The Incredible World of Animal Flight

To soar like an eagle, hover like a hummingbird or dart through the trees like a chickadee would be incredible.

             

In the past one hundred years, people have produced amazing aircraft but nothing that truly rivals birds, bats and insects--the only creatures that have mastered true flight.  With wingspans that range from less than an inch to eleven-and-a-half feet, insects, birds and bats cover all aspects of flight: flapping, gliding, hovering, silent, speedy, slow, twisting and turning.

            

By harnessing the power of the wind, an albatross can glide hundreds of miles without flapping its wings that span eleven-and-a-half feet. Albatrosses commonly fly over 500 miles a day and can glide over 3.7 million miles by the time they are 50-years-old.

Canada Goose

Another long-distance flyer is the arctic tern which migrates between Antarctica and the Arctic and logs over 50,000 miles a year in the process. The tern doesn’t fly non-stop--it stops to fish along the way.

             

A shorter migration that is equally impressive is by the ruby-throated hummingbird. Incredibly, the ruby-throated hummingbird can fly over the Gulf of Mexico (500 miles) in 20 hours. That is a lot of wing flapping for a hummingbird which beats its wings 80 to 100 times per second. Hummingbirds also have the distinction of being the only bird to fly backwards and sideways.

             

All that flapping produces a humming sound distinct to hummingbirds and certain insects such as bees and flies. Except that these insects have to beat their wings much faster to stay aloft--roughly 200 beats per second.

Northern Shoveler

Despite their small size, insects can fly fast--as anyone who has stepped on or bumped into a bee’s nest knows. Interestingly, the fastest insect is the sphinx moth--capable of speeds of 33 mph. That is incredible considering most songbirds fly between 20 and 30 mph. Waterfowl are faster yet with speeds averaging 55 to 70 mph.

             

Bats can fly over 50 mph. As the only mammal capable of flight (flying squirrels glide and do not fly), bats typically take off by dropping from a hanging position. A bat’s wings are similar to a human hand but skin is stretched between four “fingers” resulting in the wings spanning six inches to six feet.

             

Whether bats, starlings or waxwings, they never seem to fly into each other when flying in large groups--which scientists have yet to explain. Other birds fly in formation; geese and cranes fly in a V-formation while cormorants and pelicans fly single file.

Swallowtail butterflies have the slowest wingbeat of all insects--five beats per second

The gracefulness of a butterfly and the antics of a hummingbird are fascinating to watch, but it is equally as fascinating to watch the not-so-graceful species. As a bird that spends more time on the ground than in the air, the turkey is a comical bird to watch fly and land in a tree. Equally entertaining is a loon running across the water trying to take off. Despite the awkwardness of certain birds, they are still capable of unassisted flight--something we can only dream about. 

Note: Published in the Bonners Ferry Herald on April 26, 2012. 

Signs of Spring

The last few days have been filled with signs of spring. The first rain shower of the year allowed the creation of the first rainbow--a complete half circle.

Migratory birds are starting to make an appearance but only a few--a handful of Canada geese, one sandhill crane and a couple of swans. As more open water becomes available, we should see more birds.

Lastly, the mosquitoes are out--thankfully only a few.

First sandhill crane of the year

Masters of camouflage in the snowy landscape

The occasional cluck will draw attention to the position of a ptarmigan along with their numerous tracks in the snow but seeing the ptarmigan isn’t easy. During winter, ptarmigan outfit themselves in white feathers which enable them to blend seamlessly into the snowy landscape and look like mounds of snow.  A relative of the grouse, ptarmigan (pronounced without the ‘p’) are masters of camouflage year-round.

Ptarmigan with their white feathers blend easily into a snowy landscape

One flock has been hanging around Bettles and the first time I spotted them I counted a dozen. But once they took flight, I counted twenty. Their initial rapid wing beats don’t startle me as much as a grouse but they seem to mock me with their laugh-like cackling.

                 

Large flocks are common in the winter as they move between sheltered areas and feeding areas. Amazingly, ptarmigan can survive on buds and catkins from willow and birch during the winter.

