IBWOH: Chris Carlisle.
Summary: I had a "free" day (more or less) on Monday, 2 March. My fellow hunters, Brian and Richard, were both still at work, and I am not yet confident enough in my kayaking abilities to try taking the Kuhn out solo; so I decided to drive down to the Pascagoula Wildlife Management Area (WMA) for a lone walk through the north sector. There is one final long road in the area that we had not walked, an old logging road that parallels the WMA boundary line in the northeast corner; with the goal of walking it in mind, I drove through the rain and predawn darkness, and had boots on the ground a few minutes before the feeble sunrise.
Fog lay heavy on the Pascagoula River in the grey morning, and I could not see its waters from the great bridge east of Benndale. Hours later, the river still lay hid in the mists, which clung to the nearby lakes as well.
The already challenging terrain of the Pascagoula WMA is now even more so, due to rising waters everywhere that make some streams impassable. (The Pascagoula is the longest undamned river of its type in the 48 contiguous United States. It is allowed to flood its basin, which it does with impunity.) Large swathes of bottomland that lie relatively open during the summer and fall are now filled with water. Be that as it may, I was still able to ford the rushing streams to reach my goal. Here and there along the old logging roads, I ducked beneath or around single golden filaments, the beginnings of the greater webs of the orb weavers that will by May turn this place into a real-life mirror of Tolkien's Mirkwood.
The forest is still gloomy with winter, but many birds were singing. All the usual woodpecker suspects were present, including the pileated woodpecker Big Sam, who as before lured me close with his heavy tapping; and I observed what I believe were two separate pairs of Pileateds. White-eyed vireos sang their Quick-wherrre'd-you-put-the-beer-at's like Spring had already arrived. Near the end of my hike, around the deformed oak I call Devil's Fork, I glimpsed a Barred Owl being mobbed by blue jays, titmice, and red-headed woodpeckers. He glanced angrily over his shoulder at me (as if to say, "Great, one of you, too") before flapping off in the direction of the Pascagoula River. Seems a hard life, being an owl. Later, after completing my hike, I drove across the highway to Dace Lake, Big Lake, and Davis Eddy, but was greeted only by a small herd of deer, numerous flickers, and a flock of ring-necked ducks.
In the area north of Devil's Fork, I found no evidence of scaling among the mature sweetgums, and saw none in any of the areas we have explored previously, aside from some old scaling that is merely suggestive of IBWO feeding behavior, and can not be considered diagnostic. I walked with my eyes and ears open, but saw nothing resembling an ivorybill, and heard no kents or double-knocks.
Conclusions: I now believe that we have explored the north end of the WMA as thoroughly as we possibly can. My honest opinion of this area is that, while it certainly could be used by a population of Ivorybills as either an occasional feeding area or a travel corridor, there are probably no individuals of the species there as permanent residents. This may be due to its relative accessibility to humans, unlike areas of the WMA further south, which can only be reached through private property or by water. I do not intend to return to this area any time soon, unless it is to visit the titan cypress I call the Ancient of Days, who no doubt spends these months ruminating in his water-filled hollow.
Summary: I had a "free" day (more or less) on Monday, 2 March. My fellow hunters, Brian and Richard, were both still at work, and I am not yet confident enough in my kayaking abilities to try taking the Kuhn out solo; so I decided to drive down to the Pascagoula Wildlife Management Area (WMA) for a lone walk through the north sector. There is one final long road in the area that we had not walked, an old logging road that parallels the WMA boundary line in the northeast corner; with the goal of walking it in mind, I drove through the rain and predawn darkness, and had boots on the ground a few minutes before the feeble sunrise.
Fog lay heavy on the Pascagoula River in the grey morning, and I could not see its waters from the great bridge east of Benndale. Hours later, the river still lay hid in the mists, which clung to the nearby lakes as well.
The already challenging terrain of the Pascagoula WMA is now even more so, due to rising waters everywhere that make some streams impassable. (The Pascagoula is the longest undamned river of its type in the 48 contiguous United States. It is allowed to flood its basin, which it does with impunity.) Large swathes of bottomland that lie relatively open during the summer and fall are now filled with water. Be that as it may, I was still able to ford the rushing streams to reach my goal. Here and there along the old logging roads, I ducked beneath or around single golden filaments, the beginnings of the greater webs of the orb weavers that will by May turn this place into a real-life mirror of Tolkien's Mirkwood.
The forest is still gloomy with winter, but many birds were singing. All the usual woodpecker suspects were present, including the pileated woodpecker Big Sam, who as before lured me close with his heavy tapping; and I observed what I believe were two separate pairs of Pileateds. White-eyed vireos sang their Quick-wherrre'd-you-put-the-beer-at's like Spring had already arrived. Near the end of my hike, around the deformed oak I call Devil's Fork, I glimpsed a Barred Owl being mobbed by blue jays, titmice, and red-headed woodpeckers. He glanced angrily over his shoulder at me (as if to say, "Great, one of you, too") before flapping off in the direction of the Pascagoula River. Seems a hard life, being an owl. Later, after completing my hike, I drove across the highway to Dace Lake, Big Lake, and Davis Eddy, but was greeted only by a small herd of deer, numerous flickers, and a flock of ring-necked ducks.
In the area north of Devil's Fork, I found no evidence of scaling among the mature sweetgums, and saw none in any of the areas we have explored previously, aside from some old scaling that is merely suggestive of IBWO feeding behavior, and can not be considered diagnostic. I walked with my eyes and ears open, but saw nothing resembling an ivorybill, and heard no kents or double-knocks.
Spring teasers.
Spiny orb-weaver spider nursery.
View of Dace Lake, in the far north end of the WMA.
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