Landscape Tracking - Learning from the Land

This weekend’s theme was landscape tracking! We met at the Hockley Valley Nature Reserve near Orangeville. Few of us had been to the area, so we were keen to go exploring.

After a quick gratitude circle, we followed the trail west for a few minutes, then out into a grassy lowland next to a treed slope. All the grass had been pushed down and there were trails cutting through. Was it the work of deer? Was it people? Or had someone’s enthusiastic dog rolled all over? Jeff noted that the goldenrod was still standing. Could that be a clue about the perpetrator? We bent down and looked at the green carpet more carefully. It was green on top, but brown underneath. This grass had been pushed down for quite a while.

Alexis decided that we should follow the deer trail up the slope and into the trees just to see where it would take us. By observing the trail, we could see how they shaped the landscape. The deer had worn a rut into the earth, and when we stepped off-trail, we sank into the soft pine needle carpet. Punky logs in the path of the deer had been pulverized by their hooves.

Were the deer going uphill or downhill? Was the trail only used to go one way or both? We tried to imagine when the deer would go down to water or up to higher ground and what would influence them to go in either direction. For example, hot air rises during the day and sinks at night. Where would they go to be able to smell a predator? Where would they go to stay cool?

The group spent some time walking in silence. Such a heavily used trail could yield a wild animal sighting if we were careful. Soon, our main trail branched off left, then right, then uphill and downhill. Before long, three separate groups were stalking along deer trails, trying to spot the animals that had made them.

The slope and the top of the ridge were full of red pines. Those had thinned out, their place taken by beeches, ironwoods, oaks, maples, aspens and birch. The understorey had changed, too. We were seeing leatherwood and forest goldenrod. What would attract the deer to this area? Most likely the acorns and beech nuts, especially in fall and winter.

Alexis called us over to investigate a depression in the hillside and asked, what happened here? There were several such depressions, usually close to trees. Some of us thought they were caused by erosion. Others thought they were burrows. But Victor guessed that they were created when a tree had fallen over long ago, its roots pulling up all the surrounding dirt. It had happened so long ago that the trunk had disintegrated. He had guessed right, and we were shown where the signs of what happened could be found: the canopy. Surrounding the hummock were fast-growing aspens and birch, pioneer species that had grown up to take advantage of the sunlight that had been blocked by the big tree’s leaves before it had come down. If we could age those aspens, we might get an idea of when the tree fell – though a good guess would be 1954, the year of Hurricane Hazel.

Back to the deer trails: The main trail led out into another grassy field, so out we went to see where the deer had gone. The field was full of goldenrod, yarrow and asters, typical late summer forbs, and trails criss-crossed through the grass. Each of us tried to follow one, but it wasn’t clear where they were going or even if we were following deer anymore. We remembered an earlier lesson about what trails made by animals low to the ground look like when compared to trails made by animals with long legs. Maybe there were rabbits or raccoons in the area?

A few anthills dotted the field and before long, we were standing around one that had attracted Alexis’ attention. At over a foot wide and about 10” tall, it wasn’t the biggest one we had seen, but it wasn’t the size that warranted investigation; it was the accumulation of tiny, tubular scats on top. We were looking at a vole latrine. Why did the vole latrine here? Wouldn’t the ants bite the vole? Do voles eat ants, or are they strict vegetarians? We had lots of questions, and a flash of insight into small-scale landscape tracking.

Once we reached the other side of the field, we entered a lowland area of cedars bisected by a tributary. As we sat and had lunch, we discussed how deforestation in the upland areas had led to erosion, which meant silt running into the river. A siltier, shallower river in turn led to increased flooding and fewer salmon spawning, and that may have impacted an important food source for mammals in the area -- and a potential source of nitrogen for the plants and trees. They say our forestry practices have changed a great deal over the last decades. I wonder how.

Now that we were in the mindset of cause-and-effect, we were asked to go quietly out around the area and sit and observe. “What happened here?” was the question we were to ask ourselves over and over again as we looked at the landscape, the flora and the fauna. At the end of our exercise, we came together again and shared some of our key observations. Steve, a second-year tracking apprentice, said that he was looking at the water and thinking about how fallen trees might have changed the river’s path. Did some of the little islands have tree trunk foundations?