                 

Ptarmigan walk across the snow instead of flying when feeding

They have several techniques to stay warm and minimize energy expenditure so they don’t have to find as much food. First of all, they have a layer of down feathers between their skin and outer feathers, creating a down coat—which is still needed this time of year. They also fluff up the feathers in that down layer to create more air spaces which increases the insulating effect.

                 

Secondly, ptarmigan grow feathers on their legs and feet, even the soles of their feet. The only other bird with fully feathered legs and feet is the snowy owl. Not only do the feathers on the soles of their feet act as foot-warmers but they also act as snowshoes. Ptarmigan feed by running around on the top of the snowpack between branches and their ‘snowshoes’ keep them afloat. They even have built-in traction because they grow extra-long claws during the winter to help with the snowshoe effect. Come spring they will shed the long claws and grow shorter ones along with a mottled brown coat.

Feathers on the ptarmigan's feet act as snowshoes

Ptarmigan don’t molt to a complete brown like grouse, instead they keep their white wings and belly. As ptarmigan molt, they seem to know which color they are (brown or white) because studies have shown that ptarmigan will chose to rest in a spot that matches their dominate color—white on snow and brown on bare ground.

                 

One other technique that ptarmigan use to escape the cold (along with grouse) is to dive into the snow from the air—so they don’t leave tracks to attract predators—and create a small burrow under an insulating blanket of snow to spend the night.

                 

As I was watching a flock of ptarmigan in a small patch of birch, I noticed a dark head pop out of the snow nearby. As I continued to watch, a ruffed grouse climbed out of its snowy burrow and flew up to a low limb. Neither the grouse nor the ptarmigan seemed to notice one another. As I crept closer, the ptarmigan flew off cackling and the grouse remained. 

Note: Published in the Bonners Ferry Herald on April 19, 2012.

Twilight encroaching on northern lights

The northern lights danced across the star-studded sky last week but this time twilight was encroaching--even at 2 a.m. Outlines of trees on the northern horizon were visible against the midnight-blue sky that only permitted the brightest stars to shine.

Northern Lights with glow of twilight on northern horizon

Pure darkness will not come again until autumn. As we gain over seven minutes of daylight everyday (for over 18 hours of visible light), the sun’s path doesn’t dip below the horizon for as long or as far.

Northern lights across southern sky

Twilight dominates night from 11 p.m. to 5 a.m. There are three types of twilight: civil, nautical and astronomical. In technical terms, civil twilight is when the sun is between the horizon and six degrees below the horizon, nautical twilight is when the sun is six to twelve degrees below the horizon and astronomical twilight is when the sun is 12 to 18 degrees below the horizon.

Ribbon of light streaming from western horizon

In more familiar terms, civil twilight is right before the sun rises and after it sets when there is enough daylight to work outside. Nautical twilight is when all the stars used for celestial navigation are visible. And astronomical twilight is when the faintest stars appear and outlines of large objects and the horizon are barely visible.

3 a.m. in Bettles

In Bettles right now, we have no astronomical twilight--the sun doesn’t dip more than 12 degrees below the horizon. The length of nautical twilight is short--less than two hours between about 1 a.m. to 3 a.m.

The brightest northern lights can still be seen rippling overhead during nautical twilight but it won’t be long before the midnight sun prevails. 

Northern lights dancing across northern sky lit by nautical twilight

Life in a Dry Cabin

When was the last time you were thankful you had a flush toilet? A shower in your house? How about running water? Showers, flush toilets, dishwashers and running water are often taken for granted. We don’t think about them until they stop working and we have to go without.

Living in a dry cabin (or house or trailer) makes me appreciate all the amenities of running water. Life slows down because daily tasks take more time. Water needs to be hauled and dishes washed by hand.

We have two six-gallon jugs to haul water. Every other day I load the empty water jugs onto my purple sled and pull the sled down the road to the well-house. (Hopefully our well is working by the time the snow melts.) After filling the jugs from the spigot, I load them back on the sled and pull it back to the house.

The water is used for drinking (for us and the dog), cooking, watering plants and washing dishes. Washing dishes uses the most water and takes the most time. First the water has to be heated on the stove and then the dishes washed. We’ve gotten a system going where I wash and Ryan rinses using a pitcher of water that has to be refilled a few times depending on the number of dishes. We try to minimize the number of dishes we use so we only need to wash once a day. We can’t forget to empty the bucket under the sink either—all that dishwater has to go somewhere and it isn’t down the sewer pipe—it goes in the outhouse.  

