you can - if you allow yourself – feel the intensity of their calls. Males project their voices in an all-important competition to attract females. Unreceptive females add their own “dissonance” to the chorus when they are not yet ready for the advances of males.

If you stand on a well-vegetated shoreline at the height of “frog season” you’ll feel a pounding in your temples, a quickening of your pulse, and a beating in your very soul that can only be explained by this incredible will to ensure species success.

Last spring a man called my office and lamented that he no longer heard many frogs on his springtime shoreline. After some discussion, he shared with me the fact that he mowed his grass to the water’s edge and had applied insecticides for mosquito control. He hadn’t yet made the connection between good habitat, abundant food, and healthy amphibian populations. That connection is vital to feeling the ancient rhythm of a spring frog chorus….and preserving the same life-affirming experiences for future generations. ≈

56 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r There are 13 varieties of frogs, including one toad, in Wisconsin. The Blanchard’s cricket frog is an endangered species. Many of the species are widespread and common, while others are restricted by climate or habitat conditions. Some have more specialized habitat needs. Others live

Quick Clips in ephemeral wetlands where fish are absent and predation is lower. It is from these snowmeltfilled sites that we hear the first songs of spring from the frogs.

Different species of frogs sing at different water temperatures in spring or summer. First come the wood frog, spring peeper and western chorus frog when the ice has barely melted. As the water warms to 50 degrees we begin to hear the leopard frog singing. Next come the pickerel frogs, followed by the American toad with its long trill, a surprisingly sweet song from what some think of as an ugly animal.

As the water warms to 60 degrees we begin to hear the tree frogs sing. With the coming of the warm summer temperatures, the chorus comes to a close as the bullfrogs, green frogs and mink frogs call from shores of permanent waters. The green frogs are the most abundant with their typical “gunk, gunk” call, which sounds like someone strumming on a loose banjo string.

Frogs are important environmental indicators. Spending most of their lives in water, having porous skin and developing from egg to tadpole to adult, makes them vulnerable to pollutants.

Green frogs are among the largest frogs in Wisconsin and are the only common lake frog found statewide.

Frogs develop from egg to tadpole to adult over a period of weeks to more than a year depending on the frog species.

Wisconsinites conduct an annual frog count by listening for the calls of different frogs as water temperatures warm up throughout the spring.

Frog and toad songs function as they do with birds – to attract a mate. It is a music from the marsh and lakeshore that signals the progress of spring each year.

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Hana Keller, Freshman, chalk pastel, ‘07 58 • Stories from the shore

Fallen Trees Ten thousand years ago, a tree grew near a lakeshore somewhere in North America. For 140 years or more, fish swam in its shade and insects hatched on its branches and leaves; some were eaten by birds, some fell into the water to be eaten by fish, some survived to continue the cycle of life. Birds nested and foraged in its branches, perhaps kingfishers dropped like rocks, propelled by gravity to their next meal; eagles perched among its highest branches. A wood frog chorus would start each evening in spring near the first crotch, and often red squirrels would chatter for whatever reason red squirrels chatter.

Then one day it happened: after years of increasing decay near the end of its life, the tree snapped at the butt during a windstorm, and fell with a thunderous crash into the lake; 140 years of silence and quiet rustling, punctuated by a single quick loud finale. Within a minute, the waves that had acknowledged the tree’s entry into the water subsided, and all was quiet again. The tree had lived a full and accomplished life. It had crossed paths with countless generations and species of organisms that used or relied on the structural characteristics of its bole and branches or functional processes to carry on with their own life, changing with seasons, changing with age.

Yet now, it began its second life‌in the lake. Within hours, crayfish crawled beneath its partially submerged trunk, to be followed by a mudpuppy and tadpoles, while minnows and small fish hovered within the lattice of its branches. Within days, logperch, darters, sunfish, bass, burbot, pike, and even walleye and muskellunge had also entered the complex network of the newly established community. Algae and diatoms began establishing colonies, while dragonfly nymphs and mayflies followed to forage among the branches. A wood duck competed with a softshell turtle for basking space on the bole that once contained its nest site cavity. Herons, green and blue, alternated use as well: a fine place to access the fish below. Use of the tree by a variety of organisms would continue again for much longer than its life on land; remarkably

S h o r e l i n e • 59

perhaps 300 to 600 years, slowly changing shape over time as it yields to father time. Different organisms continue to use the tree until the cellulose had completely been broken down and its chemical constituents had been fully integrated into the web of life in the lake. And even in the remaining shallow depression it left on the lake bottom, leaves and needles of trees still standing accumulate creating more habitat for aquatic insects. All this and more occurred from a single tree. A habitat as diverse as this, a relationship between flora and fauna, a union of land and water, evolved to perfection over millennia. ≈

60 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Many of the more developed areas have lost tree cover along the shoreline. For years, Walleyes Unlimited and other local fishing organizations and lake districts have tried to replace some of that lost habitat by placing Christmas trees, brush bundles,

and other “man-made� structures into the water.

Property owners can provide their own habitat improvement projects by simply letting fallen trees lie.

Quick Clips Fourteen fish species inhabited one submerged white pine tree in Oneida County.

In northern Wisconsin forested shorelines on lakes with no development averaged 888 fallen logs per mile of shoreline while developed shorelines averaged 91 fallen logs per mile.

An underwater tree is used by a variety of organisms for 300-600 years.

Turtles crawl onto these logs to sun, since air temperatures rise faster than water and these cold-blooded animals move faster as they warm.

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Bulrushes

I could be a fish, ever underwater

Hanging upside down, wings closed and quiet

Circling the rushes, fanning silt away

Till the roar of a motorboat warns me away

Slipping from stem to stem

I could be a duck, paddling and quacking

With a dart of my tail

Dipping my beak to reach beneath the water

I could be a snail, slowing inching higher

Or stretching my neck to the rush seedheads

Carrying my house on my back

Am I hidden here?

Slimy, juicy tracks

I could be a red-winged blackbird

Leading to the top of the bulrush

Swaying on my perch

I could be an egg mass, teeming with new life

Calling “konk-la-ree” to my mate

Opaque sack of goo, hundreds of staring eyes

Nesting in the rushes

Waiting, waiting, waiting to hatch

Or I could be a bulrush, standing tall and soldier-straight

Clinging to the rush

Hollow stems, slender green

I could be an insect, munching juicy green

Feet buried deep beneath the lake

Darting from stem to stem

Providing shelter for all my friends

62 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r There are two common lake bulrush species in Wisconsin, hardstem and softstem. Both have a single green stem with fibrous chambers.

Softstem bulrush has larger chambers so is more easily crushed with fingers and it prefers more stagnant conditions.

Bulrushes provide an amazing benefit to lake systems. They have dense fibrous root systems that stabilize the bed; they provide nesting habitat for fish below the water surface and for waterfowl above the water surface. Bulrushes are important perches for red-winged blackbirds and are used by invertebrates, reptiles and amphibians. The seeds are a good food source and the roots take up nutrients as the leaves produce oxygen.

Quick Clips On at least one lake in Wisconsin, concerned citizens took action to preserve precious bulrush beds. The Green Lake Sanitary District took action to develop a preservation ordinance for some specific bulrush areas in part of the lake. Passing the ordinance required the cooperation of three different municipal governments and the DNR. Due to the overwhelming public support for the project the ordinance was passed and has allowed the sanitary district to buoy off the bulrush beds.

Motorboats are prohibited from operating within the roped off areas but canoes and other non-motorized craft are allowed to use the bulrush areas.

Some researchers in Europe have found that bulrushes can be used to decontaminate water and soil. Studies have shown that these plants have the ability to moderate pH, pathogenic germs, wastewater pollutants, etc.