It was time to get moving. We climbed up gradually then climbed down very quickly into a valley carved by a creek long, long ago. As we climbed back up the other side, we stopped to marvel at a beautiful, fiery-orange salamander. Not long afterwards, we found another vireo’s nest at almost the same height we had found the first one in July. Alexis said he liked seeing so much bloodroot in one place. You don’t often see so much at one time.

In no time, it seemed we had returned to a well-worn deer trail like the one we had found at the beginning of our day. We walked in a line all the way back to the trail head. Mark said he could tell we were close to the meadow where we began because he could hear the crickets chirping. After another quick closing circle, we were done for the day.

What eye-opening lessons! Who knew that the anthill to the vole is as important as the ridge is to the deer? If you’re interested in learning more, here are a few books you might be interested in:

Reading the Forested Landscape by Tom Wessels

The Peterson Field Guide to Eastern Forests, by John C. Kricher

Written By: Christina Yu - 2nd Year Tracking Apprentice

Reading the Stories in the Snow: Tracking Evaluation in Algonquin Park

I spent this past weekend at the Wildlife Research Station in Algonquin Park, standing around in below -20C temperatures, poring over indentations in the snow, snowed-in trails of all sizes, mysterious scrapes and holes in trees, pungent urine marks, and other clues of animal presence. I do this kind of thing for fun as often as I can, but this time I was participating in a Track and Sign Evaluation to test my skills. I've been working on tracking skills in a focused way for about two years now, perhaps peripherally for a year or two before that. I've written previously about what drew me to this learning, and why I find it so compelling and beautiful and important, both on this blog and at Sense of Story. And so you might know that for the past two years I've been involved in an apprenticeship program with Earth Tracks, spending many inspiring weekends hiking around forests, swamps, cliffs and fields in every possible kind of weather, learning about the ecology of this land that I live in and about the creatures who inhabit it with me. I've learned to measure, sketch tracks, journal, draw maps, do species research, observe weather patterns, and tease out the stories left behind on the land.

When the evaluation was first scheduled, I hesitated to sign up. I had some nerves and doubt and plenty of ego to untangle when I considered being put on the spot for my skills in this way, skills that seemed so emergent and fragile to me. I didn't know what it would look like and how it would feel to be required to move from wonder and speculation to firmly committing to an answer, my own answer, to each puzzle pointed out to me. What did I actually know? But specific goals are motivating, and risk is a powerful teacher.

Our humble but cozy accommodations.

So I found myself on a late January Friday bunking with three other women, fortunately all of them friends, in a tiny cabin in the woods of Algonquin Park. In between sleeping and evaluation time out in the field, our group of ten or so participants gathered together in the Director’s Cabin at the Wildlife Research Centre to warm up, cook our meals, and socialize.

One of my bunkmates, Tamara, had made up study notes for herself, and we lay in our beds on Friday evening as she read tidbits out loud by headlamp, all of us easing our nerves with raucous laughter.

The next morning, with feet already freezing from the cold cabin floors (note to self: bring slippers next time!), we gathered with snowshoes and notebooks to start the evaluation. George, the evaluator – who had come up from the U. S. – had scouted out some tracks and sign the day before. But nature is always in motion, and recently fallen snow and new tracks meant that many of the questions he ultimately gave us were spontaneously found or had already changed slightly by the time our group reached them. With each new track, trail or sign we might be asked: “Who made this?” “What gait is this?” “Which foot is this?” or the all encompassing “What happened here?” Ecology, habitat, behaviour, as well as our knowledge of track and trail patterns and typical animal sign all informed our answers. We moved from one set of tracks to another, each person taking as long as they needed to decide on an answer, although the bitter cold certainly encouraged closure. Our answers we gave one by one to George or to Alexis – who was assisting – either whispered or written in a notebook (my preference). The evaluator’s job was to hear our answer with a neutral face and record it.

