Frolicking Foxes

So I'd heard there were foxes here.  Apropos, then, that my first contact with them was to hear them.  A short, sharp nippy bark, so familiar sounding, that I thought in moments I'd see a human and their dog.  But no. Instead, a fox appears on the trail just 15 or so feet in front of me.   It pauses without looking my direction, then turns away from me and trots off.  My first fox sighting!! And then, seconds later, while I'm still frozen in astonishment - the second one appears on the trail. Stops for longer, listening perhaps, but also doesn't look my direction.  Then turns and follows the first.  

So my first encounter was to hear them, and I see not one, but two!! Beautiful red, about the size of small to medium dogs.

As I returned from my walk 45 minutes later, a herd of about 15 deer - the largest I've seen yet -meet me in the same place (or rather- I disrupt them - in the same place).  Beauty.  But it's very apparent I'm the interloper here.

Texas Hill Country History

From time to time, I reckon I'll post some geologic histories that ring with poetry and vision.  I've read lost - McPhee of course is a given - but this is the first I've come across since moving to Mt. Lucas.  Enjoy.

From  Texas Hill Country by George Oxford Miller, 1991

The rugged hills in the heart of Texas was born of fire and water, the basic elements that Aristotle used to represent continual conflict.  Like a detective, a trained observer can decipher the ageless turmoil in the twisted, melted and worn rock strata.  A casual traveler cannot help but see and feel, and perhaps marvel at, the results of the eternal conflict.  You see the first evidence of it just west of IH 35 between Georgetown and San Antonio.  A low range of hills juts out of the blackland prairie.  The deep scars from rock quarry strop mines recall that Texas has a heart of stone – limestone.

This juncture of flat prairie and rugged limestone hills results from one of the most important geological features in Texas, the Balcones Fault.  The upper side of the fault stretches like a spread-out horseshow from Del Rio to San Antonio and curves north through Austin.  It disappears underground near Temple.  Within the open semicircle of the fault line, nature’s cycle of deposition and erosion has sculpted the Edwards Plateau into the rugged Hill Country.  At the edge of the fault, hills rise out of the prairie sod and great springs gush crystal-pure water at the rate of millions of gallons per day.  Humans have lived near the springs at Del Rio, San Antonio, New Braunfels, San Marcos and Austin for thirty thousand years. 

Few of us stop to contemplate that events that transpired millions of years ago dictate our profession, recreation and culture.  But by supplying water, soil and minerals, the lay of the land directs the society it sustains.  The essence of the Hill Country as we know it today – its resources, its character, its charm – is inherited from its geological past, the series of events that began sometime back in geological time (that means so long ago that it boggles our minds) and stretches through today and into the unforeseen future.

As you climb west onto the Edwards Plateau, say on Texas 71 or US 290, you are traveling backward through geological time.  You can time-travel back 135 million years and find dinosaur tracks in the flat rock bottoms of the Blanco and San Gabriel rivers.  Step back 300 million years at Pedernales Falls State Park and discover crinoids in the rock strata along the river.  But don’t stop yet.  At the San Saba River bridge south of Brady, you can journey back 600 million years and see fossils of some of the earliest known life forms, sea algae resembling two-foot lily pads.  The road into the past continues beyond the emergence of life to a time when the earth was in its infancy.  The Valley Spring Gneiss  at Inks Lake State Park dates back one billion years.  The pinkish crystals of feldspar were formed deep within the earth in rocks subjected to intense heat and pressure, and exposed to modern eyes by uplift and erosion.

So the roots of the Hill Country date back to primordial time when the continents were just forming.  Since then, nature’s cycle of deposition and erosion has shaped and reshaped this area countless times.  Curing the Cambrian era, 5 to 6 million years ago, shallow seas covered central Texas and deposited thick sediments of limestone, shale and marine sandstone.  Then the seas receded and erosion began wearing away the solidified sediments.  The cycle was repeated about 450 millions years ago and Ordovician seas laid down 1,400 feet of limestone known today as the Ellenburger group.  Geologists find shallow sea deposits from 350 million, 300 million and 85 million years ago.  During the late Cretaceous period, about 75 million years ago, a great uplift began pushing the coastline hundreds of miles to the east and exposing an eastward-sloping plateau of sedimentary rock thousands of feet thick.  Just as life itself once had, the Edwards Plateau emerged from the sea.  In moist periods, such as the ice ages, rivers ran deep and wide and cut steep valleys.  During the brief interval of geological time since the plateau’s emergence, rain and wind have sculpted the hills we see today. A look at the level horizon reveals that this rugged terrain was carved from a flat slab of limestone.