The US Armed Forces Survival Manual says that the roots and white stem base of bulrushes can be eaten cooked or raw.

Native Americans used bulrush stems for weaving projects.

Bulrushes are a critical plant used n “constructed wetlands� that are being developed as wastewater treatment plants.

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Camouf lage The catalogs of the outdoors person are filled with clothes matched to the natural world. Camouflage we call it, or camo for short; forest green, autumn brown, desert gold. I am wondering why our cottages, cabins, our get-away homes are not camouflaged? There is no denying the attraction of the lakeshore.

Our relationship to waterfront space has been a cultural constant for generations.

In the 1920’s middle class Chicagoans traveled north on weekends by trains to spend Saturday on the lakes. The cottages were modest by current standards; this being the classical age of the cottage. Thoreau wrote the recipe, its main ingredient: simplicity. Pitcher pump, row boat, kerosene stove, all of it lost among the trees. For the Chicago butcher and Willie Lowman this was the whole objective, to get lost among the trees. The north woods abound with tales of gangsters wishing to do the same - get lost, for awhile, among the trees.

Nothing would benefit the lakeshore more than a renewal of the classic age, remembering to get lost among the trees.We know how ... camouflage. Trees are a part of it: blackberry cane, willow, and birch.

Leave the lawn in the suburbs!

Camouflage is to be found in a natural landscape and native shoreline. It is maidenhair, sweet fern and bracken. It’s a dead tree, it’s jewelweed, it’s the forest clutter. It is a cottage, constructed less to be seen than to see with. It is camouflage. Fitting into the woods and not the other way around. The result is everybody has more of what we own a cottage for - the woods, the shore, the earth itself has a wider breadth. Because of camouflage, because we learn to fit in. ≈

64 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r An “improvement� or development on one side of a lake may very well be an eyesore for neighbors whose view across the lake is diminished.

Removing brush, trimming up the trees, and adding a dusk-to-dawn light may seem like a way to enhance our view of the lake. However, in our attempts to improve our view we affect those that look back at us.

A lake view is not best appreciated from the dinner table through an unobstructed view from home to the water’s edge. It is meant to be soaked up from a chair by the shore, or sitting on the pier with

Quick Clips our feet swaying in the water. We are meant to leave the house behind and get out into the very wilderness we came to experience.

Wilderness need not be a wild place we drive to from our lakeshore homes to some other distant location, it can be that very lakeshore. Wilderness once dominated the land we live on and it can be reclaimed. We can bring nature close to home and encourage it by landscaping with native plants, or simply reducing mowing and allowing nature to re-establish itself where it once held root.

Studies project that by the year 2025 less than 10% of Wisconsin lakes will remain in an undeveloped condition.

Studies have shown that as development increases, total number of fish species decreases, even though in some cases there is no change in water quality.

As trees, shrubs and ground cover are modified to traditional lawn area, there is a shift in songbird populations from warblers, thrushes, vireos and ovenbirds to the more common grackle, catbird, bluejay, chickadee and goldfinch.

The purchase price of a lakeshore lot is directly proportionate to the level of natural shoreline.

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66 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Canada Goose As a child, its easy to find Father’s Day gifts. That clay ashtray you made in art class and some gloppy half-cooked pancakes are Dad’s favorites. When you are grown up and your father seems to have everything a man needs or wants, it takes a little more thought. How do you show that very special man how much he means?

Like many fathers, my dad was a “collector” – a collector of everything that he had ever purchased. He liked to fish but had the boat cushions that my grandpa had bought in the 60’s. He was a hunter, but still had plenty of hunting clothes, some from the days before blaze orange was required. He was retired so didn’t need neckties any more and had a drawer full of shirts that he hadn’t even worn yet.

I wanted this gift to be thoughtful, to express how much I loved my dad, how I treasured the memories of the times we spent outdoors growing up, and how much I looked forward to making even more memories.

I knew that there had to be a gift out there that wasn’t golf balls, wasn’t socks, wasn’t the same gifts that I had given for special occasions over the past many years, but I was stumped.

And then one day, I met Robert. He was a co-worker that was a regulator by day and an artist by night.

Robert grew up in Mequon, yes, that Mequon, the city so close to Milwaukee that some people think its part of Milwaukee. But Robert’s Mequon was unique. He lived on the outskirts of the urban environment and had the freedom and wide open space to hunt before he went to school in the morning. Robert grew up hunting and fishing and took that love of time spent outdoors and transformed it into a career in carving.

Robert is a decoy carver. He started carving out of necessity. When you spend a lot of time waterfowl hunting, you learn what decoy spreads are most effective. And Robert soon discovered that the decoys he Shoreline • 67

wanted were not commercially available. He read and studied and with some trial and error soon carved himself a flock of wooden ducks to use hunting. But he found that creating the blend of colors to resemble a duck’s feathers, putting that life-like head tilt into a wooden block, and producing something that came as close as possible to Mother Nature’s paintbrush was a life long fascination.

Robert still carves decoys for hunting, but more of the waterfowl he creates end up as gifts. And when I saw the swan that he was carving for his daughter, I knew that I had found the perfect gift for my dad.

When I was growing up my dad would take my brother and me to a friend’s farm for goose hunting. I honestly doubt that I ever shot a goose but the crisp autumn days filled with the loud honking of the geese (and my brother on his call) will be a treasured memory, forever. Now my son is old enough to hunt and I want him to be able to share that connection with his grandfather also. A goose decoy was the perfect expression of the past, present and future.

I think Robert was a little surprised when I asked if he would carve a goose. Mallards have beautiful green heads, canvasbacks have rusty red heads and an intricate feather pattern, geese are black and brown and white. But he did it, and he did it well. Another memory I will never forget is watching my father unwrap the decoy, an enormous smile on his face, clutching the carved goose that will forever remind us of special days spent together. ≈ 68 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r The Canada goose is one of the success stories of waterfowl conservation. By the 1950’s, the giant Canada goose was thought to be extinct. Today, for many shoreland property owners, this regal flier has gone from a heralded sign of autumn to a year-round nuisance. At the same time the giant Canada goose population was increasing, we were experiencing the expanding suburbs and rural development. As a result, we created ideal habitat for this recovering population and set the stage for conflicts between humans and wildlife. A bird that we had once feared might be extinct, has now recovered to a point of being a local problem.

Depending on your point of view these geese are either a blessing or a curse. And perhaps that is proportionate to their numbers. A few geese can be a natural asset, while a large flock that refuses to leave quickly becomes a nuisance. These big birds have a voracious appetite that in the end deposit their droppings on the same land we want to use.

During mid-day and again at night these geese spend time within the relative safety of their local resting area or roost. City parks and golf courses are often hard hit as small ponds surrounded by acres of lawn provide ideal conditions for these adaptable birds.

Any waterfront property owner that has mowed grass to the water’s edge knows the problems that a resident flock of geese can cause. But one middle school came up with a way to keep geese out of grassy play fields while providing other benefits.

With some help the school planted a natural prairie buffer area between the river and the play fields.

Geese are hesitant to come through tall vegetation where predators can be lurking, so they avoid this area. The prairie will be alive with colorful blossoms, provide habitat to many birds and other wildlife, and has the added bonus of not having to be mowed. As a riparian property owner you can use the same type of natural plantings to keep pesky geese off the grass while providing wildlife habitat and water quality benefits.

Quick Clips Giant Canada geese can reach 20-25 pounds and live 20 years or longer.

Most of the geese we see flying north and south are not “giants” but rather birds that nest near Hudson Bay in Canada and migrate over Wisconsin.

Planting patches of taller vegetation will help discourage goose use on your property.