The most well spent time is the time we take for showers. No quick shower before bed here. A very generous friend is letting us take showers at the bathhouse she has for her rental cabins. So a few times a week we walk half-a-mile to her place to take a shower. I truly feel clean from head-to-toe after every shower.

An indoor toilet is what I miss the most. During the day, the outhouse is fine but at night it isn’t as handy. As you can imagine, bundling up to go outside (as the temperature still drops below freezing at night) and going outside wakes you up completely. The one advantage is seeing the stars, northern lights and the faint glow of twilight on the horizon at 2 a.m. The seat isn’t the least bit cold thanks to the one-inch blue foam insulation seat I made (a rectangle with a hole).

Living in a dry cabin is nothing new. There was a time when indoor plumbing didn’t exist just like telephones, computers and electricity. Many people in Alaska still live in dry cabins year-round because plumbing isn’t practical or is a hassle (don’t have to worry about pipes freezing). Living in a dry house has made me appreciate running water. Even though it is an adventure, I look forward to the day our plumbing is hooked up. 

Bettles: A small town north of the Arctic Circle

Tis the season of spring migration and as birds return to their northern summering grounds, I return to my summering grounds in Bettles, Alaska. Located almost 30 miles north of the Arctic Circle, Bettles is a small town on the banks of the Koyukuk River south of the central Brooks Range.  Located next to the native village of Evansville, both operate as one town sharing a post office, grocery store, airport and power plant.

Aerial view of Bettles and Evansville (Note mile-long runway in upper right corner for scale)

As seasonal workers arrive during April and May the population doubles from a mere 25 people to about 50 people. Summer employees work for two air services, a lodge, the National Park Service and the US Fish and Wildlife Service. With the typical small town atmosphere, everybody knows everybody.

                 

A major event for Bettles is the opening of the winter road which connects Bettles to the road system for one to two months every year. During late winter, the snow is plowed from a right-of-way cleared through the spruce forest to create a one-lane road that connects Bettles to the Dalton Highway (also known as the Haul Road) about 40 miles south of Coldfoot.

                 

This connection to the road system is a welcome relief from flying into Fairbanks, which is the only means of going anywhere the rest of the year. Almost everyone makes the five- to six-hour drive into Fairbanks to stock up on groceries, fuel and supplies for the coming year. Shopping for an entire year’s worth of groceries is a shock to the checkbook but it beats paying freight on the airlines which costs around 80 cents a pound. Once spring break-up arrives, the winter road turns to slush and the town is dependent on air transportation once again.  

                 

The main reason for Bettles existence today is as a jumping-off point for hikers, rafters and hunters to the Brooks Range, mainly Gates of the Arctic National Park and the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. However, Bettles’ history hasn’t always been centered on tourism. Bettles began as an airstrip to support airplanes flying to the North Slope and as a stop on the Hickel Highway (an ice road) that brought supplies to the North Slope before the Dalton Highway was built. Now the Hickel Highway is a narrow clearing that acts as a winter trail for snowmachiners and dog mushers to access southern portions of the Brooks Range.

Aerial view of Bettles Airport--the main hub of activity in the summer

Bettles was a booming town during the hey-day of the oil boom on the North Slope with over a hundred people residing here. There was a school and year-round grocery store. Now the school sits empty since there is only one kid in town and a minimum of ten kids is needed for the school to operate. The grocery store is only open in the summer and occupies half of an ATCO trailer, carrying mainly fresh produce, perishable foods and frozen treats.

                 

Scheduled airplanes come in daily to deliver mail, freight and passengers, with the largest plane carrying nine passengers. As summer comes into full swing, the town becomes a buzz of activity as airplanes constantly come and go under the midnight sun. But as winter descends in late September, the seasonal workers head south to warmer grounds while the hardy residents endure the cold, long, dark winter above the Arctic Circle. 

Note: Published in the Bonners Ferry Herald on April 12, 2012.