Who made these tracks?

After each group of five or so questions, George took up the answers. Obviously, the evaluator’s tracking skills are put on the spot as well, and there is room for debate and the occasional question thrown out if there is too much disagreement (it is amazing, for example, how much snowed-over moose tracks and human tracks can look alike). After the first group of questions, I knew I would be fine, and I threw myself into the exuberant fun and adrenaline high of it all.

George and Alexis, practicing the poker face. George has an excellent frost beard.

Who made this Trail? 

As I knew, my weak point was bird, insect and mammal sign on trees. On the other hand, I had some strokes of luck, pulling an answer out of nowhere – certainly not from conscious memory – a few times and then discovering it was right. I was struck by how often a seemingly random guess can have a solid deductive process going on behind it. I loved what I learned about my instincts and my reasoning process, how good it felt to follow my intuitions on each question, and how often my mistakes came out of not doing so. I also loved dispensing with the need for measurement – measuring tools weren't allowed – and tuning into my love of patterns and context to summon my answers. I checked off correct and incorrect answers in my notebook, and although the answers are weighted for difficulty, making it difficult to calculate a score ahead of time, I could see as the weekend went on that I was mostly on a roll. I had told myself that what I wanted from the evaluation was a really great workshop – which it was – but I could see quickly that my competitive drive was kicking in.

Among what we saw in the snow were tracks and trails of pine marten, fisher, mink, river otter, short-tailed weasel, shrew, deer mouse or white-footed mouse, grouse, moose, white-tailed deer, red squirrel, red fox, and eastern wolf. On a range of trees, hydro poles and on one plywood shed were marks from black bear, porcupine, pileated woodpecker, and many other smaller creatures.

What happened here?

Our most intense moment was being led to a fresh moose carcass at the bottom of a slope on the side of the highway. The next few questions set the scene: Whose tracks were leading up to it? What did we see at the top of the hill? Was this all related? If so, how? It was potent and moving to visualize the scene of the hunt, what might have happened here and how. To place it within the statistics on wolf on moose predation in the park; to feel the agony of the moose’s death alongside gratitude for the role the wolves play in the health of their ecosystem. In the woods with senses wide open, you can’t avoid the cycle of life and death, its solid and fleshy reality, and the bigger knowledge that every living being, every possible nutrient, is eventually recycled and reabsorbed into others and into the Earth.

A beautiful otter trail.

I was grateful to have been part of this experience and process. Putting myself into a situation where I needed to decipher the clues on my own, to commit to answers and really trust my gut, and the excellent outcome that came out of this for me (Level III Track and Sign) gave me a huge boost of confidence in the skills I've built up over the past few years. The testing situation put a higher stake on using the knowledge I had in contrast to the more relaxed energy of tracking as naturalist learning. It connected me in a deeper way to the instincts my ancestors would have used, that I could still use, in a situation where tracking had a stake in survival. Reflecting on the experience in the week afterwards, I thought a lot about how to apply that intuition, that trust in myself, to other situations in my life. Like any experience where head, heart and body are engaged, it gifted me more than the sum of its parts.

Pine marten at the back window of the Wildlife Research Station. Photo by Lianna Vargas.

A week later, I’m driving up to Algonquin Park again, this time with the apprenticeship program, for a weekend of a different pace, which will be both more relaxed and more physically demanding. We’ll get onto some moose or wolf trails, read the patterns, immerse ourselves in the exhilaration of movement, observation and connection with the more-than-human world. I’m glad not to be tested this time, but I know I’ll bring the energy of last weekend forward into this one. And I suspect that when the evaluation comes around again next year, I will be keen to do it again.

Me, with my usual tracking grin.

Written By: Malgosia Halliop - 2nd Year Tracking Apprentice

"Here kitty, kitty . . . . Wait - What's that Flesh?"

