Tricky beaver dam
After spending a good portion of the day birding and bushwhacking through the Pepperbox Wilderness, it is inevitable that lunch and replenishing my water supply becomes an imperative at some point. Mid-afternoon is an ideal time to do so, as most birds are taking a siesta by then. In addition, this gives me a chance to stop and rejuvenate myself before my long trek south to Cropsey Pond, which allows for camping closer to a convenient exit point from the backcountry tomorrow morning so I can report my Birdathon results in a timely manner.
Once water filtering and lunch is out of the way, it is time to return to birding and hiking. Unfortunately, this is the lull time for birding, as the afternoon is typically the most unproductive period for finding any new species, with most of the common species already counted. The lack of activity is why this part of the day is traditionally a mad dash south through the forest, with infrequent breaks for wetlands, which provide my best chance to accentuate my bird species list.
Unfortunately, the wetlands are also where my bug nemeses hang out, which is by no means a coincidence. While the pesky biting flies feed on me, many birds likely feed on them. Ah, the cycle of life.
Section Stats:
Date: May 16, 2015
Length: 3.8 miles (8.5 total daily miles; 13.0 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Moderate (length)
From the hunters’ campsite where lunch occurred, I return to Hunters’ Vly, following the way I went earlier to collect water. However, now my backpack is on my back, and I have no intention of returning, at least for this trip.
The vly’s stream is deep for much of its stretch through the meadow, but I cross at a rocky, shallower section, heading toward the berm that once functioned as a beaver dam. The berm is breached in the middle, which probably is the reason for the vly’s current drier condition. Beyond the berm to the west, the stream continues, appearing to broaden into a larger pond beyond.
No new bird species show up while exploring the berm, disappointing me to the point that I admit defeat, turning around and heading south toward my final destination rather than spending more time on the berm. Backtracking to my stream crossing point, I rock-hop to the eastern side of the stream for the rest of my journey through the meadow.
Regret quickly follows after the crossing, as the stream meanders right up to the border of the forest, not once, but twice, forcing me to retreat both times into the surrounding coniferous forest. Since another stream crossing remains in my immediate future at the southern end of the vly, I might have been better off just staying along the west bank. Live and learn, I guess.
After retreating back into the forest for the last time, I emerge at the stream once again, just upstream from a large boulder, a rock sentry guarding the flow of water into the vly. Luckily, the flow remains low enough despite the spring rains that several rocks remain above the water level. After a quick rock-hop across, I quickly depart the vly and enter the mixed forest beyond, without ever removing my boots, beginning my trek to Cropsey Pond.
A steep climb greets me within the forest, as I follow through a small drainage that flows down to the stream behind me at wetter times. The climb continues for a while, where I weave back and forth between a coniferous forest to the west and a mature hardwood one to the east. Eventually I move away from the border as the coniferous forest falls off to the west, but the climbing continues.
Hunters’ Vly
When the terrain levels off and the climbing largely ceases, the mature hardwood gains a slightly denser understory of young beech trees. Although the stiff beech limbs lash out at me, their constant onslaught appears to reduce the cloud of biting insects swarming around me. Too bad their red marks on my face and hands are not so easily removed.
As with many ascents, a descent soon follows. As I lose elevation, the conifer influence on the forest slowly increases. Although the darker forest has a negative effect on my mood, their presence indicates a series of beaver ponds draws closer, and thus the end of my longest uninterrupted forest portion of today’s route. Though the Cropsey Pond outlet lies in the next valley to the south, crossing this network is a necessary step to getting where I need to go.
Plus, it will provide my next good opportunity to find some new bird species. Or so I hope.
The descent requires some meandering to find the best path, which includes the least chance of tumbling off a cliff. When I spot what looks like the first major opening in the forest, it acts as a magnet, drawing me closer, despite it not being on my current heading. I risk missing a crossable beaver dam that provides the best opportunity to cross the approaching wide drainage, but I cannot help myself.
Forest south of Hunters’ Vly
It proves difficult to get a clear view of the forest opening, which appears to contain a boggy swamp, so I stop near the edge and listen for any possible new species. A common yellowthroat, white-throated sparrow, yellow-rumped warbler and Magnolia warbler sing intermittently out in the direction of the wetland, while an ovenbird announces its own presence back in the forest behind me. Nothing new, but that is not surprising at this hour in the afternoon.
Abandoning the swamp, the mixed forest now becomes more difficult to bushwhack through as I try to regain my heading after the slight detour. However, my struggle pays off, as I arrive at a cliff overlooking the dam at the northwestern end of the first pond that anchors this new wetland complex. This is exactly the same place I crossed last year during the Birdathon, but climbing the cliff seemed easier when going in the opposite direction, leaving me with locating a way to get down to the dam that does not involve damaged gear or broken bones.
Although the short, steep climb is no joke, it proves possible, as I inch my way down from upstream, or more appropriately, uppond. Upon reaching the dam, I scan the pond looking for some new species. A male hooded merganser, a Canada goose and a pair of wood ducks swim within the pond, mostly on the other side as far away as possible from me, which I do not blame them. A Nashville warbler, blackburnian warbler and scarlet tanager sing off in the woods nearby.
Canada goose and wood duck being new species, making the total 48 species! And at this late hour to boot!! I might break 50 species this year after all.