At least 11 sub-species of Canada geese have been recognized although only a couple are distinctive.

Studies have shown that geese can impact water quality, especially on smaller lakes. There are some things that property owners can do. The best control is to lower the numbers of geese. Goose populations can be controlled by hunting if the area is suited to this use. Some parks have used the round up method and provided the meat to local food pantries. Leaving an unmowed strip of vegetation for at least 35-feet from the waters edge is one of the most effective methods of control for property owners.

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70 • Stories from the shore

Water

W at e r • 7 1

72 • Stories from the shore

Hodag I’m going to say right up front that my friend Brian “Hodag” Heine died on October 8th, 1999, at age 34. I say this not to elicit sympathy, but to avoid the usual device where the reader is led on and on and then, at the end, clubbed over the head in a violent burst of melodrama. Which is not to say I have anything against this device, for without it legions of Hollywood filmmakers would be put out of work—but I don’t think my friend would appreciate it very much (about the only similarity he would see in the film “Brian’s Song” is a common first name.)

He might mind a little if I mention that he was an uncommonly good guy, but I think he would wholeheartedly approve when I mention the one thing which was omitted in his obituary: he was an outstanding trout fisherman. He was democratic in that he chased channel cats and bass and even carp, and in the same way he was as happy chasing squirrels with his Winchester pump .22 as he was pursuing ducks in Theresa Marsh. But he was a trout fisherman above all. If you think I’m now going to tread on ground covered in “A River Runs Through It,” then you’re wrong, for the book (and the movie) are about fly-fishermen. Brian was a chub-tail purist, if there is such a thing, and there’s nothing romantic about that.

After all, in the world of trout fishing cachet, chub-tail fishermen are the lowest of the low, pitied by wormfishermen and looked up to only by those who fish with dynamite.

He also probably wouldn’t mind if I note that the same genial nature and sense of humor which his family and friends enjoyed in him were qualities which attracted the opposite sex as well. Many women found him, well, as irresistible as a big brown finds a chub-tail waving seductively in the current. I’m thinking now of a few post-trip; pre-fiance stops for a cooling beer. His charm was such that he could spin his ever-present ABF cap in the air, bring it down perfectly on his blond head, and then grin confidently at some comely lass W at e r • 7 3

across the bar. Invariably—and I still can’t believe this—she’d come over to say hello. It galled me—a trash fish in the dating stream—no end; especially as in those days my most intimate knowledge of women came from the back of Little Cleo spoons.

But the fishing was always first and foremost. When I think of Brian now, I see him as I’m plowing through streamside alders on the Little Wolf or the Bad Axe or any of the streams we fished together.

Where I was always anxious to roam and usually covered a lot of water pretty quickly, he was content to sit on one small stretch all day long and was a master at recognizing all of the locations where trout might be found within it. I’d stop and we’d compare notes, and while I might have caught a few fish—even big ones—he had always caught more, and bigger.

He’d squint into the horizon in the manner of a sea captain searching for spouting whales, maybe adjust his cap, and smile slightly.

“Trout are where you find them,” he’d say.

Of all the pseudo-philosophical statements he was so fond of dispensing, it was his favorite. I never knew how to respond, since it was so pithy, so concise, and so obviously worthless, and often as I went in search of other water I’d look back and see him releasing another fish.

He almost never kept anything. In fact, looking back now on the twelve or so years we fished together, I can’t remember him ever having kept a single trout. He was the same way with deer hunting. He hunted mostly in the Chequamegon National Forest, and every year when I called for a post-hunt synopsis I’d hear of reasons why he didn’t shoot: “Too far,” “Too close,” “Not big enough,” and had he lived long enough I’m sure eventually I’d have heard, “I saw a twelve-pointer about fifty yards out during the second weekend, but I didn’t shoot. He was too big.”

74 • Stories from the shore

Perhaps Brian’s kidney transplant caused him to be more appreciative of life, and all of its forms. I don’t know. But I will say that while many of us often use the words “It’s just great to be out there” as a way of masking our disappointment over getting skunked, he meant them, each and every time.

His health problems required him to carry as much medical gear as tackle, and gout related to the transplant limited his mobility after awhile. But to his credit, he never gave these limitations more than a cursory nod. He was the kind of guy who mentioned almost dying during a trip for Lake Erie walleyes the way most of us would mention an oil change which was past due, but only by a hundred and fifty miles.

There were dietary restrictions as well, which, afield at least, went largely ignored (I shudder now to think of dinner on one trip to the Tomorrow River: Rock River walleye and catfish fillets fried in four inches of bacon fat. The three pounds of bacon it took to get that much grease had of course long ago gone by the board.) Brian’s blood-sugar levels were always a concern, and once I found him floundering listless and waist-deep in the sticky mud we called loon s**t. I half-dragged him back to his truck, where even his dazed powers of persuasion were such that I made a decision I still can’t believe.

“I can drive,” he mumbled, and until I regained my senses we sped down the road at one half-mile per hour; barely rolling; and in the wrong lane.

It was a shock when the end came. To be sure, my friend had talked about the possibility of his death and didn’t seem to fear it. I, however, since he was outwardly healthy, could only comprehend the possibility as I do my chances of becoming rich: within the realm of possibility, but on the outer edges of that realm which are not visible to the naked eye.

W at e r • 7 5

The year-and-a-half since Brian’s passing hasn’t given me any great insight into the meaning of his life and death, or any of ours, and I think it would gloss over his family’s pain for me to reach some sort of Disney-esque “circle of life” conclusion. Yet death occurs. We who spend a lot of time in the woods and on the water understand as much as anyone that while it is a beautiful world, it is also a hard one. Maybe someday, if we’re lucky enough to be old and gray, we’ll be able to look back and say, “So that’s what it’s all about.”

And I can’t help but feel that it is about something. Here I have to mention that a week after my friend died I pressed his obituary between the pages of a Bible. But I felt—and feel—like a hypocrite. I couldn’t quote you a full mouthful of Scripture, but could name chapter and verse from any of the five hundred outdoor magazines stashed in the garage.

And maybe that’s just as well, Brian might say. “Put it in a copy of A Sand County Almanac. Press it between the pages of the inland trout regs.”

But he probably wouldn’t even go that far. He was a practical man and not given to somberness, and if he was inclined to be poetic it would be more along the lines of “The Cremation of Sam McGee.” No, he would say, “Just get outside, and don’t worry so much.”

“And oh yeah,” he might add with his trademark cryptic grin. “Trout are where you find them.” ≈

76 • Stories from the shore

Kathryn Holm, Sophomore, pastel pencil, ‘07 W at e r • 7 7

Bluegill

Bluegill, bluegill you provide us such fun, Down goes my bobber, you make one last run I enjoy your spunk, I enjoy your taste, Your home so precious, I shall not waste.

You live your life among plants so green To eat, to rest, to not be seen By predators sporting those long sharp teeth They lurk in wait, from above from beneath Oh daddy bluegill, you guard your round nest

A measure so important you surely should take

The threats they are constant, there shall be no rest

Without protection the cover is lost

You protect your eggs, your newly hatched fry,

To repair will come at such a great cost

Against all threats, days slowly pass by.

A resource so important we need to protect

A bluegill’s survival surely depends on the cover,

Our friend the bluegill, he will never object

Among green plants, it surely will hover

Bluegill, bluegill you provide such fun

So, protecting the plants within ones own lake

As I float in my boat, enjoying the sun.

78 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r The bluegill, with little doubt, is the most popular sport fish in Wisconsin. It provides great action and is highly prized for its eating quality. The very first fish caught by many Wisconsin anglers commonly was a bluegill because they are widespread, abundant and often easy to catch.

