outdoors

Our rose of Sharon bushes range in color from red and white to lavender and red and one is pure white. We started them as small shoots no more than 18 or 20 inches in 2004. Today the largest stretch nearly nine feet. That's not surprising, being that they were planted over heaps of compost.

There was a time when most of the wildlife attracted to the rose of Sharon seemed to be Japanese beetles, which I crushed with relish. As the blooms became more prolific, the visitors became more pleasing to the eye. That was especially the case this year with butterflies, bees and hummingbirds visiting on a regular basis. In the above photo, a pollen-covered bumble bee begins to emerge from a rose of Sharon bloom.

An Eastern tiger swallowtail comes in for a landing... 

and spreads its wings. Don't know if it was gathering nectar or simply taking in the sun's warmth. Maybe both.

We've always enjoyed the rose of Sharon, one reason being they provide color from mid to late summer. Now, with their blooms fading, we know the summer is nearly over and the first frost just around the corner!

When I did the story on the Batavia Wastewater Treatment Plant I didn't get around to taking a walk on the nature trails off Donahue Road, behind the plant.

The trails are maintained by the treatment plant staff and open to the public for hiking (no hunting, trapping or fishing allowed).

This even, I took Pachuco for a walk and brought my camera along. To give you idea of what's there, here are a few of the photos I took.

One look at this cardinal and it's easy to see his normally prominent crest is laid flat against the back of his head. Rather than belting out his normal cheerful tune, this guy seems to be somewhat agitated..... 

Turns out he's on the attack, a bit feisty, aggressive and...

maybe even a bit territorial. Certainly hungry! Although he has a mouthful, he's eyeing a butterfly flitting past, the small white blur in the foreground.

I recall seeing a house finch for the first time and thinking that a sparrow and cardinal had crossbred.

We see the house finches quite regularly in our yard, never very far from the safety of dense cover.

This great egret is stalking the shallows of upper Stafford Marsh off Albion Road in Oakfield.

Except for the color of the stilt-like part of their legs, the great egret is nearly identical to the great white heron. The legs of the egret  are black, the white heron's are gray-green.

Like the cardinal in the first three photos, this blue jay's behavior is something I've not seen before. He's perched on the edge of an old canoe we've filled and turned into a flower garden. Normally quite noisy, this guy never made a sound although his beak was wide open the entire time. The feathers of his head, back and neck are clearly tufted, while his wing and tail feathers are fanned for promiment display. The guess here is he was either trying to attract a female or scare off an intruder.

The red-tail hawk is equipped with piercing eyes that can spot prey from a considerable distance and spot minute movement in tall grass and underbrush. There is much to be said about his hunting ability, but an encounter with a red-tail up close is quite telling -- his weaponry speaks for itself.

That hooked bill is keen-edged like a razor and his lengthy talons are needle sharp. They are more than a match for the small mammals he hunts. You can add smaller birds and the occasional reptile to his menu and you still have but a partial list.

Despite being such a lethal and ominous-looking raptor, the red-tail is something of a romantic. He's monogamous and the courtship flight involves both the male and female soaring high on thermal currents while gliding in wide but separate circles high in the sky.

Claudia and I took these photos at the Hazard Campbell project on the Oak Orchard Wildlife Management Area.

Whereas the orioles were easy to photograph, the bluebirds were quite timid, refusing to remain still for more than a moment or two and making photo opportunities difficult.

While the orioles nested in the woods to the north, the bluebirds -- at least two mating pairs -- nested in the small woods bordering the southern edge of our property. They made repeated forays to our mulberry tree, appearing to take a single berry and fly back into the woods. Moments later they would reappear on a dead limb of a white ash (as seen in above photo), making a brief stop before flying in for another mulberry.  

We had ample bluebird sightings in our backyard this year. While I was aware they were not around in great numbers, until now I've never realized how shy and retiring they are. Claudia and I have seen more bluebirds during the summer of 2011 than all previous years combined. Maybe it's nature's way of making up for a less than pleasant winter!

Throughut the summer there was no shortage of colorful songbirds around our home. The orioles were among the first arrivals, showing up when the apple tree blossomed. They busied themselves searching the small white blooms for food, flitting from branch to branch in their quest for tiny insects.

Perched at the very top of the tree, this oriole took time to preen.

