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By Tamia Nelson September 11, 2007
The liveliest spots in the natural world are the
places where one environment butts up against another. Hedgerows. Shorelines.
The untidy margin separating forest and field. You'll find a lot of comings and
goings in places like these. They give new meaning to the expression "life on
the edge." Maybe that's why I love messing about in the shallows of streams and
ponds. Water lures birds and animals to drink or feed or hunt, while the
invisible world beneath the surface roils with endless drama. Romance and
regeneration, intrigue and deception, conflict and death — they're all
happening right under the keel of your boat. And the cast in this never-ending
production is as bizarre as anything you'll see in the latest
techno-action-thriller. It just might be the greatest free show on earth.
Yet it usually plays to an empty house. Why? Well, to begin with, many
paddlers never look, and even the few who do are often handicapped by not
knowing where and how to find the action. That's not surprising. Unlike the
"charismatic megafauna" — the large furred and feathered predators who
star in so many TV nature shows — the tiny creatures who inhabit the
shallows don't get much prime-time exposure. And then there's what you might
call the Ick Factor. Muck, slime, and creepy-crawlies are a definite turn-off
for many folks. This is understandable, I suppose, but it's their loss,
nonetheless. The secret world of the shallows is fascinating, and it's a secret
that anyone can share. So let's peep behind the scenes, beginning with the
larvae whose adult alter egos are known to almost every paddler and angler: blackflies,
mayflies, stone flies, damselflies, dragonflies, and caddis flies.
First, though, a brief personal aside: I haven't always been intrigued by
what goes on beneath the water's surface, and insect life didn't much interest
me as a child. I never chased after butterflies or hankered to pin a neatly
labelled collection of beetles to cardboard display mounts. But later in life,
not long before I started college, I did a stint as a technician in a
biological field station. I was hired to nurture laboratory populations of
blackfly larvae, in order that new and better ways could be found to poison
their descendents. That project wasn't a great success, however. The blackflies
proved more than equal to the challenge, and generations of their offspring
have since revenged themselves on me. But my time wasn't entirely wasted. Every
now and then, my duties also took me out of doors, where I helped to survey
stream insect populations. The subsequent days spent squinting through a
microscope and battling formalin-induced headaches weren't much fun, I admit,
but I came away from the job with a deep appreciation for the wonderful
diversity of aquatic life-forms. And ever since then I've found the ebb and
flow of insect life under my keel almost as engaging as the antics of waterbirds and
avian songsters. The years I spent tying flies only deepened my enthusiasm.
What about you? Are you, too, intrigued by the idea of exploring the hidden
subaqueous world? It's true that summer is nearly over in Canoe Country, but
there's still plenty of life left in the shallows. All you need to embark on a
voyage of discovery are …
A Few Good Tools
The list is short (and the starred items are optional):
The first two items are the most important, of course. Without curiosity and
an educated
eye, there's no point in getting your feet wet. Best of all, both of these
essentials are free. And what about the rest? Well, I've written a whole column
about the uses
of a hand lens, but here's the executive summary: If you don't have one,
get one now. They're cheap (prices start at under US$10), and they do almost as
much to widen your world as a good pair of binoculars. A 10X Hastings triplet
is ideal.
Field guides? Farwell and I own 30 or more between us, but you'll probably
get along fine with a much smaller library. Three that I've found particularly
useful are Donald J. Borror's Field Guide to the Insects of
America, Donald Stokes' Observing Insect Lives, and W. Patrick
McCafferty's Aquatic Entomology, though the last of these is mighty big
for a field guide. Better leave it at home. A fourth volume merits
special mention: Anne Haven Morgan's Field Book of Ponds and Streams. It
was published almost 80 years ago, but it's still one of the most comprehensive
— and handiest — guides to freshwater life. There are many excellent
local and regional field guides, too, some of them just the right size for the
pockets in your fishing vest. Ask any anglers among your friends for their
recommendations, and don't neglect the offerings of state and provincial
wildlife agencies, both in print and online.
Notebook and pencil? I don't leave home without 'em, and neither should you.
You'll need both if you want to keep a trip journal,
after all, and a notebook is must-have gear for any amateur naturalist, afloat
or ashore. Size matters here. Five by seven inches is about the minimum if you
plan on sketching what you see, though four by six is better than nothing.
Either size fits nicely into the pockets of most vests and getaway
packs. Are you an artist? Then bring along a sketchpad, a
good selection of pencils in varying degrees of hardness, and — for the painters among
you — a basic inventory of brushes and watercolors (or oils). Or are
you a photographer? Then don't forget your camera
— and be sure to store it in a waterproof bag. A transparent waterproof
housing is nice to have, too.
You say you're not an artist? No matter. Every explorer will find a
sketchpad or camera invaluable. No field guide can ID all the creatures you'll
find in the shallows of even the smallest pond. But if you make a sketch or
take a photo, you can continue your voyage of discovery when you get home.
