Nature Note #160: A Leap Day at Green Lakes
Wow, we haven't had a leap day like this for nearly four years huh? All joking aside, Alison and I did have a lovely pseudo-Sunday walk at Green Lakes State Park in Fayetteville, NY.
I say pseudo-Sunday because today was my second day off from work after working this Sunday. It also felt like a Sunday because of the feeling of a quieter, yet inevitable drag towards the work week ahead. Despite the looming threat of productivity in a professional setting merely hours away, we still managed to get about an hour's walk in before Alison had to go to work herself. As of the time of writing, she's still at work. :(
As we departed into the 40 degree breeze, the outside air seemed intent on reminding us that despite some of the previous days spring-like temperatures, it was still in fact February outside. Regardless, I was eager to show Alison Green Lakes claim to fame; the water itself.
As we walked down the trail, blue-green hues rose from the depths, their color enhanced slightly by the contrast of ragged ice and dark, silhouetted cedars.
With such an extreme and apparent difference in color, it is easy to wonder why and how such a thing occurs. Fortunately, this fact has been researched by geologists and other scientific professionals as far back as the 1850s! An article by NNY Living details the basic history of the property and the cause of the unique coloring of the lake. The lake itself is unique not only in terms of its coloration, but also in terms of its rarity. While glacial lakes are as common as dirt throughout most of the northeast, Green Lake and its neighbors, Round and Glacial Lake are meromictic lakes, a rare type of glacial lake characterized by two layers of water that seldom, if ever, mix with one another. They are so rare that it is estimated that there are as few as 36 in the world!
This is considered to be unusual as most lakes undergo something called "turnover" at least once a year. This occurs when the warmer surface waters mix with the cooler deeper waters to even out the lake's composition. If you are an angler, you are probably familiar with the concept of "winter kills" especially when it comes to fish. The two things fish need in order to maintain immediate survival (other than the obvious things like water or adequate food) is dissolved oxygen and appropriate temperature.
Some fish like bass, sunfish, and catfish prefer warmer temperatures, while others like trout and salmon prefer colder temperatures. All need oxygen to breathe. Within a normal lake, turnover causes the warmest layer called the "epilimnion" to mix with the much colder, deeper, and often oxygen deprived "hypolimnion". When this mixing occurs, dissolved oxygen is spread throughout the lake and enables the fish to get the oxygen they need to survive. During the winter months in most northern states, lakes and ponds are covered with ice and limit the amount of oxygen received from the outside air. As it is used up over the winter, fish are pushed closer to the shallows where oxygen tends to build. If the ice doesn't thaw at any point and most of the oxygen is used up, large numbers of fish will perish in the oxygen depleted waters.
In a meromictic lake where there is no turnover, there are two distinct zones. One will have fish and plants found in any other lake, while the bottom layer usually has specific species of bacteria and algae living in the oxygen poor depths. It is these simple forms of life that actually give the lake its unique hue as well. They also preserve the lake floor, keeping it relatively unchanged even after thousands of years. This can provide a window to the past for geologists and other scientists who are interested how conditions in the surrounding area has changed over time.
While it lacks a turnover period, it does share one thing in common with other glacial lakes; its depth. Green Lake is 170 feet deep, a fact that astounded me as Walden Pond, both a glacial kettle hole and Henry David Thoreau's rustic home and title of his eventual book that he would become best known for is only 101 feet deep.
I spun this idea in my head for a moment, photographing the transition in colors and watching the water. I turned to look and ask what Alison thought before realizing she'd walked further up the trail ahead of me. As I hurried to meet her, we traveled up a nearby set of stairs to the path connected the road and a nearby set of unused frisbee golf posts.
Walking on further, Alison asked where we were since we'd wandered off of the beaten path towards to main access road. I shrugged at that point, but knew roughly where I was and mused that we could take the main road back.
Alison instead decided we should take a nearby path. I'm glad we did as in the spruces over our heads, we watched the chirrupy antics of several Pine Siskins (Spinus pinus) and chickadees. As we walked further down the trail, Alison noticed a weird sack hanging from a tree and I looked through my binos to get a better look. Hoping that maybe, it was an oriole's nest, twiddling the focusing dial had me realize that it sadly wasn't. Instead, a full plastic doggy bag of shit hung in defiance of gravity and decency to a single twig.
Now, I'm no advocate of banning dogs from parks because they happen to shit when nature calls. However, I feel like we could be doing something better rather than collecting it in a non-biodegradable plastic bag. I personally feel that carrying a trowel and burying the feces would work better or even having your dog go just off the trail. At least then, nature will have an easier time decomposing your dog's blobby brown gift.
Fortunately, with the warmer temperatures, nature also provided a musical solo as we headed back to Alison's car.
"What-cheer, what-cheer, what-cheer! Birdy! Birdy! Birdy!" A cheerful warble dribbled beautifully from a nearby thicket. A flash of red concealed by multiple sticks and twigs twitched with euphoria. It could only mean that a male Northern Cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) was performing his song in the apparent advent of an early spring.