A study of animal Gaits

Story of the Day for Jan 18

On a snowy Sunday morning, after many icy kilometres, our little tracking crew found itself on the edge of the Kreug Forest. A great piece of land preserved through the years by the Kreug family and then donated as a preserve, some of us reminisced about beautiful native plants we had seen here in other seasons. But top of everyone's mind was the potential for bobcat! Twice over the past year there had been potential bobcat scat spotted on the scrubby edge of the wetland. Now, with snow all around, we were excited to see if we could find evidence of those beautiful tracks!

Snowshoeing through the cedars on the edge of a pond, there was lots of evidence of deer walking, feeding and sleeping. An old cedar stump held the claw marks of a squirrel and maybe a raccoon. Claw marks reminiscent of tiny hieroglyphics in an obscure forest language - hard to say how long they have stood there.

As we head out carefully across the ice (a foot went through on more than occasion that day:) ), we find an aged trail of what looks like a starfish? With splayed toes at all angles, and a regular rhythm, this animal had crossed the pond to the shore. Although difficult to see individual toes, the wild shape of these tracks could only be attributed to Ontario's only marsupial - Virginia Opossum!

What track pattern do you see here?

Sticking to brushy, covered edges of the wetland, we came to a crossing where multiple deer had gone from forest to forest, changing gaits in rapid succession as they crossed the open ice. The thin layer of slush on under the snow, provided great contrast for this in-depth analysis of cervid movement. After Saturday nights in-depth whiteboard studying, we were able to pick out an individual deer as it moved from a transverse gallop to a bound to a rotary gallop (the fastest gait I know of). Using the tracking text from Elbroch, we drew out fronts and hinds, and compared the lightning bolt shape of a transverse placement of feet to a rotary placement which is more C - shaped.

Picking up the pace to get out of our heads, we came across a tiny least weasel trail over the ice, so snowed in we couldn't count toes, but saw the characteristic 3x4 lope that this family loves. On land, a tiny ironwood sapling showed signs of fresh browse. On a little island in the snow, someone found what looked like a rib bone.

Porcupine Den Site

After lunch and snow fight with a conifer (wherein said tree suddenly dumped snow all over unsuspecting snacking adults), we headed towards some fresh porcupine chews. We found a little "snow plow" trail of the porcupine leading into an active den at the base of a beautiful old sugar maple.

What is that up there?

Our group dispersed a little amongst the open hardwoods and saw little shrew and potential short-tailed weasel trails. Wait - what is that? A little 2x2 loping trail with a tiny piece of scat? Ropy scat and little further down a piece of flesh? As we trailed this tiny predator, we found another and then another scrap of flesh. Under a log, over the snow, across the hill until it seemingly disappeared. The worn trail told of us the tiny weasel hunter who must patrol this patch of forest. Although he (presuming from track size) was not the cute and fluffy cat we had hoped for, we were all left with the wonder of this carnivorous creature . .

Written by Lee Earl - 2nd year Tracking Apprentice - (also certified  Level III Track and Sign!  Whoo-hoooo!)

Down in the Valley: A focus on snow trailing and animal gaits

 On a cold and windy January Saturday we met in the Beaver Valley to start our weekend of tracking and trailing.  Most of us were on snowshoes, skimming across the layers of snow and able to keep a good pace over the drifts.  First off, we slipped off the road down into a cedar swamp, where we were sheltered from the brisk wind.  The animals might have had the same idea. We immediately encountered deer and coyote trails, occasionally hard to distinguish from each other in the deep snow, and so we spent some time figuring out the features that would help us tell them apart, as well as talking about how each animal was moving through the snow (its gait).  Talking about the weather patterns of the past week helped us with aging the tracks. 

Deer beds were tucked in among the cedars, and fairly fresh coyote tracks across them gave us a glimpse of the ongoing dance across the landscape of predator and prey.  Two patches of urine again spoke to this relationship, the coyote leaving its strongly smelling urine directly over the deer’s milder-scented mark. And now the “it” of the coyote was transformed into a “she”: a patch of blood in the urine told us that the coyote we were following was mostly likely a pre-estrous female, almost ready for the breeding period.  