Looking for bugs

Casting a wary eye

Belting out a few notes

Multiple mating pairs nested in the small woods along the northern edge of our property. Their pleasant song was often heard anytime during the daylight hours. 

Marc Bzduch took his sons -- Dante, Devyn and Alexandre -- out for some early morning fishing at Dewitt Park. Bzduch said they arrived at the lake at 5:30 a.m., but it was raining, so they sat in his truck for about 45 minutes waiting for it to clear.

It's a place teeming with wildlife, a bit of a birder's paradise. It's 400 acres of accessible open space where local residents can walk their dogs, go for a jog or just enjoy a stroll along well-maintained paths.

Some might call it a park.

We call it the Batavia Wastewater Treatment Plant.

A lot of area residents, even if they know of the plant, may not know it's open to the public, or appreciate its natural aesthetics.

"It's great that the city is able to provide access to this great resource," said Tom O'Donnell, president of the Buffalo Ornithological Society. "It's a unique place to view waterfowl and shore birds."

Some 180 different species of birds have been spotted on the property during its 21-year history, including herons, loons, egrets, hawks, terns, swans and, of course, a variety of ducks and geese.

Birders from throughout the region know of the facility and have even traveled from as far away as Finland specifically to go birding in Batavia.

What makes the plant unique is the lack of reeds and trees between the birder and the birds, said O'Donnell. The vantage point, with the raised berms around the lagoons, give birders an exceptional angle to view waterfowl and shore birds.

It's tempting to call the fenced-in treatment plant a bird sanctuary, but it's prime function is to treat the city's effluent and turn it into something environmentally safe to pump back into the Tonawanda Creek.

The process is all natural -- no chemicals -- and it takes six to nine months for a molecule of water to pass from the facility's mechanical screen to the gravity outflow pipe near the pedestrian bridge at Walnut Street on the Tonawanda.

According to City Manager Jason Molino, the treatment plant is the largest lagoon system east of the Mississippi.

"That plant is a resource that I don’t think people understand," Molino said following a city council meeting last week. "It’s a special plant. It’s 400 acres. It doesn’t use chemical treatment. It’s natural treatment, so there’s no chemical cost. Only four people run it, seven days a week. You find me a sewer plant that has low labor costs like that, low treatment costs -- that's why our sewer rates are some of the lowest in Western New York."

And the plant is paid for. A combination of federal grants and municipal bonds helped get the plant constructed and the bonds are all paid off.

It even generates a little revenue (besides sewer-rate fees). A contractor pays up to $6,000 a year to harvest fat head minnows from some of the ponds. The minnows were brought in to help balance the treatment of the water, and while birds feast on the little fish, they breed faster than even the hungriest herons can consume them.

The plant's natural treatment process is not without precedent, according to Rick Volk, chief operator of the wastewater plant.

"The idea of lagoon treatment is as old as Egypt," Volk said. "What we did in Batavia is take a system that is as old as Egypt and apply new technology."

From 2.5 to 3.5 million gallons of raw sewage arrives at the plant daily (capacity is 5 million gallons per day). It is pumped into a screening process that removes everything larger than a cigarette butt, then goes through an aerated grit chamber to remove sand and dirt (this is the one part of the plant that produces any real stench).

After screening, the effluent is pumped into aerated ponds. The ponds provide oxygen treatment that consumes matter in the wastewater. Air is pumped into the water by 200 horsepower compressors. This process takes about a month.

The aerated ponds are popular with ducks who can be found by the dozens either in the water or resting on the long, black aeration pipes that float on the surface of the water.

The wastewater is then fed alum to assist in phosphorus removal as it flows into two secondary ponds. The 45-acre ponds are up to 8-feet deep where biological activity and settling removes more waste. The process takes up to 42 days.

Next, a lift station hoists the water up above the four tertiary ponds, which are from 25 to 35 acres each and have an adjustable depth of 3 to 12 feet. At this point, most of the suspended solids are removed.

This is where you'll find minnows and the waterfowl who feed on them, as well as a variety of other birds flitting through the air, from northern flickers to least flycatchers.

The final step on a molecule of water's journey is to pass through one of three wetlands -- ponds with reeds and other aquatic plants that help "put the final polish," as Volk said, on the wastewater.

The largest of the ponds is popular with ducks, geese, herons and snowy egrets.

The whole process is designed to ensure that only water that is safe for people, crops, fowl and fish is piped back into the Tonawanda.