Ant Lions - more than you'll ever want to know

I'm reading a book on mushrooms, and the author mentions antlions.  They have nothing to do with mushrooms, but it spurred me to google it, since I've been telling visitors "Hey, at the bottom of that sand pit is an antlion, so they tell me."  And that was the extent of what I knew.

Google has enlightened me, and now I enlighten you.

Antlions, like many of us, start life as an egg.  Unlike many of us, their eggs are laid in loose sand or dirt.  They hatch into the larva stage and scuttle about until they find a good patch of loose sand or dirt to dig into.  They are about 1/2 a centimeter big (not big, in other words). Their scuttling leaves traces in the sand, and because of that, are also known as doodlebugs. 

Very often, you'll find many antlions have chosen the same area of good sand. Here, you'll find a lot of them on trail 3, just past the wood pile by the house.

They dig into the sand, creating the funnel shape.  When wandering insects fall in, the antlion grabs them with it's large pincers and inserts juices into the insect which creates a scrumptious antlion smoothie.  When the antlion has slurped the last, it throws the insect carcass out.  Curiously, I've never seen either doodles or discarded insect carcasses by our antlion dens.  Perhaps because, once we see them and say "Oo, what's that?  Oh, that's an antlion, so they tell me",  we walk right over them, destroying doodles, sand pits, and crushing carcasses to blend into the loose dirt.

The sandpits are about one to two inches across (diameter).  Why do wandering insects fall in, you ask?   Why don't they simply walk back out, if they find themselves in it? And I might add, why are the traps the size and shape they are?  That's where my love of geology, and geology terminology, comes in.  Suffer me, please.  (Or skip it..) 

The slope of the funnel is not based on some aesthetics the larva might possess.  Nor on some instinct to build the funnel precisely this wide and this deep.  Nope.  Rather,  the slope is determined by the sand/dirt's angle of repose.  (Did you miss it?  That's a technical geological term.  Angle of repose.  Poetic, huh? Makes me envision a naked goddess on a chaise lounge, gazing directly at you.)  

Angle of repose is defined at that angle (slope) at which those particular sized particles of sand/dirt/clay at that particular humidity level, etc, are just on the brink of not falling down the slope.  So the antlion creates the funnel slope until he can feel the particles are just on the brink of not falling down.  This means when an ant comes along, she (for they are always shes) adds just enough energy to make the particles fall down the slope, and the ant goes with them.  Very similarly (but not the same) to when when we humans add just enough energy to a loose rock on the trail that it falls further downhill, and we go with it.  Thankfully, there are no antlion jaws waiting for us.

(Aside - I also wonder how antlions fare with fireants.  Are they able to subdue these invaders? Are their species of antlions where fireants usually lived that can handle them?...)

The larva live in this stage for about three years, which is long for this small a creature.  Made longer by the fact that they have no anus.  Yup.  They store all the unused stuff up, then barf it up in one big pellet before they change to the next phase.

When it's ready, anywhere from 2 to 3 years (when is that?  how do they know?  do they keep a calendar? when they feel full?  when they really, really, REALLY need to poop?) they build a cocoon using the sand and dirt particles around them and silk from a spinerette to bind it all together ("silk" is the word wikipedia uses.  Is this convergent evolution with spider silk, or is it a different molecule?).  They stay in the cocoon for about one month, and when they emerge into their adult stage, they have completely metamorphized into something resembling a damselfly.  Because of this, I'm betting the impetus for the larva to metamorphize is that somehow it senses it's full - that it's got enough molecules, finally, to build an adult body.

