JOURNAL
Here you see the sun leaving us yesterday after helping to brighten a clear but cold winter’s day.
A mass of arctic air has been visiting us for several days, keeping temperatures well below freezing. However, pucks are on the ponds and properly dressed winter lovers are out and about.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 22, 2022.)
Bufflehead ducks, the smallest sea ducks in North America, have been arriving from Canada all week. A few are tuckered out when they get here and take sunbaths.
These birds (Bucephala albeola) are fascinatingly strange. They seldom reach 16 inches in length and fly here and there in fast, low formations that make no whirring noise. When in the water, they dive almost continuously for crabs, clams, and sea plants. Yet, they nest inside tree cavities abandoned by flickers and pileated woodpeckers.
Their name refers to the black and white males, which some think are “buffalo-headed.” They have enlarged heads with a big white scoop behind the eyes that they can flex larger to make their heads resemble (somewhat) those of American “buffalos” (“bison” to quibblers). The smaller-headed females are darker overall with just a dabbed white streak behind the eyes. (Leighton archive images taken in Brooklin, Maine.)
A marauding band of blue jays came screaming through the woods behind our house yesterday. The pleasant invasion made me realize that we haven’t talked about our winter birds recently. So, let’s briefly focus on blue jays (Cyanocitta cristata), which always seem to have a mischievous gleam in their eyes:
As do crows and some other birds, blue jays spend the winter in larger groups than at other times. It’s thought that this winter flocking is a defensive measure (more eyes, ears, and squawks) to detect and deter hawks and owls. Those bird-eating raptors can see and attack their prey better in a leafless world – especially if that prey is bright blue.
On that subject, the jays are not partly blue in the sense that their feathers contain blue pigment; they’re partly blue because the structure of those colorful feathers refracts light in a way that our eyes perceive the color blue. If you ground those blue feathers, we’re told, you’d get a pile of brown beta-keratin, the protein that birds share with reptiles due to their common origins. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, in prior years.)
This random alignment in Naskeag Harbor yesterday seems to tell a winter’s tale:
Two lobster traps from last season apparently are awaiting storage; they sit in front of a collapsed scallop drag that apparently is awaiting reinstallation on a fishing vessel, and, in the background, the crew of Fishing Vessel Dear Abbie: is getting their own replacement drag ready to continue the scallop scooping season. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 19, 2022.)
It’s sparkling clear and the ambient temperature is 12 degrees (F) here, as I write. There is little wind, so there is no significant windchill to make noses even colder. Recent rains have cleared away virtually all of the snow; the ground is frozen hard; moss is crunchy underfoot, and spring-fed streams are running through ice tunnels of their own making, as you see in this image from yesterday.
I’ve always wondered how those streams make their own ice tunnels, since water freezes at 32 degrees whether or not it’s flowing. A little research indicates that the first event in building a stream ice tunnel is surrounding air that is much colder than 32 degrees.
That’s because flowing stream surface water mixes with water below that is higher in temperature and has trouble getting to 32 and staying there. However, when it gets cold enough long enough, the churning of the water can’t stop surface waters from staying at 32 or below and turning into ice. This surface ice can protect the water below and keep it flowing at above 32 degrees.
If, however, it gets very, very cold over time, the temperature of the entire flowing stream can be driven to below 32 degrees long enough to freeze the whole stream into a sculpture of itself. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 18, 2022.)
Here you see the Town pier in Naskeag Harbor at about mid-day yesterday. Tens of thousands of homes in Maine lost power during this storm, but we’re not aware of any significant damage done locally.
Driving rain and southeast winds that gusted up to 65 miles per hour slammed ashore, panicking the usually placid Harbor waters. And, it happened during an unusually high tide that was being influenced by January’s full moon, which also was rising yesterday.
Unfortunately, the storm clouds prevented us from getting a look at that full moon, which was named the Wolf Moon by early settlors who thought that it attracted hungry wolves. Thus began another false belief for those who are more credulous than curious when it comes to finding the truth. For those who hold such old (and perhaps new) false beliefs, here’s an “actual” photograph of January’s Full Wolf Moon:
(Pier image takin in Brooklin, Maine, on January 17, 2022; moon image created by merging two archive images, one of which was a Siberian Husky.)
Our first significant sea ice of the winter started to form in the nooks and crannies of Great Cove during last week’s freezing spell, as you can see in the images here from yesterday. Today’s above-freezing temperatures and driving rain here probably will prove fatal to this starter ice.