Plant staff conduct frequent tests -- regulated by the state -- in a lab at the facility to ensure each step of the process is cleaning the waste as it should and that the final product shipped out to the Tonawanda is up to environmental standards.

Staff is on duty from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m., which is the only time the ponds are accessible to the public.

The current four staff members are about half of what the city needed to run its pre-1990s wastewater plant, according to Volk.

While not officially a park, as long as the plant is open, area residents are welcome to visit anytime during plant hours, Volk said.  

Guests are asked to sign a registry in the main building, but are then free to wander the property. With permission, guests can drive their cars -- it can be a long, long walk to the tertiary ponds -- on the well-maintained gravel roads that surround the ponds.

Volk said there are times when work being performed by staff will prevent guests from driving on the roads, which is why it is necessary to ask first.

And if you go, you really want to get back to either the tertiary ponds or the larger of the three wetlands. This is where you will see the greatest variety of birds.

There's also a park of sorts on the west end of the facility, along Donahue Road. There's a small parking lot and footpaths that allow, at points, for visitors to view the tertiary ponds as well as a reconstructed wetland -- abatement for a wetland destroyed when the plant was built. The area is open to the public at all times, but no hunting or trapping is allowed.

More reading: The Wiki Guide to Birds.

If you have trouble viewing the slide show below, click here.

Sitting on her clutch of eggs, a mother goose is doing her best to keep a low profile while keeping a wary eye out for predators -- and photographers.

If only for a short time, this wetland tract is where "momma" and her brood will call home.

Three of the five hatchlings. 

Three of the five youngsters are barely visible, yet mom & dad manage to stay fore and aft of the entire brood.

Young and vulnerable, the goslings are totally dependant on their parents for protection. And with numerous predators found throughout the various types of habitat in the wetland, there is much to protect these fuzzy youngsters from.

When Oak Orchard Creek spills its banks, such as it did this spring, northern pike find their way into the marshes and deeper pools, such as the one above. Toothy northerns have, on occasion, been known to take young waterfowl.

Aquatic predators, like mink, make their home here, not to mention danger from above in the form of hawks and owls. 

Flooded timber can be enchanting, yet full of peril for young waterfowl.

This is a likely place to encounter snapping turtles or a marauding raccoon.

For these goslings, everything must seem larger than life...and perhaps a bit overwhelming at times. Maybe that's the reason for this youngster's perplexed look.

This youngster seems to be making sure all siblings are present and accounted for!

While there are numerous predators that live in and around the wetlands, there are neighbors that bring no cause for alarm...such as these painted turtles.

Or a cardinal in the cottonwood.

Even an eastern swallowtail.

With all the distractions, sometimes mom or dad needs to crack the whip! Here she's seen hissing, as if to say, "get back in line."

All things considered, at the end of the day the best place for a gosling is directly below the protection of mom's down feathers.

Earlier today, reader Kyle Couchman posted a comment about seeing a man chase a group of boys who were fishing from the banks of the Tonawanda Creek, near the Walnut Street footbridge.

The man, according to Couchman, claimed he owned the bit of creek bank the boys were on.

But according to the County's GIS parcel map, just about every inch of the Tonawanda Creek is public property.

Its path through the city is owned by Batavia and includes a few feet of creek bank (and in some places, such as near the footbridge, it includes slightly more).

Of course, that doesn't mean you can trespass on private property to get to the banks, but if you are on the banks, you're on public property.

This evening, for my bike ride, I thought I'd go to the spot Kyle described and guess who I found fishing there? That's Kyle above, rod in hand, and bragging that he'd already snagged a couple of nice fish. But nobody had tried chasing him off, either.

This Great Blue Heron was standing motionless when Claudia began taking his picture....but the master stalker of the shallows didn't remain still for long.

Moments later, the heron appeared to have spotted prey and began a slow and deliberate stalk.

Skulking through the shallows, the heron is intently focused on its quarry.

We obviously couldn't see what the heron was hunting. They feed mainly on small fish but their diet has been known to include, among others things, frogs, crayfish, small mammals, birds and snakes.

The Great Blue Heron's bill is not only large but sharp as well and a dangerous weapon -- the heron's thrust is lightening quick.  

With its back to us, the heron displays its promiment black crest.

A few people seemed to find this afternoon a good time to fish the Tonawanda Creek.