We were struck, as we have been at other times, with the very high browse line on all the cedars. These were hungry deer, perhaps already running low on resources.  A high browse line on the black spruce nearby was even more surprising.  Spruce is a food of last resort for deer, and we wondered about the population density of deer in this area and their pressure on the forest.

Porcupine Browse Sign

A little past the deer and coyote urine, we found another mark, florescent green and piney in scent, surrounded by clipped branches of spruce that had been dropped to the ground – tell-tale sign of porcupine! Our next clue, a typically trough-like and stained porcupine trail in the snow, led us to more urine and a large pile of scat.  And looking up, in a large cedar, there was the culprit, high up on the trunk.  Not more than fifty feet away, we spotted another of the species in a second cedar.  This tree sported a fresh-looking pileated woodpecker hole. As we looked around at other such holes in surrounding trees, Matt spotted something peculiar above us: a couple of dozen quills sticking upwards from a branch that was broken at the end.  What a strange sight!  What happened here?  Was it a porcupine falling off a higher branch breaking its fall and losing quills?  We found no sign of a body at the base of the tree, even after digging down in the snow. How long had these quills been here?  What happened to their owner?

Did this Porcupine fall from the Tree?

Leaving the porcupine mystery for future wanderers to stumble upon, we headed up to the bridge over the Beaver River. Our next mystery was a clump of black fur, with a bone in the centre of it, half buried in the snow under a large cedar.  Our best guess, most of us agreed, was the tail of an Eastern Grey Squirrel (in its black, or melanistic, colour phase).  What happened here?  Where was the rest of the squirrel?  Why had we found it outside its usual deciduous forest habitat?

We set out to the north over a large snow-covered plain, following the northward course of the river’s current (surprising for those of us used to the ubiquitously south-flowing rivers further south).  A wasp’s nest low to the ground in a small shrub pulled Christina off the trail – what a strange location for it! Who made this nest?  We were pretty sure we knew – do you? Our main clue: the “paper” was plainly lined, unlike other more ornately scalloped nests we had seen of a different species.  Hmmm… 

Checking out Porcupine Tree Trails

Through the open field and back into a cozy grove of cedars on the river’s west bank - with a few of us taking a detour to inspect a sugar maple almost fully stripped of bark by porcupines - we stopped for lunch.  After some rest and refueling, and drying of socks and gloves, we were ready for some trailing practice. Breaking into two smaller groups, we were challenged to find a good trail and follow it for a couple of hours, meeting back at the bridge over the Beaver River in the late afternoon.

 

In the evening, after a shared dinner, we all sat down as a group to review mammal gaits and track patterns, and to map out our day’s adventures. After recording the details of our morning together, we listened to each other’s afternoon trailing stories. Both groups, in the midst of all the visual “noise” of deer trails in the forest had hit upon a coyote trail to follow. We shared the track patterns we had seen, the stops and starts, the steep climb uphill to the west of the valley.

Grey Squirrel Tail 

One group had followed their particular trail a little further than the other, and found it led to a coyote bedding area high up the west slope, with seven coyote beds, many trails leading in and out, and several scats in the beds – showing the animals had recently eaten.  At various points in the day, we had wondered why we were seeing so many walking coyote trails (trotting is their baseline gait when exploring and looking for food).  Had the coyotes been travelling on full stomachs all this time, with no urgency to look for food?  Our learning about the coyote’s gait and its potential connections to the animal’s physical state brought our weekend’s theme into practical focus.

  Written by: Malgosia Halliop - 2nd year Tracking and Apprentice (and Level III Track and Sign - Congratulations Malgosia!)

Nighttime Study Time

What the Raven says . . . and other fortuitous tracking moments

Guess What happened to this guy?

On a snowy December day, we were in the Boyne River area heading up a steep, steep deer trail as we began the morning. Following deer tracks on a slope placed perfectly one after the other is a hilarious thing to try and do as a human. The snow was wet and heavy and there was a tiny layer of water/ice that made us slip, slide, and wonder about the amazing ability of deer hooves to grip this wild substrate - no boots necessary for the creatures of the wild. 