Tricky beaver dam crossing
As the beaver dam crossing begins, I continue to try and spot some other birds, hoping to get another new species or two. A crux in the dam at a small snag demands some fancy footwork, but unfortunately too much of my attention is elsewhere, as the dead tree knocks me off balance. My left leg slips off into the water with a gloop, but thankfully my hiking poles help reduce the damage, as I only sink in to the muck up to my thigh. Pulling my leg out takes a good deal of effort, resulting in a loud and sickly glump, requiring all my remaining strength to right myself back on the dam.
Muck covers my entire left pant leg, which is now dripping wet. Miraculously, the only part of my left leg that remains dry is my foot. The boot’s waterproof lining combined with a snug ankle gaiter did its job, keeping my left foot dry and cozy. Too bad the rest of my left leg is lacking a similar system.
Hopefully, the stench will repel the biting insects, but unfortunately, that proves more wishful thinking than anything else.
Upon safely reaching the opposite side of the dam, I take a few moments to reevaluate my situation. Momentarily, I think about changing my clothes, but decide against it as it is getting close to four in the afternoon and delaying my arrival time at Cropsey Pond would result in further issues. With the dry conditions, it should not take long before the wet evaporates and then I will just be filthy, which is not much different from my condition before falling off the dam.
Flooded drainage below dam
The open stream acts as my guide northwest toward the final pond along this drainage. Rather than staying in the wet corridor along the stream, I choose the rather dry forest interior instead, always maintaining a short distance from the slow flowing water. The going is not too difficult, as I spend most of the time far enough from the wetland that I avoid both getting wet in the adjacent mucky shoreline or struggling with the dense conifers guarding its edges.
Normally, I might stay out in the open drainage, so as to spot any birds that may be flying across. This year though, that is more difficult as it is almost entirely underwater. This is odd as it usually somewhat wet in the spring but with plenty of herbaceous vegetation along the edges. Either the area has a lot of extra water this year or the beavers have been busy. Most likely, both.
By the time I reach the final pond, it is four in the afternoon and getting dark, apparently from the increasing dark cloud cover. A pair of wood ducks takes flight as I approach the pond; hopefully, I did not interrupt their amorous activity.
Flooded Drainage
Not wanting to dawdle with the skies getting darker, I skip going out to the end of the southern peninsula and instead cross to its other side to survey the pond from a better vantage point. This gives me almost as good a view for half the effort, especially important given my energy reserves continue to dwindle.
This unnamed pond does not disappoint in the bird department. A rusty blackbird flies off, calling several times as it goes. Not to be outdone, a pair of red-winged blackbirds pops up in the shrubby vegetation along the western half of the pond, the male singing repeatedly. A magnolia warbler makes an appearance too, while a Nashville warbler sings incessantly along the far shore. A number of chimney swifts flyover the pond too, calling as they flitter about in the air.
With evening approaching and Cropsey Pond not getting any closer, it is time to get moving again. I work my way along the pond’s southwest shore, staying just back from the water’s edge to avoid the dense shrubbery and wet conditions. Once at the proper setting off point, I reenter the dense forest heading west toward the Cropsey Pond outlet stream. The stream will act as my guide up to the eponymous pond, where my campsite for the night resides.
Or shall reside, if I get there.
After a brief climb through a mostly hardwood forest, I descend to the outlet without incident, and unfortunately no new bird species either. With the time nearly five in the afternoon, I forego a rest to enjoy the view and head southeast along the stream toward my day’s final, and much earned, destination. Unless a new bird species presents itself, getting to my campsite remains my singular goal.
Cropsey Pond outlet
Avoiding the temptation to cross the stream, I remain on its north side, making good time thanks to the beavers, which cleared most of the trees along the shoreline. The outlet is flush with water, probably due to the numerous robust beaver dams I pass along the way. Typically, I stop and examine each dam, but my exhaustion keeps me focused on my destination. There will be plenty of time to rest once I get to Cropsey Pond.
My energy levels are low by the time I come to the end of the last beaver pond and reenter the forest, where the outlet abruptly changes from a meandering series of beaver ponds to a rocky stream. The forest is thick here in the understory, as trees attempt to make a comeback from the beaver’s past onslaught.
Soon I arrive at the Cropsey Pond’s dam, where the black flies enthusiastically greet my arrival with a renewed intensity, reaching a point where it becomes near intolerable. The only respite available now is to get to my campsite location and setup my shelter where I can hide from the onslaught like a sniveling little coward.
A tired, sniveling little coward.
Rather than follow the pond’s shoreline, I reenter the forest and attempt a direct bee-line to my usual campsite location. The forest is rather open, so it takes me little time to arrive at my home for the night. Although thoroughly exhausted from the day’s journey, my work is not yet done, as I still need to set up camp, cook and hopefully get a few species before the end of the day.
Cropsey Pond
Unfortunately, the only new species to arrive is a common goldeneye; better late than never.
Once the shelter is up, my food bag rope hung and my dinner complete, there is little energy left to search for any new bird species. Somehow I muster just enough to explore the area around my campsite, including the old inlet a short distance to the south, which is largely dry except for an occasional trickle.
Returning to Cropsey Pond proper, two beavers greet me near my campsite. The larger one appears quite curious, often coming in for a closer look, but seldom slapping its tail on the water in agitation. The smaller one is much shyer, keeping its distance as much as possible.
By the time the sun starts sinking below the horizon, I decide to call it quits for the day, another year short of 50 species, this time by just one. Although my evening ends on this disappointing note, my mind switches gear while I await sleep to thoughts of doing better next year.
Just like most of my other Birdathons in the Pepperbox Wilderness.
Cropsey Pond
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