Bluegill spawning generally takes place in mid-May and June and may occur throughout the summer.

As many as 50 males may join together to form a colony of nests. Each of the males constructs a shallow nest by fanning the lake bottom. There, they put on an elaborate display to attract a female.

As spawning takes place, the sticky eggs adhere to the clean bottom and the male remains to clean and protect the nest until the fry hatch and are ready to swim off. Male bluegills are extremely vulnerable to excessive harvest by anglers as nest colonies are easily located. Out of a sense of protection, the males readily pick up the “bait� to remove it from their nest and are easily caught.

Quick Clips The newly hatched fry begin to swim within 3 days and quickly seek to eat microscopic animals (zooplankton) in open water areas. As they develop, they eventually head back to shore for the protection afforded by aquatic plants. There they feed on a variety of insects, crustaceans, other invertebrates as well as some vegetation. They often grow to 1-1/2 inches long the first year and reach 6 inches in their 4th or 5th year.

The growth rate of each population is highly variable due to the availability of food and their population density. Native aquatic vegetation often provides just the right amount of cover for young bluegills. Invasive plant species, such as Eurasian water milfoil, provide too much cover and the bluegill populations tend to explode to unhealthy levels.

Bluegills are colonial nesters with as many as 50 nests in a colony.

Spawning takes place from late May to early August.

Bluegills feed on small insects, crustaceans, other invertebrates and vegetation.

Aquatic vegetation provides important cover for small to medium size bluegills.

Native aquatic plants provide the preferred habitat for healthy bluegill populations.

Bluegills can become stunted when dense plant growth provides excessive protection.

Management of bluegill populations is related to a variety of factors. Proper management may include one or more of a variety of factors including aquatic plant management, predator management, and angler harvest restrictions.

79

80 • Stories from the shore

Turtle It wasn’t a pretty thing when I learned how to steer a canoe. I frantically switched sides, back-paddled, hollered at my paddling partner and generally weaved from shore to shore as we made our way down the river.

Logs hanging out over the river were my most feared obstacles. Not only did I run into them every time, but I usually got snagged and stuck in the process. Those logs frustrated me. What good were they anyway?

As you’ve guessed by now, I was young then – in the stage of my life when the world was all about me.

If I didn’t see the value in something, certainly it had none.

One July day I was “bank-bumping” my way down the Plover River when we rounded a corner and spied an old white pine log hanging gracefully out over the river. “Oh no, here we go,” I said to myself.

But as we uncontrollably headed straight for it, I noticed something on the log. There, in the July sun, sat three painted turtles, in graduated sizes, stacked one over the other. Their necks were outstretched in what seemed to be a posture of “sun worship.” All was right with their world…until I banged into the log interrupting their repose. They slipped grudgingly into the water, probably muttering turtle profanities along the way.

W at e r • 8 1

I realized it then. That log was good for something. It provided the perfect resting spot where those turtles could absorb heat and essential vitamin D from the summer sunlight. And as I looked into the water beneath the log, I noticed several fish hanging out where they were protected from swift currents, predators, too much sun, and fools like me who didn’t know how to steer a canoe.

Since then I’ve had many opportunities to see turtles sunning themselves on old log snags. And because I’ve also learned how to steer a canoe, I’ve left them there undisturbed. ≈

82 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Wisconsin is fortunate to have 11 species of turtles.

Three species are facing a very uncertain future due to factors out of their control such as the illegal pet trade. The ornate box turtle is the only strictly land dwelling turtle and it is listed as endangered. It lives in southern Wisconsin where deep sandy soils exist and is at the northern edge of its range here.

The Blanding’s and wood turtles are threatened species. Both spend time on land and in the water.

All turtles are cold-blooded and are primarily active from April through late September. While they become relatively inactive in winter, they

Quick Clips do not truly hibernate and are capable of moving about under the ice-in slow motion. They feed primarily from spring through late summer and then fast prior to entering fall. Aquatic turtles may eat both plant and animal matter and their diets may vary depending on age and food availability.

Turtles’ shells help to protect them from most predators once they have reached adult size. Two species, the spiny and smooth softshells, rely on speed and burying in the sand under water to avoid predators.

Turtles are long-lived with some reaching well past the century mark.

Most Wisconsin turtles do not eat for seven to eight months every year.

Watch for turtles crossing roads in late May to early June. These are egg-laden mothers-to-be moving from a wet environment, looking for a dry spot to bury their eggs in a uniquely dug nesting chamber.

In Wisconsin, all turtle populations are experiencing declines. Wetland loss, habitat fragmentation, increased predation rates (especially of nests) and significant road mortality far exceed their ability to maintain adult numbers.

83

Muskrat Iroquois Story of Origin from: The Birth of a World, Native American Stories of Creation by Terri J. Andrews.

“Many many times ago, the Celestial Tree of Light had fallen, leaving a hole in the sky. Sky Woman fell through the sky, falling.. falling.. into the waters below. As she fell, geese caught her with their wings, breaking the fall. The Great Turtle saw what was happening and, with the help of the other water animals, mostly the muskrat, began to dive into the water, bringing up mud and dirt to create land for Sky Woman to settle upon. The muskrat placed the mud onto the turtles back and soon the soil expanded into an island. The geese placed Sky Woman upon the island and so the Earth came to be. And from Sky Woman, this is how the worlds people began.” ≈

84 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Do your hands and feet ever get cold when you swim? If you were a muskrat, that would be a physiological adaptation to allow you to conserve heat around your internal organs when swimming in the cold winter water under the ice. Muskrats are vole-like rodents that live in swamps and other wetlands that have 4 to 6 feet of water. Muskrats can be pests for shoreline property owners when they burrow into the bank to create tunnels for nests but they also construct shelters in open water using bulrushes, cattails, and other tall wetland plants. These nests are often built on a firm surface such as a tree stump.

Muskrats do not hibernate during the winter.

Their insulating fur (which also traps air for extra buoyancy) allows them to stay active all year round. Muskrats are mainly vegetarians but they have been known to become cannibalistic when the large family groups cause overcrowding in

Quick Clips a wetland area. In their optimal habitat of rich aquatic vegetation, they eat cattails, burreed, sedges, grasses, loosestrife, and water lilies.

Muskrats are easy to identify by their large heads, roundish bodies, short legs and big feet. They have poorly developed senses of sight and hearing. Their sense of smell is also poorly developed except that muskrats excrete a musk from their glands to communicate with each other. They do make some sounds such as squeaks and squeals.

Muskrats are similar to beavers but have very different tails. Muskrat tails are flat and scaly and usually about 9.5 inches long. Muskrats eat the roots of aquatic plants in the summer but have also been known to eat farm crops when available.

Muskrat fur is an important part of the fur industry and muskrat meat is edible.

Muskrats are excellent swimmers and can stay under water for up to 15 minutes.

Muskrats back feet are partially webbed to help with swimming.

Muskrats nostrils are shaped like the number 7 which allows the animals to inhale remaining oxygen from a recently exhaled breath.

Muskrats can produce 4 to 8 young per litter and 2 to 4 litters of young per year.

The average lifespan of a muskrat is 18 months.

Muskrats can help maintain open-water wetlands with their feeding and house building but can also cause damage to restored wetlands when they burrow into the dikes. Some methods to combat muskrat damage include burying a snow fence or chain link fence in the center of the earthen dike.

85

Great Blue Heron Great Blue Heron with feathers of steely grey Poke, poke, poking at your fishy prey Tall and thin, a stick with a beak Wading on stilts among the reeds Standing silent and still, are you really there?

Lifting off effortlessly, gliding through the air Giant wing span with your neck neatly tucked in Searching below for the next riverbend Symbol of wetlands, water, and air Wherever you are, we know that fish are there!

