As I write this, it is 68 degrees at 11 p.m., the windows are wide open and I’m enjoying the “cricket chorus” immensely. The katydids are “katydid-ing” up a storm and the crickets sound like a hundred billion little bells ringing for all they’re worth. They’re successfully masking my tinnitus for the moment. This is very enjoyable, but hardly unusual in the Northeast.
Even as a kid in Maine, I remember starting the school year with a jacket on, but wearing it around my waist coming home in the September heat. This was also before schools (at least the mostly poor Maine schools of the 1950s and ’60s) were air-conditioned, so I also remember how hot the classrooms were.
Bottom line: Drought has set the tone—dry feeder creeks, stressed trees and bold, hungry bears. September will tell whether soaking storms arrive, or the fire risk grows and the leaves drop early.
It was a strange summer, indeed. No really bad, overwhelmingly thick insect life, as shown—at least to me—by a lack of the “windshield effect,” those large amounts of bugs plastered onto the glass. The bikers must love not having to endlessly pick insects from their teeth. Not that much rainfall, either. Plenty in the spring, but mostly light rain and showers all summer, which explains why the feeder creeks have been consistently dry. We’ve had just enough rain to keep the ground damp and to head off brush fires. Fingers crossed here, because there’s so much brush in the woods, and so much mountain laurel, that we could easily face the forest’s greatest nightmare—full-on wildfires. Finally, we’ve had a couple of good soakers. With the possibility of back-to-back hurricanes forming, I could see us going from “not enough” to “too much” rain in no time.
Fauna
A major concern has been our largest mammal, the black bear (Ursus americanus). As anyone in Woodstock knows this summer, bears are a major problem. It’s a confluence of events—a perfect bear storm, as it were. The population has been exploding as they (re)populate the region. Mild winters have helped. Normally, black bears are very shy, and a near-total lack of their usual summer foods—highbush and lowbush blueberries, plus huckleberries—has brought them into constant (and controversial) contact with people. Drought likely drove that shortage and pushed them to seek human foods, which they readily adapt to (much to everyone’s consternation). Yes, this is scary for us, but it’s also dangerous—even deadly—for the bears, who may have to be forcefully deterred. As DEC says, “A fed bear is a dead bear.” Nobody should feed bears, on purpose or inadvertently. Black bears absolutely love acorns to fatten up for their winter nap, but it doesn’t look like a good acorn year, either. If so, bear problems may continue through the fall. A lack of water in the hills has also forced bears lower into the valleys and may do the same with timber rattlesnakes and North American porcupines.
As low as the reservoirs and streams are, great blue and green herons are still feeding on the small and unwary. No all-white great egrets visited us this year at the nearly dry Kingston Reservoir No. 1. In recent years there have been at least several, and in one year as many as 25 to 30. Usually, tree frogs chorus all season with the cicadas, crickets and katydids, but after a fitful start I don’t hear them anymore, though most other amphibians seem abundant. Neither the local birds of prey (bald eagles, falcons, hawks and owls) nor our cleanup crew (crows, ravens, vultures) seems too fazed by the drought. Sadly, many local gray and red foxes, as well as some eastern coyotes, have sarcoptic mange, and they can really suffer from it. It is upsetting to see. Please do not go near them or touch them—it is highly transmissible. Some wildlife rehabbers might be able to help.
The few monarchs that have visited this season are probably getting ready to migrate, as are the ruby-throated hummingbirds. As most of you know, they both have phenomenal migrations (hummingbirds from 2,000 to 3,500 miles; monarchs about 2,500), particularly considering their size. It remains a mystery how they navigate back to their wintering grounds. Really amazing and intrepid creatures (see journeynorth.org).
Flora
Again, drought dominates as leaves shrivel unnaturally on branches and limbs. Normally, this is when I write about the goldenrods (not an allergen) and ragweed (which is), and how wildly poison ivy is proliferating because of increased carbon in the atmosphere (the first native plant declared invasive). All well and good, but as this extreme dryness continues (fingers crossed it doesn’t), root systems are drying out, more prematurely yellowing leaves are coating the ground, pines and hemlocks are shedding needles as fast as they can, and the ones that remain are turning yellow or red. Large patches of our mountainsides are taking on these sickly colors. I think the only thing keeping plants alive now is the morning dew, which evaporates quickly in the heat. Some milkweed is shriveling before it can seed, so the monarchs’ migrating is probably a smart move—maybe sooner rather than later. Neither beeches nor oaks have much fruit this year—cyclical anyway—but their leaves also are stressed, some turning and falling already, as are some maples, which could cost us their gorgeous red color. It seems all bets are off and plants, shrubs and trees are simply doing everything they can to survive. It’s going to be a very interesting (too interesting?) fall. One long-lasting effect of the summer’s drought will most likely be a not-very-colorful fall with an early leaf drop. It’s not unusual for Northeast Septembers to be very warm. Let’s just hope this one will be wet as well.
Never thought I would pray for hurricanes, but they might be our only hope of significant, soaking rain. The tropics look more active, with a chance of tropical storm development. I’ll be curious to see if the leaves fall before storms get here, or if they’re knocked off by heavy rain and wind. That’s the most positive scenario I can see, because if it doesn’t happen, and the drought continues with millions of tons of tinder-dry leaves on the ground, our fire danger will definitely increase.
By my next note in October, we should have a better idea of the situation. Thank you all. Please be extra careful and safe out there.
Ranger Dave Holden is a New York State DEC-licensed hiking guide. Send correspondence to woodstocktrails@gmail.com.