And, wiki tells me, the antlion has the largest difference in size between the larva and adult stages - they manage this because the larva stage is a squat, compact, dense thing and the adult stage is built so flimsily and ethereally.  A note to fans of transformers and metamorphizing superheroes here: I can totally buy that a dose of radiation can transform a mild mannered scientist into a monstrous creature.  But folks, the total mass just gots to remain the same!  There are only so many atoms that can be rearranged just so many ways. There's no way a hulk can be produced from Bill Bixby. Unless he was a really short hulk.

As adults, their primary purpose is to find a mate, mate, and for the female to then lay the eggs.  They only live about a month in this phase, and they are active at night, so are not likely to be confused with damselflies.  One website says they might give you a bite if they land on you.  But they aren't trying to eat you - as adults, they eat nectar.  Which makes sense - creatures need to eat protein to build their bodies, then sugars and carbs to give energy to the adult bodies they created.  Some birds, I believe, also eat like this - adults bring protein food (insects, etc) to the young, who switch to sugars and carbs (seeds, nectar if you're a hummingbird) when they're adults.

Finally, (thank God, you say) google enlightened me to the fact that people keep these things as pets.  I.. just.. don't know what to say about that.  Watch a funnel for three years, then watch an adult fly around for a few days (if you're lucky).

Great Horned Owls Get Colds

That's all, folks.  Just that - Great Horned Owls Get Colds. I never thought their hoot would make me giggle and feel sorry for it,  but that happened this morning.  Never say never.

New Year's Day Hike

50 degrees, almost no wind, it really rained for about 2 minutes last night, otherwise drizzle for 24 hours

The lichen is wet and wonderfully green.

While I was taking this shot, I heard my first coyote howl during a hike.   And had my first uncomfortable realization that when I'm taking pictures of lichen, I'm not making much noise - so I'm not scaring things off.

Right before the lichen, a sighting of a rare white gall on trail 7.

(AKA gallf ball)  These usually grow on trail 3; trail 7 is more remote, so it's more surprising there.  Funny - you think they might prefer trail fore!

Two mornings in a row, now, in the same place high on 3, near the tower, I've heard either a large animal peeing strongly or a human hosing or dumping water for a few seconds.

Galls on an oak tree-   there are about 20 on this one tree. Is there something special about the tree?   Or is it simply laziness?  Or do they prefer company?  (Galls are growths the tree makes - like scars- around a wasp or other creature who burrows into the tree to grow.)

Inside, this one is yellow and spongy.  No sign of an occupant.

On the way home, a shelf shroom on an oak stump.

What makes the rings different colors? Obviously different molecules, right? But which?  And why?  Temperature?  Water availability?  Nutrient differences in the oak?  Or even - the same molecules, but in different positions, the opposite end, or the side absorbing or reflecting light waves differently...

Oh, by the way, the toiletflex had been moved off the path.  Deer?  Human?
(How the hell did it get there?)

Obligatory Cat Pics

Sister kitties lounging on the porch on a rainy last day of 2012.  It's so wonderful to have cats that like each other's company.

Annabelle Lee gets a licking from Sister Bea

December Views

Solstice hike - four large, very fresh, coyote poops on upper trail 3. Too fresh to be called scat. Fresh enough to make me look up and about, expecting to connect with eyes asking "Hey, what are you poking my poop for?"

One cedar sage still blooming.

December 31st hike - Drizzle overnight has made the lichens, moss, fungus and cyanobacteria come to life. These normally crispy dry things are fat with water and slippery. I swear I can see them jiggle with joy like tribbles or Santa's belly.

Nostoc -aka Gorilla Snot

Star-shaped fungus(?)

And then there are the mysteries - things gloriously appearing on the path, making me stop in my tracks and see things in a new light, like the beauty of light bent through the rain captured by agarita:

Or the intricacies of plumbing, brought on by this rare toiletflex sighting:

(Now how the hell did it get there?)

January 1 Haiku - my first haiku since 5th grade, I think. Brought on by reading a biography of Rumi and listening to the wind in the bare trees this morning, after a night of rain with not a breath of wind.
11 days after the solstice - 13 seconds longer each day.  I swear I can tell already.

wind whistling the trees
days longer now, but colder
already: promise