Above is Kyle Kendall, 7, and a student at John Kennedy School, who had just caught a northern pike when I happened by, which his father, Dave, displays for him.

For the first time this spring, Billie and I were able to sit on our back deck, and of course, I had my camera with me, at the ready, when this squirrel stopped by for a visit.

While there has always been a good number of gray squirrels nearby, this is one of the few fox squirrels I recall seeing near our home. That bushy tail may be one of the reasons behind their name.

About one and a half times the size of a gray, the fox squirrel is North America's largest. Here it's feasting on last year's box elder seeds.

Like the gray and red squirrel, the fox squirrel's color phase may vary from region to region.

Adding to its ample girth.

Smaller than both the fox and gray, the red squirrel, above, seems to be the feistiest of the three, particulary when defending its territory.

Here it's easy to see where the red got its name.   

The entire time I watched, this red seemed preoccupied in one of walnut trees growing along the north border of our property.

Here again, the red tends to a walnut tree. It seemed to concentrate on forks in the tree, perhaps enhancing future buds. Whatever, the red squirrels have established themselves in the area around the six walnut trees that are clustered into a small area. The gray squirrels, meanwhile, have been relegated to the hickory and oak trees back near the creek.

This pileated woodpecker gave me ample opportunity to try out our new camera. For half an hour or more it made two large cavities in a young cottonwood, one of seven within a stone's throw of the house. Whenever they visit they tend to ignore the huge cottonwood as well as the walnut, hickory, white ash and maple trees, instead focusing their attention on the young cottonwoods -- smoother bark, easier to penetrate, is my guess.

As you can tell from the photo sequence, the pileated's rountine was to pound away for a bit before tilting its head back as if to inspect its work, sometimes probing around inside the fresh excavation or even repositioning itself before renewing its efforts.

When it was time to leave it flew across our property, over the tops of our neighbor's woods, performing its trademark "swoop and dip" on the fly.

The late Bob Fowler, pictured above, was an avid fisherman all his life and there once was a time when he enjoyed the milieu of the duck hunter. There were also family vacations with his wife, Bonnie, and their sons, Teal and Brian, where they traveled to an island off the coast of the Carolinas.

There Bob fished and, come low tide, took the boys clamming. While Bob enjoyed many aspects of the outdoors, his real passion was on the river, whether it be canoeing or kayaking according to his longtime river-running partner, Pep Johnson.

It was in the early '70s when Pep and Bob Fowler first met. At the time their boys were both playing hockey for the Batavia Ramparts.

"It was brought to my attention that he (Fowler) did a lot of whitewater paddling," Pep said. "That was something I had always wanted to try."

No sooner did Pep Johnson make an inquiry, when Bob Fowler offered an immediate invitation, saying, "Let's do it."  And Pep Johnson was about to catch whitewater fever. Thus began a partnership that lasted more than three decades and took the pair to some of the wildest rivers in North America.

"When I first met Bob, he had been canoeing and kayaking for a time," recalled Pep. "We made our first canoes, they were one-man, solo canoes, whitewater canoes."

Pep is pictured above on Pennsylvania's Youghiogheny River.

As might be expected, during their early years, paddling together much of their canoeing was done close to home, with one of their first trips taking place on the Adirondack's Moose River, portions of which are class III & IV.

In whitewater terminology, rivers -- or various stretches thereof -- are rated anywhere from class I & II (mild) all the way class V & VI (wild -- and dangerous).

"We studied maps a lot," Pep said.

But river conditions can change, and that meant being vigilant while on the water.

"Whenever we came to a set of rapids we'd take out (the map) and study it, deciding how to paddle it or not attempt it at all," Pep said. "The latter decision was often determined by an obvious class V or VI set of rapids."

In the above photo, the pair look over some frothy whitewater on the Missinaibi River in northern Ontario.  

Their pursuit of wilderness paddling took them as far northest as Quebec's Gaspe' Peninsula, across northern Ontario, south to North Carolina and west to Utah.There were numerous stops in between with trips in New York, Pennsylvania, Maine and West Virginia.

The duration of their time on the rivers ranged from overnighters to 10 days. If the list of states and provinces seems extensive, the number of rivers was even more so -- and the degree of difficulty at times might be termed extreme.

"What was probably one of our scariest and hairiest rides was on the Youghiogheny River" Pep recalled.