86 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Most of the time great blue herons can be seen wading in wetlands stalking fish with their scissor-like beaks. They tower motionless over the water with their height of four feet, waiting to spear a fish or catch a frog or snake when they approach close enough. Their blue-gray color seems to blend into the scenery, but you cannot miss them when they take flight with their six-foot wingspan and gangly legs trailing behind.

Quick Clips The great blue heron is not only the largest heron in North America, but also among the most common and widespread. The heron is a large bird when it stretches out its wings to as much as seven feet, yet average adult weight is only 5 to 8 pounds. They require clean water, an abundant source of fish and frogs, and a lack of disturbance to hunt their prey.

The presence of great blue herons along lakeshores and riverbanks is always a good sign; both as a wonder of nature and a symbol of a healthy aquatic environment.

Herons are colonial nesters, nesting in rookeries in trees of ten to several hundred pairs.

Herons defend their nests by throwing up on intruders below or by attacking potential predators at the nest with their beak.

Occasionally a heron will choke to death trying to eat a fish that is too large to swallow.

To distinguish a heron a crane in flight, look at the neck. The heron will hold its neck in a sharp “S� shape, while the crane will hold its neck outstretched.

87

Northern pike I’m big, I’m mean I hide in my skin of green Among the weeds That’s where I feed I search and search For a tasty perch I’ll even take a bluegill For my stomach it will fill I spawn when its cold,

88 • Stories from the shore

My eggs they are gold They stick to the weeds To fulfill my needs The plants are my cover, That’s where I hover Where the water is clean I’m big and I’m mean!

Quick Clips Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r The northern pike is a common fish in most of Wisconsin’s rivers and lakes. Pike prefer to live near some form of cover including aquatic plants, downed trees and other natural debris. There, they wait to ambush smaller fish. Their preferred food is yellow perch and white suckers, both having narrow bodies which are easily swallowed.

However, they also feed on a variety of other fish, sometimes even other northern pike and musky.

Aquatic plants are important to the successful reproduction of northern pike. As the ice begins to melt in spring, the pike cruise shallow areas in search of aquatic plants and flooded grasses.

Such places are their preferred spawning habitat.

The eggs are laid and fertilized as the female and several males swim side by side. The eggs have a sticky surface which allows the eggs to cling to

plant stems. There, they develop over approximately two weeks time. The newly hatched fry stay in the weed cover, actually attaching themselves to the vegetation by a sucker type membrane on the top of their heads. After absorbing their yolk sack, they leave in search of microscopic food. Pike grow quickly, reaching on average 10 inches their first year, 15 inches their second year and 18 inches their third year. Growth varies depending on their food supply.

Northern pike are an important recreational species of fish. They are relatively easy to catch using live or artificial baits. Most anglers remember the first pike they caught as also being their first “trophy� fish. Pike put on an exciting fight and are excellent eating when prepared properly.

Northern pike spawn at the time of ice break-up in spring when water temperature reach 38 degrees, being one of the first species to spawn in lakes and streams.

Aquatic vegetation is critical to the successful reproduction of pike because the vegetation holds their sticky eggs off the lake bottom and newly hatched pike attach to the vegetation as well.

A large female pike can produce as many as 100,000 eggs each year.

Northern pike prefer to eat cylindrical shaped fish such as yellow perch when available.

Shoreline development that removes aquatic vegetation is a great threat to northern pike and their important spawning and feeding habitat.

Contrary to popular belief, northern pike do not shed their teeth during summer. They will replace teeth that are broken off while feeding.

89

White Water Lily A summer night on a lake is a magic time. The moon looks down on the scene reflecting on its own likeness rising from the depths. The silent orb illuminates every lily flower each one glowing a ghostly white on the black water. The sweet fragrance of white water lilies wafts on the evening breeze. A chorus of loons and leopard frogs finishes the job, casting a spell over the watery scene. ≈ 90 • Stories from the shore

Quick Clips Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Once dismissed as “weeds” by many waterfront property owners, aquatic plants provide essential fish and wildlife habitat and help keep lakes clean and healthy. Through photosynthesis, aquatic vegetation produces oxygen for the lake. These plants also use nutrients that might otherwise fuel midsummer algae blooms. A diverse complement of aquatic plants provide food for waterfowl and are a tremendously important aspect of nearshore habitat providing food, shelter and nesting areas for fish, invertebrates and wildlife. In addition, aquatic plants form a root network that holds

Fish such as northern pike and yellow perch lay their eggs on aquatic plants.

bottom sediments in place and protect shorelines from wave erosion.

White water lilies are usually found in the quiet waters of lakes or ponds. In early summer, furled underwater leaves can be seen emerging from the tuber. As the summer progresses, leaves float on the water’s surface with flowers scattered among them. Flowering occurs throughout the summer.

Flowers open during the morning and close by midafternoon. When the white water lily is done blooming, it dips below the water surface where seeds mature inside a fleshy fruit.

White water lily seeds are eaten by waterfowl.

The tubers of white water lilies are eaten by deer, ducks, muskrat, beaver, moose and porcupine.

In medieval times the water lily was used in love potions including a ritual method of harvest to assure the usefulness of the potion.

91

Northern Water Snake It was the perfect fall weekend for camping. Just warm enough in jeans and a sweatshirt with cool, crisp nights cuddled in cozy sleeping bags. The blue of the sky brought out the vibrant red and gold leaves of the basswood and maples along the shoreline of the river. This state park was one of the family’s favorite fall destinations and the colorful tents surrounding ever-burning campfires felt like home.

Aaron was in his senior year of high school and his parents were pleasantly surprised when he asked if he could join them on their annual outing, and he wanted to bring a friend. Like many students, Aaron had been too busy learning how to live his own life to spend time with the family. They all missed him, especially his 5 year old sister Molly.

To be totally truthful, the weekend hadn’t started out very well between Aaron and his sister. Molly adored her big brother and his tall, handsome friends, and had a special bond with Tristan, the friend that Aaron had invited along. The boys had planned to hike, and canoe, and maybe do some fishing, anything to expand their horizons; anything that would take them out of sight of the parents. Little Molly tagging after her brother and Tristan had not gone over well and the two had been bickering the whole time.

Just that morning Aaron and Tristan had taken the canoe out on the river. Molly begged to go, but the answer had been a firm “Get lost” from the boys. Tearfully, Molly had plopped down on the tall grass near the shore and waited and watched.

She was surprised when Aaron and Tristan started to fool around in the canoe - splashing with their paddles, shouting and rocking the canoe from side to side. Aaron was a certified lifeguard and a Boy Scout and was proud of his record of safe behavior. They had taken a chance this morning and left their life 92 • Stories from the shore

preservers laying in the bottom of the canoe since they hadn’t planned on going very far from shore. Even that was unlike Aaron, but the horseplay in the boat was really unusual.

Although Molly was a little scared, mostly because this behavior was kind of surprising, she watched the boys playing in the canoe with a sense of longing. She was no sissy girl in frilly dresses, she was the definition of a tomboy. Everything her big brother did, Molly tried to do too. She giggled to herself as she watched Tristan stand up in the canoe and shout. They were sure acting goofy this morning!

The early frost had melted into sparkling diamond dew drops but it was still a cool day. Molly’s eyes widened in surprise as she gazed at the boys in the boat. As if the world had gone into slow motion Molly saw the canoe jerk to the right, swish to the left and slam back to the right. Tristan was still standing up and did a funny looking dance as his hands flew one way and then the other with the motion of the canoe. But Molly realized he wasn’t dancing when she saw him lose his balance and lean way too far over the gunwale.