The salt in sea water prevents its freezing at temperatures higher than 28.4 degrees (F). However, extended periods of temperatures at or below that sea-freezing temperature can start slower moving coastal waters to coagulate. At first, as you see in the images, the sea ice usually forms a cloth-like covering on the surface that settles over the rocky sea bottom at low tide like a thin blanket.
The rising tide will float the new ice and break it up a bit. But, once floating, it often will start to thicken as almost circular servings of interconnected “pancake” ice, which can turn into larger, overlapping second courses resembling huge, scalloped potatoes Then, if bitter cold continues, it can solidify into an almost uniform thick mass that can bear weight.
In the colder days of yore, the Cove and Eggemoggin Reach that you see in the image could become entirely covered with sea ice thick enough to support wagon and automobile traffic to the islands from the mainland. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 16, 2022.)
Here, in yesterday’s extreme cold, are a few of our remaining beach rose “hips.” Through the ages, this plant (Rosa rugosa) and its hips have been known by amusingly crude names that reflect one of its potential problems for humans. But, we’ll get to that in a moment.
For many other mammals and birds, these seed-holding hips are one of Nature’s winter survival foods. The hips are rich in vitamins C and B, carotene (provitamin A), and minerals. But they’re very acidic. Humans usually cook them with sugar to make them into jellies, syrups, soups, and other foods. That’s where the problem arises.
Care must be taken to remove and throw away all the tiny hairs on the seeds and elsewhere inside the hips. Those hairs can irritate our skin, mucous membranes, and our entire digestive tract, especially the end thereof.
That’s why many Native Americans reportedly called the plant the “itchy-anus berry bush” (“kikcokalokiqeminsimus” to Maine’s Passamaquoddy tribe members). Even today, the French call these rose hips “grate-culs,” which translates to “ass-scratchers.” (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 15, 2022.)
Here you see the WoodenBoat School marsh pond braving our recent freezing weather. Note the dry and decaying cattails that edge much of the pond. Below the ice, these dead reminders of summer still provide shelter for the small fish and other creatures that remain alive.
They also have special qualities that helped some of the northern tribes of Native Americans survive harsh winters, according to historians. The Indians used them to create mats that became insulating coverings for winter quarters and child carriers.
The shape of cattail leaves allows them to be interlocked in layers. They also contain small honey-comb-like air pockets, making the leaves excellent insulators. The mats of layered leaves also expanded with winter’s humidity, which made them virtually watertight. But, the sheltering effect reportedly lasted only two years or so before replacement was needed. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 10, 2022.)
This image appeared yesterday in our monthly column in the Ellsworth American. The column is about the mysteries of scallop fishing in Maine.
(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 30, 2021.) To read the column, click here: http://www.5backroad.com/montly-column
After a dangerously cold day Tuesday, the sun decided to light this fire in the evening sky. Winter sunsets are our best.
(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 11, 2022.)
Troubled winter has moved back in with us; but, as usual, we don’t know how long she’ll be able to stay. Here you see our first significant sea smoke of the year swarming across Naskeag Harbor yesterday.
The smoke also raced low and fast down Eggemoggin Reach.:
Sea smoke, also known as frost smoke, is a form of fog that is created when very cold winds flow over significantly warmer sea waters. When this happens, the winds enter the layer of moisture-saturated, semi-warm air just above the water surface.
That saturated warmer air layer is cooled by the winds to below the layer’s dew point, which causes the layer to shed some of its water in the form of vapors. These vapors condense into frosted “smoke.” The process is somewhat similar to the creation of “steam” when a bowl of hot soup is served in cooler air.
When these images were taken, the recorded ambient temperature here was 1 degree (F), with a wind chill of minus 14; the wind was at 10 miles per hour with gusts of 24, and the water temperature was 45.4 degrees, according to local reports. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 11, 2022.
Here you see yesterday afternoon’s waxing gibbous moon in our southeastern sky, 248,147 miles away from Earth. The low winter sun is at the right angle to light the orb up brighter than its surrounding sky.
The moon is “waxing” when it has an illuminated part that is in the process of increasing in size. It is “gibbous” when that illuminated part is 50.1 percent to 99.9 percent of the moon. That’s when the lighted area of the moon is oval (“humped”) or round, but the moon is not yet 100 percent illuminated from our perspective (“full”). The moon shown here was 61.1 percent illuminated, according to the lunar tables.