Following the rambling deer through the forest, we came to an interesting little intersection. On one side tracks were leading from a bramble covered thicket with willow and dogwood in the background and then headed towards a cedar grove. What was that little miss-step that happened in the middle of the trail? The stride of the deer grew by almost a third, and as we put together pieces, you could almost see the deer emerging from cover, stopping, looking and quickly moving through the clearing to get to the dense cedars on the other side. How often do we do this when crossing the road? Human nature or deer nature?

Later, after identifying the sex of a deer based on back legs and urine location, we crossed back down the hill and over the road. From a distance, this wet bog held the allure of some exciting beaver evidence. Fresh chews and trails perhaps? As we walked closer, there was an even more exciting find - a shed antler?!?? Looking closer, this antler appeared to be attached to a big lump covered in snow. . .a whole deer! We had found a dead buck, completely covered in snow, with hair that detached from the hide easily, dating it a week or more old we thought. With a beautiful big rack and thick, strong, neck, we puzzled about its death whether through harsh conditions? old age? car accident? This mystery held us in its grip for a while before we moved on to the beaver trail and found a spot to lunch in among the cedars at the edge of the wetland. 

As we munched and chatted, we heard a strange squawk from where we had left our friend the deer. Who was that and was he saying? Squawking/gurgling/shrieking - the raven had come down to announce this bounty of the deer carcass for anyone who was within earshot. Listening to ravens can be tricky business, but in this case it seemed clear to all of us that he said "Yes! look what I have found!"

After lunch, we hiked past the edge of the wetland, trailing deer to see who and how many went which way. We past evidence of grouse life, and insects burrowing and engraving the trees, until we came across another mystery - what were those snails doing on the snow?? As we investigated the live snails laying across the top of the snow, we wondered - how did they get here? Why? There was a tiny mammal tunnel that led to where these snails looked like been tossed out the window of this subnivean creature. Alexis thinks he knows what it was - ask him if you get the chance.

Fisher Tracks

But the deer trails pulled us forward, and we ventured up the hill to find fresh deer beds, and some bounding deer going - you guessed it- right up a steep and slippery slope. 

Porcupine Trail

Almost at the top of the ridge, there was an interesting interloper. This trail led west down and towards the road, and had five perfect toes in each track. A fisher! This was the biggest mustelid we had seen evidence of this wild and crazy weasel weekend. We followed it over hill and dale, up and down, noticing where it had dug a snack from below the snow - old deer bits? - and where it finally disappeared into thin air?! Or perhaps that shadow up overhead in the spruces was where the fisher napped?

After looking on the ground for an arboreal predator grew tiresome, we found some tracks that looked like a tiny cross country skier had come by - a wild turkey in the deep snow can really help one appreciate the dexterity of their toes. 

As we came to the edge of a field, we found a wide porcupine trail and a den underneath a rocky cliff clinging cedar. Slip sliding our way down to walk the road back, I thought about the sleeping fisher, the walking turkey, the cold snails, the dead deer and the hungry raven and I was grateful to have met them all. 

Written by Lee Earl - 2nd Year Earth Tracks Tracking Apprentice

Porcupine Trail to den site

Weasel 'Madness' and other Tracking Adventures

Mother Nature had gifted us with more than foot of snow, and the Year 2 apprentices were excited to see what animals had left tracks for us this weekend in Mono Cliffs. Our theme was trailing, and we were curious to see how our animal friends had reacted to so much snow on the ground.

After a quick opening circle to set our intentions, we struck out east across the top edge of the old farmer’s field. Diamond strands of silk encased in ice dazzled us; deer tracks in the trees challenged us. How different those tracks looked in snow! How many deer were there? Which way were they going? When were the tracks made? We decided to follow them for a while to see where they were going.