She couldn’t be certain if Tristan fell out of the canoe first or if he got dumped out as the watercraft did a slow roll onto its side. But in the blink of an eye both boys were in the cold autumn water – fully dressed and without PFD’s.

Molly wasn’t worried – both boys were good swimmers and she could see the blaze orange life preservers bobbing next to the half-sunk canoe. But the boys were still acting strangely. They seemed almost panicky, kicking and splashing and shouting. Were they still just goofing around?

It never crossed Molly’s mind to run for help. She knew Aaron and Tristan would just climb back into the canoe and drag their waterlogged selves to shore. They practiced capsizing canoes all the time and knew what to do. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw two sets of jean clad legs kicking frantically AWAY from the canoe and towards the shore. They were abandoning ship and trying to get out of the water quickly.

W at e r • 93

94 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Molly was too young to think of stories like the Loch Ness Monster and really didn’t realize that there could be any creature in a river to be afraid of. She was mystified by her brother and his friend. This must be another “boy” thing that she had been told so many times she would never understand.

“Fine, let them have fun without me,” Molly thought to herself. She gave up trying to figure out why Tristan and Aaron were swimming in their clothes on such a cold day and started exploring the river’s edge.

Rays of sun sparkled through drops of dew on an intricate spider’s web. Molly chased the rainbow created by the water drops and continued down the shore. It was too late in the season to see many dragonflies or frogs but a few hardy New England Asters still glowed purple and gold. As she watched the shoreline a movement in the water caught her eye.

Was that a fish that she saw swimming on the surface? It was a long, skinny something that seemed to be slithering along the top of the water. Molly crept down to the edge of the water and stepped in. Luckily she had put on her shiny red boots this morning to keep her socks dry from the dew.

She leaned closer and stared. It was a snake! In the water! She had seen and touched snakes at summer camp. She didn’t know that there was any such thing as a snake that could swim. Maybe this one had accidentally fallen in the water and couldn’t find its way out, like her brother and Aaron had.

Carefully Molly reached out and grasped the snake just behind its head like she had been taught. As she picked it out of the water the snake writhed and seemed to be trying to curl its body around her arm. It felt funny – scaly and wet, but not unlike handling the camp’s pet snake last summer.

Molly stared in the small beads of eyes that looked like marbles. She was mesmerized by the flicking tongue that darted in and out of the snake’s mouth. But she wasn’t afraid, just fascinated by this skinny swimmer with the reddish brown mottled skin.

W at e r • 95

She was too caught up in her new friend to notice Aaron. He had climbed onto the river bank and was yelling, again. Startled, Molly looked up and realized Aaron was yelling at her. “Put it down Molly, drop it, drop it!” he hollered. He was panting and his eyes were wide and frantic. For the first time that morning Molly started to feel a shiver of fear.

Aaron stumbled wetly over to Molly. “Molly, drop it, drop the snake!” he screamed. Molly glanced up from her new friend with surprise. She had planned to introduce the snake to her mom and dad and then let it go into the grass.

She didn’t have far to go to find her parents. Aaron and Tristan’s shouting had brought them running to the scene. And what a scene it was! A cold, wet, bedraggled pair of teenage boys staring with horror at a little blonde girl in shiny red boots gripping a writhing snake in her small hands. Molly’s mom understood at once what was going on. The high school boys didn’t know that there are no poisonous water snakes in Wisconsin. A few too many scary campfire stories had led them to believe that Molly’s little friend was a deadly water moccasin.

The snake had startled them when it swam next to the canoe. Tristan was not overly fond of scaly reptiles and had started to panic. Panic and canoes do not mix well and the canoe had swamped. Being in the water with the snake was more terrifying than having it swim next to the canoe and both boys were in a frenzy by the time they reached the shore. Seeing Molly with the deadly creature in her hands had sent them over the top!

It took a few minutes to calm everyone down but soon they were all chuckling, or at least grinning sheepishly, over the panic. Molly’s mom snapped a picture of her with her treasure before she let her friend go. And her big brother Aaron had no problem letting Molly tag along on the afternoon hike, even though it meant carrying her on his back most of the way. ≈ 96 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r Northern water snakes are a common Wisconsin snake. As their name implies, they spend their life in and near the water. These snakes are active both day and night and are commonly seen sunning themselves on rocks and logs in rivers and lakes.

They prefer clean river systems but can be found in lakes, sloughs, ponds and marshes. Young and newborn Northern water snakes often hide beneath rocks and logs at the water’s edge.

These snakes have live young. The newborns are often over 6� long and one litter can have more than 30 young snakes. Once the snakes are born they are completely independent. Northern water

Quick Clips snakes are active aquatic hunters for baby turtles, live, dead and diseased fish, amphibians, worms, crayfish, and even small mammals. These snakes have been documented swimming through a school of fish with their mouths wide open and swallowing everything they can catch. Northern water snakes swallow their prey alive.

Northern water snakes can dive to the bottom of the waterway and anchor to a log or rock. Often they resurface after 5 minutes but can stay under water for up to one and a half hours.

Northern water snakes are not venomous. They may bite if handled and do have an anticoagulate in their saliva so the bite may bleed more than expected. Simply cleaning the wound with soap and water is the only medical care needed for this type of bite.

Northern water snakes hibernate over winter in rock crevices, often with other species of snakes.

The underside of the Northern water snake has red half-moon shaped markings.

In the spring and fall, large groups of Northern water snakes can be found sunning together. In the summer these snakes are more solitary.

97

Clam I am clam, mussel I am Resting quietly on mud and sand Home on a river without a dam Moving upstream whenever I can I do not move, I do not swim When a fish goes by I catch on to him Glochidia sac like a worm, long and slim Clinging to gills, or maybe a fin Do you know what happens now?

Can you watch me grow and grow?

A small, young mussel lets the fish go Where I settle to the riverbed below

98 • Stories from the shore

A hinged bi-valve, I grow in rings Eating detritus and other tiny things Drawing in water and that which it brings A tasty meal for otters and minks Find me in rivers and many lakes Use me for buttons or pearls that are fakes Protect my water home in which we both partake Stop the siltation for all of our sakes ≈

Wa d i n g a l i t t l e d e e p e r Mussels, or Unionids, and clams are mollusks, which means they are invertebrates (no back bone).

They have a hinged, two-shell outer support, use their one foot to anchor to the bottom substrate, and are filter feeders that eat algae, fine organic material and plankton in the water column. There are two species of clams in Wisconsin and about 50 species of mussels.

Mussels are found on every continent in the world except Antarctica and can be freshwater or saltwater. Scientists estimate that almost 70% of the mussels in North America are extinct or in peril.

They are susceptible to overharvest (they can’t really run away!), dam construction and operation, poor water quality, water quantity concerns, and exotic species problems.

The life file cycle of a mussel is fascinating. The male mussel releases sperm into the water column.

The female mussel is continuously siphoning water through its body parts and the sperm enters the female shell this way. The fertilized eggs grow into a larval stage, called a glochidia on the oxygen rich gills of the female mussel. Some larval glochidia resemble worms and don’t look anything like a

Quick Clips “clam.” Many mussel species have some type of a biological “lure” to attract a certain fish species near. Once the fish approaches, the glochidia are released into the water column and attach to the host fish’s gills, fins, etc.

The attached glochidia form cysts that do not harm the fish and move with the host fish (usually only a specific species) up and down stream.

Inside the cysts, the glochidia change into small, juvenile mussels. These tiny mussels detach from the host fish, sink to the bottom and begin their independent life. Mussels are long-lived and commonly live 10 years or more.

Mussels and men have a long history together.