And what about the diver's mask? Snorkeling is a great way to explore the
underwater world, though the visibility in many lakes and ponds is limited to a
few feet. Even if you never intend to get your face wet, however, you can use
your mask as a viewing tube. Simply hold it so that the lens is just under the
water's surface. You'll find that the distortions produced by ripples disappear
as if by magic. Don't let your mask fill with water, though, or the effect will
be lost.
One more thing. It's not on my list, but proper footwear is a must: Wellies,
waders, or watersports shoes
or sandals will all do fine. The important thing is to wear something on
your feet. Only the brave (or foolish) wade barefoot.
OK. So much for gear. Now only one question remains …
Where Am I to Go?
The short answer? Anywhere you'd want to wade or paddle, from placid farm
ponds to the most turbulent mountain torrents. Farwell and I once watched at a
distance as a mallard hen and her intrepid brood scrambled up and down a stony
waterfall, stopping here and there to graze greedily on what looked like moss.
Until that day, I'd thought mallards were rather unadventurous creatures, more
at home on Golden Pond than lively mountain freshets. But after I'd seen one
chick swept 30 feet downstream, only to be led quickly back to the brood by its
ever-watchful mum, I had to rethink my assumptions. And even bigger surprises
lay in store. When we'd dug our binoculars out
of our packs, we discovered that the "moss" that the mallards found so tasty
was in fact a living carpet of blackfly larvae, tiny cigar-shaped animalcules
with swollen holdfasts on one end and constantly moving mouths on the other.
(You'll find a picture on page 269 of the 1970 edition of Borror's Field
Guide.) These larvae — anglers who fish the Black Gnat pattern have
been imitating them all their lives, whether they realize it or not — are
filter feeders, deploying strainerlike cephalic fans in currents to entrap
floating food particles, which the larvae then sweep into their mouths. No
current? No blackflies. That explains why you won't find blackfly larvae in a
farm pond.
All in all, quite a few long-held assumptions crumbled away in the course of
that sunny Adirondack afternoon, while Farwell and I watched the mallards
feeding among the rocks in the waterfall. I'd often cursed blackflies when
paddling on northern rivers, and (as I've already mentioned) I'd played a small
part in one of many fruitless attempts to poison them out of existence. Now
that I knew their larvae were a much-valued, protein-rich treat for mallard
chicks, though, I began to take a more tolerant view. Don't get me wrong. I
still curse and swat my way through May and June. But I'm also very glad that
efforts to exterminate the race of blackflies have led nowhere. If eliminating
blackflies from the world would mean fewer wild mallards, I'm happy to keep
swatting and cursing.
As exciting as it is to prospect for insect life among the eddies and
currents of fast-flowing streams, however, it's probably best to begin your
exploration of the hidden world of the shallows in calmer waters. There, you
can just …
Wade Right In …
Without having to worry about being swept off your feet. There are still
rules, of course. Most importantly, do no harm. Leave things as you find
them. Better yet, when you come across trash left behind by others, take it out
with you, especially if it's deadly stuff like monofilament
or discarded plastic bags. And wade lightly. If you overturn rocks or lift logs
to see who might be living underneath, return them to their original positions
as soon as you've satisfied your curiosity.
Ready to get your feet wet? Good! Then wade out into the shallows, or just
squat at the water's edge for a bit. Pick a place with plenty of structure:
pondweed, cobbles, waterlogged limbs. Now emulate the patient heron. Keep as
still as possible. Look beneath the surface. Watch for movement. Fish,
crayfish, snails, and frogs are all familiar sights in shallow water. But
you're stalking more elusive game, and if you've done a little preliminary
homework, you'll soon recognize aquatic beetles and water striders, as well as
the larvae of midges, mayflies, caddis flies, damselflies, dragonflies, crane
flies, and dobsonflies.
No luck? Then try turning over a new leaf, and while you're at it, check
under cobbles and pebbles, too. While some insect larvae roam far and wide
along the bottom in search for food, others wait for their meals to come to
them, particularly in moving water. Inspect the undersurfaces of leaves, logs,
and rocks carefully. And don't be too quick to conclude that nothing's there.
Many insect larvae are masters of camouflage. Caddis-fly larvae even build
portable shelters for themselves from sand grains, small stones, leaf
fragments, or tiny sticks. The upshot? Although what you see will depend on
when and where you look, one thing at least is certain — if you're patient
and watchful, you're sure to be entertained, even if you won't recognize every
one of the actors.
Late summer and early autumn are great times to get better acquainted with
the cast of characters on the subaqueous stage. The water's warm, the streams
are low, and the biting flies are on the wane. So why not spend a little time
poking around on the edge of your favorite waterway? There's abundant life in
the shallows. Catch the show before winter brings the curtain down! You won't
regret it. Once you're bitten by the bug of curiosity, the fever will stay in
your blood forever. Nothing will make it go away. And that's just fine by me.
Copyright © 2007 by Verloren Hoop Productions. All rights
reserved.
The Paddling Naturalist
Life on the Edge
tamia@paddling.net
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