Their gait changed suddenly from a walk to a gallop — or was it a bound? The tracks led to the southern edge of the field, where we were distracted by the discovery of a new trail. Alexis stopped us and used this as a warm-up question for the Track and Sign Evaluation some of us would be taking in January. He circled one section and asked, who made these tracks? Which direction was it travelling in? What gait? Our energy surged as we stooped to examine tracks inside and outside the circle. Was it a canine? Yes. Was it going west? Yes. Was it walking or trotting? Not sure. After a few minutes, Alexis asked us what we thought. Tamara said she thought the coyote was walking. She had gone a little farther ahead in the trail and seen where it had emerged into a more open area; subsequently, the stride had lengthened and narrowed. It made sense: The section that had been circled was winding through stalks of grasses and under a tree. It would have been hard to navigate at speed.

Did we want to keep following the deer or switch to the coyote? It was unanimous: Coyote. The group continued walking west. Along the way we saw tiny mouse tracks circling the tree trunks. At the southern tree line, we found more of the same, mixed in with skunk and Short-Tailed Weasel. Excited, we followed the skunk and the weasel for some time before settling down to have lunch.

Tamara and Alex wanted to see where the skunk went, so we split up: They followed the skunk while we followed the weasel — which was easier said than done! I couldn’t help but think of the movie Flubber. The weasel seemed to be bouncing everywhere, above and below the snow. The mouse trail seemed much more straightforward in comparison!

Short TailWeasel

At the southwest corner of the field, Alexis and Lee found a mysterious hunk of flesh hanging from the branch of a tiny shrub. Thinking something so red could only be berries, Lee even picked it up with her bare hand! A quick sniff proved it was something entirely different, and after holding it, she knew it hadn’t been left there long.

Small Rodent Remains

Alex and Tamara joined us shortly. They had also had some success: The trail had led to a burrow! They too examined the fleshy weasel offering, then we returned to the coyote trail and continued on. We saw bird tracks and vole scats — and a vole trail? A peculiarly-spaced set of tiny tracks led us away from the coyote to the road. They were the same width as a vole’s, and seemed the right size for a vole, but why was it in a 2-by-2 lope?

Short Tail and Least Weasel trails

“I think this is a Least Weasel,” Alexis said finally. Our first one! Rulers materialized almost as quickly as questions. How could he tell? Were they really that small? Why wasn’t it a vole? We opened up our guides and did some quick field research. Typically, the trail had gone from a walk to a lope, then back again. Voles like to trot, and generally don’t stay above the snowpack for very long distances.

It was fascinating to see so many small mammal tracks in such a short space of time. In one area, we saw mouse, Short-Tailed Weasel and Least Weasel trails running side by side and over one another, an excellent opportunity to compare and contrast their tracks, their gaits and their strides.

Vole Feeding Sign

The road marked the edge of crown land, so we turned around and went back into the trees. Soon we found ourselves hiking uphill, passing the work of a hungry vole who had completely devoured the seeds of a milkweed pod. Then we came across another small mammal trail: a cinereus shrew, whose tracks were the tiniest of all!

Eventually, we made our way into the valley next to Mono Cliffs. The group stopped to examine three fresh deer beds; we had likely pushed the deer out of them as we made our way down. Lots of scat and urine to look at here. Alexis pointed to one patch of urine in the snow. Was this left by a male or a female? How could you tell?

Least Weasel and Vole Trails

At the top of the cliffs, the six of us had circled up when the sky suddenly darkened, as though a veil had been pulled over the sun. It was time to head out. We went back to the coyote trail once again, and it led us up to the southern edge of the field, right to the skunk burrow Tamara and Alex had found at lunch. We took the most direct route and hiked across the field to our cars. Several Short-Tailed Weasel trails raced among the grasses around us. We even found a burrow and some scat!

Porcupine Trail

As we ended the day with our closing circle, our thanksgivings came quickly and sounded much the same: gratitude for the snow to track in, gratitude for the tiny tracks we came across, gratitude for new knowledge of our animal friends, who are always there, but whose tracks we don’t often get to see. Last, but not least, Alexis announced that Christina, one of his first-year apprentices, had handed in her completed homework. With smiles and applause, he presented her with the first Earth Tracks Advanced Level Tracking Certificate.