Native Americans used mussels for food, tools, and decorations. In the early 1900’s Mississippi River mussels were extensively harvested for the pearl button industry. Today, our freshwater mussels are used for seed pearl growth in the cultured pearl industry. Muskrats, otters, some fish species and some birds feast on mussels and have been known to leave a large pile of empty shells called a midden along the shoreline.

Some mussels have been known to live 100 years.

Mussels can filter up to 1 liter of water per hour. The invasive species, zebra mussel, actually “cleans up” a lake by removing the plankton from the water column.

Some mussels use their foot to slowly drag themselves across the stream bed. This would be like you trying to crawl across the floor with your tongue.

As mussels grow, they produce additional rings on their shell, similar to the growth rings of a tree.

The snuffbox mussel traps its host fish in a gentle grip as the glochidia is released so that the small larvae have a chance to attach the gills of the fish.

99

American Coot One can only speculate that in the summer of 1944, meat rationing was strict enough that the government deemed it necessary to prompt the public to eat more coot through distribution of this pamphlet.

August 19, 1944 For Immediate Release: With the coot safely in hand, follow this bit of advice: “Always skin coots. Save only the breast, legs, liver and gizzard. Remove all fat because of its strong taste.”

First, a quick method for those who don’t mind a little game flavor: Roll the salted and peppered pieces in flour and drop into a skillet of deep hot bacon grease. Cook thoroughly and serve.

If it is desired to subtract some of the wild taste, it may be done by squeezing lime or lemon juice on the pieces and keeping them overnight in a cool place.

Ever try a coot stew? Here’s how it’s done: Cut into pieces and place in enough cold water to cover. Add salt, pepper, herbs as desired, a small amount of Worcestershire, and raw potatoes, onion and carrots, chopped into small pieces. Stew slowly until the meat is well done.

Coot hunters have developed many other ways to cook their favorite bird. Individual tastes vary. But on one point they are agreed, “Coots are good shooting; good eating.”

100 • Stories from the shore

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r The American coot is a chicken-like bird of the marshes and lakes of Wisconsin. Sometimes called mud hens or coot ducks, the coot is often mistaken for a true duck when in fact it is a common water bird in the rail family. The slate-black birds have white chicken-like bills marked with a dark band near the tip.

During migration, large flocks of coots gather on lakes to rest and feed. They are seldom quiet, but keep up a noisy gabbling regardless of their activities, day and night. They are skilled, strong swimmers and divers, able to feed on invertebrates and plants twenty-five feet below the surface.

On shore, coots feed on a variety of plants, such as wild celery and sago pondweed, as well as berries and fruit.

Quick Clips Although it can swim and dive as ducks do, the American coot does not have webbed feet like a duck. Instead of having all the toes connected by webs, each coot toe has lobes of flesh on the sides.

It is these specialized toes that enable coots to swim and dive with ease. In order to take flight, coots must furiously patter across the water, due to their relatively weak flight muscles, in a manner similar to Canada geese.

Coots have been hunted and eaten in Wisconsin for generations, but its reputation for flesh that tastes like marsh mud saved it from the guns of plundering market hunters. Even so, people have enjoyed eating coot enough to create coot recipes.

Beyond this selective audience, coots are good indicators of healthy aquatic vegetation, their primary food.

The American Coot is not a duck.

It has a black body and a bright white triangular beak that looks like a chicken’s.

Coots feet are not webbed like ducks’. Instead of having all the toes connected by webs, each coot toe has lobes on the sides of each segment.

American coots build nests along the water’s edge and build a ramp to the water so that young hatchlings can easily climb in and out.

Coots cannot take off from the water unless they have a running start across the water.

101

Water strider

Hanging off the dock, a giant face in a tiny world

Who are these bugs skating along on tiny whorls?

Two short legs in front to grab insect prey

Long middle legs that row like oars in a boat

Carefully balanced on the surface, how do you float?

102 • Stories from the shore

Sharp sucking mouths for eating mosquito larvae

I reach out to touch – you never slow down

The bug skitters off, leaving tiny ripples all around

Wa d i n g a L i t t l e D e e p e r When was the last time you spent a morning laying on your pier just observing the busy water world below you? If you’ve ever wondered at a long skinny bug with outstretched legs skating across the lake surface, you’ve seen a water strider. Water striders have thousands of tiny hairs on their legs that distribute their body weight in such a way that they don’t break the water’s surface tension. These voracious mosquito eaters move themselves across the lake by “rowing” with their mid legs. Studies have shown that as the legs move, tiny whirlpools are created.

Quick Clips The water strider, also called a pond skater, lives in slow moving water near the shoreline of lakes and ponds. The water strider depends on natural shorelines, preferring the protection of overhanging trees and the shade they provide.

The female lays her eggs on stems of aquatic plants at the shoreline. Water striders are predators on other aquatic insects and as a result help control other insect populations, especially mosquitoes.

They also serve as a food source for fish, frogs and salamanders. Scientists have found that water striders can be used to determine impacts of mercury levels in lakes on other animals higher up the food chain.

Water striders eat living or dead insects. One of their favorite foods is worms that fall into the water.

When water striders move, their middle legs create tiny whirlpools, similar to an oar.

Water striders can crawl inside a plant stem to stay warm and can over-winter in Wisconsin.

When mating, water striders communicate by sending ripples of water to each other.

103

Gracie The teakettle whistle startled Gracie out of her stillness. She had been standing near the big bay window, warmed by the touch of the weak, winter sun, transfixed by the site of her beautiful granddaughter huddled on the pier. It was a cold day for early November and the crisp air had the tang of a snowfall soon to come.

But Gracie had set this weekend aside to start packing up the cabin. She knew that she could easily put this task off, possibly forever. But the woodpile was stacked, the oil furnace turned on, and she couldn’t turn down Jenny’s offer to help.

She threw one last glance out the window – the shoreline was sparkling with the beginning of ice over.

There were still a few gold maple leaves and rusty oaks on the huge old trees to perfectly set off the deep green of the stately cedars lining the shoreline. The boats were all stored, or sold, and the lawn chairs long gone. The window framed a perfect view of steely blue waves, surrounding Jenny so that she looked like the last remaining survivor in a wild, natural water world.

How many seasons had Gracie watched come and go at this magical lakefront hideaway? How many family outings, special occasions, or just moments of peaceful tranquility had they enjoyed here? Too many to count and too many to remember.

Gracie had been just a baby the first time she was here, but the black and white photos in her mother’s album told the story well. Gracie’s grandparents had met for the first time right here. Her parents’ wedding had been small and quiet, her mom’s parents in attendance but her dad’s mother and father had not been able to make the long trip from the family farm. So the city doctor and the country farmer were finally meeting at the cabin, with the newly married couple and baby Gracie.

104 • Stories from the shore

The pictures showed it well. Two glowing young people, relaxed and smiling, a chubby youngster in a sunhat splashing in the shallows, Grandma and Grandpa Carter tanned and in bathing suits, and the other grandparents a bit more uncomfortable in long pants, stockings and a dress. But the lake atmosphere had worked its magic that weekend. Cold beer, hot dogs on the grill, and gooey roasted marshmallows accented the soothing lap of waves against the shoreline. That weekend strong family ties were forged.

The grandparents continued to get together at the cottage and before long everyone was enjoying swimming and visiting.

Paging through the photo album, Gracie smiled as she touched the face of her beloved Grandpa.

Even today, a grandparent herself, she still missed that man. He taught her to swim and helped her put a worm on the hook to fish off the shore. Gracie would never forget his laughing smile as he motored the old wooden ski boat around the lake. And she would never forget the quiet times that just the two of them had spent trolling the reedy shoreline for that big bass. She knew that they must have spoken on those trips, but what she remembered most was the comfortable silence broken only by the whir of the line as they casted and the plop of the lure as it splashed into the weeds. Had they caught that big bass? Did it really even matter?