This month’s full moon, named the wolf full moon by early settlers, will rise on January 17, 2022, at 3:55 p.m. in our east-southeast sky, according to those tables. If we use a compass pointed north, with east at 90 degrees and South at 180, the moon will rise from the direction of 117 degrees on the compass. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 10, 2021, at 3:34 p.m.)
Here you see Conary Cove’s iconic red boathouse during the golden hour before sunset on Saturday. After yesterday’s heavy rain and warm temperatures, virtually all of that snow is gone now.
We await tomorrow with a shudder; the weather tellers say it will be sunny, but the coldest day of the year so far. We’re expecting only a 12-degree (F) ambient high temperature tomorrow with a windchill far below that. However, the rest of the week is supposed to be considerably warmer. Thus, we’ll be seeing more meteorological see-sawing, which is not good for flora or fauna. (Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on January 8, 2022.)
The Grand Convention of Down East Common Eiders is an event held annually from January into March near the Blue Hills reversing falls. The accommodations are good there: the fast-moving waters not only don’t freeze, they expose crabs and mollusks for easy picking.
Eight years ago, more than 400 eider conventioneers were celebrating at this time in January. Their numbers have been declining here each year since then. Yesterday, as you see, there were fewer than 50 eiders dancing a thin conga line here, the males in formal black and white, the females bronzed.
Perhaps there will be latecomers flying in after being distracted by our relatively warm winter (until recently). However, common eiders (Somateria mollissima) reportedly have been in steady decline throughout their entire Atlantic coast range. The causes of the decline are not fully known, but research indicates that warming waters may be part of the problem.
Atlantic blue mussels, the birds’ favorite food, are declining severely due to the warmer waters. More bald eagles are staying north in the warming winters where they are significant eider predators. In addition, eiders, our largest native duck, are favorite targets during winter duck-hunting season. (Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on January 8, 2022, [swimming] and February 17, 2016 [in flight].)
Yesterday’s storm brought us eight inches of benign snow and produced this beautiful morning. By the time that the sun reached this field, it had warmed up to 15 degrees (F).
There was, however, a wind chill of 5 degrees due primarily to wind gusts of 14 miles per hour. Nonetheless, walking in the woods was wonderful for those of us who dressed warmly.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 8, 2022.)
The biggest snowstorm of the winter arrived this morning in the form of a Nor’easter full of fine snow. A foot of the white stuff is predicted for us here in Down East. Although it is dumping more snow than we’ve had since last winter, this is just a slightly nasty storm, not a homicidal one. Nonetheless, caution is needed when driving. A few images taken at various times today follow:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 7, 2022.)
I came across this perfect Christmas tree being back-lighted beside the trail this morning. It’s a balsam fir that was lucky enough to be seeded in the right location.
Judging from its height of about 15 feet, it ought to be about that many years old. If its luck continues, it may grow 90 to 100 feet tall.
By the way, the easiest way to tell our conifers apart is by their needles. Fir needles are flat; you can’t roll them between your fingers easily. Spruce needles are four-sided, which makes them easy to roll between the fingers. Pine needles grow in groups of two or more, not in uniform lines. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 6, 2022.)
Yesterday was the first sunny day of the year and the first day of wintry temperatures. At first light yesterday, the temperature here was +5 degrees (F) with a windchill of -9 degrees. But, it apparently was an illusory moment.
Today, exactly 24 hours later, it was cloudy, the temperature was 39 degrees and rising, there were 19-mile-an-hour wind gusts, and more rain was predicted. Another wet, windy, and gray March-like day is in the offing. Our poor sick climate is calling for the nurse.
Nonetheless, let’s celebrate the brief arrival of winter yesterday with an image of Blue Hill’s “Hill” in the afternoon’s sun and Brooklin’s Great Cove under dusk’s waxing crescent moon.
(Images taken in Blue Hill and Brooklin, Maine, on January 4, 2022.)
Yesterday, temperatures plummeted, and we flipped back into a cold, gray winter again. A very light snow fell early yesterday, covering the inner woods’ floor with frosty spackles.
The thawing of the ponds was abruptly reversed, making their previously melting ice groan at the harsh change. (See the image in the first Comment space.) The dangerous seasonal seesawing of Climate Change continues.
This morning, as I write, the sun is rising, but the temperature is 5 degrees (F) with a wind chill of -9. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on January 3, 2021.)