Hopefully, we’ll have some more graduations to report in the months to come! But for now, that’s the news from Day 1.

This Post was written by Christina Yu - 2nd Year Earth Tracks Tracking Apprentice

The Value of Journaling in Tracking Training

I’ve been spending a lot of time recently working on tracking journals. For the past year and a half or so, I’ve been involved in a tracking apprenticeship program through Earth Tracks Outdoor School. The year before – having  developed a deep curiosity about plants, especially their edible and medicinal uses – I’d signed up for a wild plants apprenticeship with Earth Tracks. I signed up impulsively, but with an instinct I trusted. I had taken a couple of workshops with Alexis and had a really good feeling about his teaching style. I knew I wanted more grounded knowledge of ecology and nature. After many years of education, I was suddenly stunned by my own ignorance about the natural world. I wanted to zoom in on things, see the details, really know what was around me. I wanted to be outside all day, learning cool stuff.

The monthly commitment felt daring and kind of improbable – my younger child was only three, and we had rarely been apart. But sometimes I set my mind to something, and I can’t turn back.

From the first weekend, the time and space and all-day immersion in nature tapped into to something that I had been longing for. As the eight-month plant apprenticeship wound down, I wanted to continue learning in exactly this way. I found out that Alexis was offering a ten-month tracking program, which would start just a week after the plant course finished. As we drove back and forth together the last months of the course, my new friend Lee and I gradually talked each other into it. It was a leap of faith, because at that time I knew little about tracking, but it also felt right, because I knew how much the weekends had nourished me the previous year. I knew also that in nature nothing is separate. Tracking was connected to a huge web of naturalist learning that I wanted to dig into. And I also felt, in a way, that a wave was carrying me that I couldn’t really stop. And didn’t want to.

Now, I am in the second year of tracking apprenticeship with Earth Tracks. Along with a couple of others, I’m participating in a pilot second year program in a work/trade role. I’ve also practiced tracking in other contexts over the same period, in the midst of homeschooling my kids and other responsibilities: a week-long immersion course in Algonquin Park run by Earth Tracks and White Pine Programs; helping run a monthly drop-in tracking program for the PINE Project; and time on my own when possible. And now, I’m also working my way through lots and lots of tracking journals. The ones we use for the apprenticeship are based on the Shikari template, with two pages of more reflective questions added by Alexis. Each journal is six pages long in total, and completing one involves mapping, sketching, measurement, weather observations, ecological observations, species research, observations on one’s own patterns and gaps, and reflection on the more intuitive and personal aspects of tracking. Another set of journal pages, also part of the homework, are focused on species research and field observation. With these, I was initially a bit fixated on making them “complete” and now I’d like to work on making them shorter and more concise instead.

On top of all that are ecological mapping exercises, seasonal nature observations, and tracking exercises of various kinds. Whew! It’s going to take me a while to get through it all. But as with so many things, I’m finding that as I make a habit of it, I’m drawn further in. I’m learning to love my tracking journals, picking away at the homework bit by bit each day. And doing this kind of recording, questioning and puzzle-solving is reinforcing the experiential naturalist learning I’ve been doing the past couple of years. This is field research, but it’s not detached. It’s detailed, but it’s also personal and reflective and connecting. In the past, most of the academic work I did involved writing and more writing: long essays about patterns and theories. I liked making leaps of intuition; I avoided methodical work. This uses a different part of my brain, one which needs to be present to the details. Slowly I can see that paying close attention and recording observations is training me to see better. The more I learn, the more questions I have. I’ve realized that this kind of learning is a life-long commitment.

Here are some more (non-matching) example of individual journal pages. Some of these are finished, some are not quite. They are teaching me the importance of just showing up and doing the work, of slowly bringing small pieces together into something substantial, of creating methodical habits that over time create big changes of perspective. 

 

By Malgosia Halliop (2nd year Tracking Apprentice)  

 

* Previously published on Between These Rivers Blog:
http://mhalliop.wordpress.com/2014/11/27/creating-habits-of-awareness-or-why-im-spending-so-much-time-on-tracking-journals/