On that occasion, the water levels were safe when he and Bob Fowler set out, but heavy rains far upstream the previous evening brought the river up to a dangerously high level. Finding a place to take out was not easy.

"The high water left no place to beach the canoes," Pep said. "Only dense, heavy brush was visible along the shore."

And it was obviously not a good place to attempt landing a canoe in swift water. Some hard work -- and rigorous paddling and scrambling -- finally got them safely ashore.

Another frightening moment occurred here in New York.

"Bob had always told me, if I spill, hold onto the canoe and don't let go of my paddle," said Pep. "Well, we entered a mile and a half stretch of the Indian River that was solid class III & IV the entire way.

"I got dumped and held onto the canoe and paddle, struggling to make it to shore. There was a huge boulder the size of a small house in the middle of the river and the current was taking me straight toward it."

That would be one time when Pep wisely bucked tradition.

"I let go of the canoe, and was then able to make it to shore," he continued. "When I looked back, I saw the canoe hit the boulder and then (it) pulled under."

It was several moments before the canoe popped back up to the surface on the downstream side of the boulder.

"There's no guarantee I would have done the same," Pep said.

Envisioning that last scenario prompted me to ask if he and Bob were "adrenaline junkies."

"At times," he began, "but more than that, it was the wilderness element. There were times we simply stared in wonderment at what we were seeing -- it was so beautiful."

Too, there was the mystique of the river.

"You never know what you might see around the next bend," he added, saying it wasn't unusual to spot moose and other forms of wildlife

The oversized tepee in the photo below provided a night's lodging prior to the start of a canoe trip on Quebec's Bonaventure river.

That's Batavian Bob Stevens on the left standing with Bob Fowler. For a number of years, Stevens was part of the wilderness paddling team. In the photo below, Bob Rodgers is seated in front of, left to right, Bob Stevens, Bob Fowler and Pep Johnson.

While their main objective was wilderness paddling, they did fish on occasion. Perhaps what may have been their biggest catch over the years was taken purely by accident.

"One evening after having set up camp, Bob Fowler caught three walleyes, all in the 16-inch range. He put them on a stringer and attached it to his canoe," said Pep, the idea being to keep them fresh for the following morning's breakfast.

"Well, the next morning, Bob walked down to the water and lifted the stringer."

Or at least he tried to.

"When he went to raise the fish from the water, something on the other end pulled back -- hard," Pep continued. "Again, he lifted and again something pulled back real hard. At this point, I heard him yell, 'Pep! Pep! Get down here.'"

Pep arrived in time to see his friend hoisting a northern pike, and a hefty specimen it was. The big fish had swallowed one of the walleyes up to its victim's gills and was then unable to swallow it or regurgitate it. Pep explained that Bob lifted the big fish clear of the water and pulled it right into the canoe. The pike landed in the bottom of the canoe with a thud and the walleye was dislodged. The pike was then released.

  Seems to be Pep Johnson's turn with the kitchen duties.

Two Bobs -- Fowler astern with Stevens manning the bow.

Bob Fowler on a stretch of flat water with Bob Stevens in the distance. 

Asked to reflect back on his thoughts of Bob Fowler, Pep never hesitated, not having to search for words.

"There's a bond that develops between guys that do these things for so many years," Fowler said. "When Bob was on the river he was always smiling and laughing. But more than that, if something were to happen, you knew that Bob had your back."

As a case in point, Pep related an incident that took place on West Virginia's New River. There is a bridge that spans the New River gorge, a bridge well noted for its use by bungee jumpers (that's how deep and steep the gorge is). They were on the river not far from that bridge when Pep was injured.

"Foot entrapment led to my knee being pinned between two rocks, resulting in torn ligaments and shattered cartilage in my knee." Pep said. "After that, I was unable to walk out. Bob carried both canoes out, then he lifted me onto his back and carried me out from the bottom of the river gorge."

The incident proved to be a minor deterrent. Shortly after Pep healed, they were once again making plans to run another river. 

The river runners' version of "on the road again."

It's been three years since Bob Fowler's passing and, for his river companions, things haven't been quite the same. Some, like Pep Johnson, are left with decades of whitewater memories, from sub-arctic terrain to the brown, desert backdrop and rock formations along Utah's San Juan River.

And while the wilderness waterways provided Bob Fowler and Pep Johnson scenic and peaceful settings, the rivers themselves were often turbulent and brawling -- just what seasoned river-runners hope for.