Gracie remembered her grandfather as an Olympic-caliber swimmer. He taught all the grandkids to swim and to dive into the deep water off the raft. That first time swimming out to the raft without a life preserver was a milestone. Once they could be trusted to make that swim safely, Gracie and her sister spent days on the raft. Often, they would swim carefully, holding the books they were reading above their heads, and collapse on the raft to spend the afternoon lazing in the sun, rocking in the waves, lost in the world of their books.

W at e r • 1 0 5

Everyone in Gracie’s family was a strong swimmer. As they grew to be teens, the raft didn’t present enough of a challenge and soon the new dare was to swim across the lake. From shore, it seemed like it was miles across. It was a deep, clean water lake, but who knew what kind of weeds or fish might be lurking in the center of that dark bowl of water? As the oldest, Gracie was the first child to want to try this daring feat.

They devised a perfect plan. Her sister Jo would canoe beside the swimming Gracie, with a life preserver handy to toss if needed. It was the perfect day for a swim, warm and sunny, and not too windy. They set out from shore and Gracie was certain that this would be an easy swim.

Gracie swam past the raft, that was nothing! She swam farther than she had ever been before. She knew from the lake map hanging on the wall in the cottage that the water was about 20’ deep here. She could almost make out the weeds growing on the sandy bottom if the sun shone right. She kept swimming, strong arm strokes and steady kicks, cutting through what seemed like miles of water. As her body settled into the rhythm of the stroke, her mind began to wander. She knew that she was near the center of the lake, and she tried to recall the lake map in her mind. One hundred feet deep in the center? That meant that there was 100’ of murky water beneath her? 100’ where there could be a big tooth muskie, or a slimy leech, or just an endless column of water. She lifted her head into the sun, smiled at her sister in the canoe, and relaxed into the feeling of being one with the water, part of the natural ecosystem of the lake. Gracie finished that swim with no problem but with a life experience that she would never forget.

As the young Gracie grew, the family outings to the cottage became less frequent. But they still managed to celebrate the 4th of July at the lake with a big neighborhood picnic and a candlelit boat parade around the lake. And they started a new tradition of one winter outing each year. Gracie’s dad would shovel off a large area of ice so they could skate. Most winters the ice was thick enough for a blazing fire out on the lake and hot cocoa was always a staple. Gracie remembered how the cedars looked good enough to eat with

106 • Stories from the shore

a coat of white frosting and the endless animal tracks through the snow and onto the lake. The hopping prints of rabbits, the dragging trail of a mouse, the delicate hoof prints of the white tail deer, and down the shoreline the belly rub of an otter. These animals all joined Gracie’s family in the celebration of a snow covered winter season at the lake.

The cabin door burst open with a swirl of leaves and a rush of brisk November air, startling Gracie out of the past. Jenny’s cheeks glowed pink and the tip of her nose was reddened by the wind. Gazing at her granddaughter Gracie realized that Jenny was the same age Gracie had been when she got married. Gracie and her beau David had spent many weekends at the cabin when they were dating. David was an avid hunter and fisherman and had begun the annual tradition of planting a tree or shrub somewhere on the property each year in early spring. The brilliant red osier dogwoods on the west side of the pier were some of his early plantings, as was the thriving black willow near the property line where the kids had made forts growing up.

One of Gracie’s fondest memories of the early days with David at the lake had to be the day he proposed.

It was a golden Indian Summer fall day, they were still in shorts late in September. Trees were beginning to put on brilliant fall colors but the loons had not yet left for the winter. Gracie and David were lucky enough to be at the cottage mid-week and it felt like they were the only humans on the lake that afternoon in the canoe. They paddled past a noisy flock of mallards on their way south, they heard songbirds calling from the trees, and they even startled a deer and fawn at the water’s edge. On the way back to the cottage David pulled to shore at their favorite sun drenched rock and they climbed out of the canoe to absorb the season’s last rays. As they sat shoulder to shoulder, David reached his arm around Gracie and clasped her hand in his. Without words he slipped the ring onto her palm and gently closed her fist. She knew what he had given her without looking and the tears of joy slipping past her smile said as much as her head bobbing nod.

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That day started an entirely new season of lake country visits for Gracie and David. Now they were the young parents bringing their toddlers to the cabin. They spent countless weekends with friends, sitting around a campfire solving all the problems of the world while sleepy heads drifted to shoulders. Have you ever noticed how honest you can be when your face is in the dark but you are staring into the shifting colors of a smoldering fire?

Gracie and David continued the family tradition of a winter visit but as the family grew, so did the outing.

Aunts, uncles, cousins and friends were soon attending the annual winter fun day. The kids still skated on the bumpy frozen lake but now there were holes being drilled for ice fishing and the pungent smell of snowmobile exhaust as the more daring visitors raced across the lake on their sleds. Looking back, it seemed impossible that all those guests found room to sleep inside the cozy cottage.

This same cottage that Gracie was now getting ready to sell. She and David had planned to spend their retirement here, once she finally convinced him to retire that is. Looking around the room Gracie spotted the walking stick that David had started using on their long fall hikes around the lake. She saw his gardening gloves that he had been using earlier that summer when he added a new flower bed area of sunny yellow sneezeweed at the shoreline. His binoculars rested at the windowsill where he could pick them up whenever a new flash of color appeared at the bird feeder. Everything was here and ready to be used, except that David was missing.

Jenny saw her grandmother start to collapse, she seemed to just shrink in on herself. She rushed to her side and lowered Gracie to the edge of the overstuffed chair that had been placed strategically for the view of the lake. Tears filled Gracie’s eyes as she again drank in the site of the chilly water and the colorful trees.

Memories crowded through her mind as she relived so many priceless times. And then she glanced at Jenny, at the next generation that had started making their own memories of times at the lake.

108 • Stories from the shore

It had seemed like such a simple choice. Lakefront property was selling for a premium everywhere and Gracie could easily make enough money to help Jenny and all the other grandchildren pay for their college tuition. She knew that the cottage would be haunted by memories that would be a painful reminder of so much that had changed. But looking at the young girl standing next to her, Gracie started to realize that Jenny, and the other youngsters, loved this place too. The lake and the cottage were as much a part of Jenny as they were of Gracie, and the past only added another critical layer to the history of this family. She knew at that moment that she would miss the scarlet flash of the cardinal that visited her cedars, that without the laughing cry of the loon in the later summer evening her summer would not be complete, that there were new children to teach how to swim, and to swim across the lake with. Gracie realized that this special place was part of her past, her present, and must be part of her future. She dried her eyes with a self effacing laugh and went to make Jenny a cup of hot chocolate, using the secret recipe she had learned from her Grandma Carter. ≈

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My Stories from the Shore

11 0 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Dani Klute, Junior, acrylic paint, ‘07

My st o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e • 111

Jonathan Kangas, Freshman, mixed media, ‘07

11 2 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

My st o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e • 113

114 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Erika Fortlage, Freshman, pastel pencil, ‘07

My st o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e • 115

McKenna Hemker, Sophomore, oil pastel, ‘07

116 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

My st o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e • 11 7

11 8 • S t o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e

Kiara Opps, Senior, mixed media, ‘07

My st o r i e s f r o m t h e s h o r e • 119

If you have stories that you are willing to share, please send contributions to: DNR Shoreland Team Leader · 101 S. Webster Street · PO Box 7921 · Madison, Wisconsin 53707-7921

PUB# WT- 877

Stories from the Shore

When science meets art, society advances.

Stories from the Shore