We watched as he eyed us nervously, but not wanting to disappoint any potential mates or maybe embolden any nearby rivals, he sung on dutifully.
I say pseudo-Sunday because today was my second day off from work after working this Sunday. It also felt like a Sunday because of the feeling of a quieter, yet inevitable drag towards the work week ahead. Despite the looming threat of productivity in a professional setting merely hours away, we still managed to get about an hour's walk in before Alison had to go to work herself. As of the time of writing, she's still at work. :(
As we departed into the 40 degree breeze, the outside air seemed intent on reminding us that despite some of the previous days spring-like temperatures, it was still in fact February outside. Regardless, I was eager to show Alison Green Lakes claim to fame; the water itself.
As we walked down the trail, blue-green hues rose from the depths, their color enhanced slightly by the contrast of ragged ice and dark, silhouetted cedars.
With such an extreme and apparent difference in color, it is easy to wonder why and how such a thing occurs. Fortunately, this fact has been researched by geologists and other scientific professionals as far back as the 1850s! An article by NNY Living details the basic history of the property and the cause of the unique coloring of the lake. The lake itself is unique not only in terms of its coloration, but also in terms of its rarity. While glacial lakes are as common as dirt throughout most of the northeast, Green Lake and its neighbors, Round and Glacial Lake are meromictic lakes, a rare type of glacial lake characterized by two layers of water that seldom, if ever, mix with one another. They are so rare that it is estimated that there are as few as 36 in the world!
This is considered to be unusual as most lakes undergo something called "turnover" at least once a year. This occurs when the warmer surface waters mix with the cooler deeper waters to even out the lake's composition. If you are an angler, you are probably familiar with the concept of "winter kills" especially when it comes to fish. The two things fish need in order to maintain immediate survival (other than the obvious things like water or adequate food) is dissolved oxygen and appropriate temperature.
Some fish like bass, sunfish, and catfish prefer warmer temperatures, while others like trout and salmon prefer colder temperatures. All need oxygen to breathe. Within a normal lake, turnover causes the warmest layer called the "epilimnion" to mix with the much colder, deeper, and often oxygen deprived "hypolimnion". When this mixing occurs, dissolved oxygen is spread throughout the lake and enables the fish to get the oxygen they need to survive. During the winter months in most northern states, lakes and ponds are covered with ice and limit the amount of oxygen received from the outside air. As it is used up over the winter, fish are pushed closer to the shallows where oxygen tends to build. If the ice doesn't thaw at any point and most of the oxygen is used up, large numbers of fish will perish in the oxygen depleted waters.
In a meromictic lake where there is no turnover, there are two distinct zones. One will have fish and plants found in any other lake, while the bottom layer usually has specific species of bacteria and algae living in the oxygen poor depths. It is these simple forms of life that actually give the lake its unique hue as well. They also preserve the lake floor, keeping it relatively unchanged even after thousands of years. This can provide a window to the past for geologists and other scientists who are interested how conditions in the surrounding area has changed over time.
While it lacks a turnover period, it does share one thing in common with other glacial lakes; its depth. Green Lake is 170 feet deep, a fact that astounded me as Walden Pond, both a glacial kettle hole and Henry David Thoreau's rustic home and title of his eventual book that he would become best known for is only 101 feet deep.
I spun this idea in my head for a moment, photographing the transition in colors and watching the water. I turned to look and ask what Alison thought before realizing she'd walked further up the trail ahead of me. As I hurried to meet her, we traveled up a nearby set of stairs to the path connected the road and a nearby set of unused frisbee golf posts.
Walking on further, Alison asked where we were since we'd wandered off of the beaten path towards to main access road. I shrugged at that point, but knew roughly where I was and mused that we could take the main road back.
Alison instead decided we should take a nearby path. I'm glad we did as in the spruces over our heads, we watched the chirrupy antics of several Pine Siskins (Spinus pinus) and chickadees. As we walked further down the trail, Alison noticed a weird sack hanging from a tree and I looked through my binos to get a better look. Hoping that maybe, it was an oriole's nest, twiddling the focusing dial had me realize that it sadly wasn't. Instead, a full plastic doggy bag of shit hung in defiance of gravity and decency to a single twig.
Now, I'm no advocate of banning dogs from parks because they happen to shit when nature calls. However, I feel like we could be doing something better rather than collecting it in a non-biodegradable plastic bag. I personally feel that carrying a trowel and burying the feces would work better or even having your dog go just off the trail. At least then, nature will have an easier time decomposing your dog's blobby brown gift.Fortunately, with the warmer temperatures, nature also provided a musical solo as we headed back to Alison's car.
"What-cheer, what-cheer, what-cheer! Birdy! Birdy! Birdy!" A cheerful warble dribbled beautifully from a nearby thicket. A flash of red concealed by multiple sticks and twigs twitched with euphoria. It could only mean that a male Northern Cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) was performing his song in the apparent advent of an early spring.
We watched as he eyed us nervously, but not wanting to disappoint any potential mates or maybe embolden any nearby rivals, he sung on dutifully.
 |
| Beautiful singer. Difficult subject... |
It was a lovely way to end a crazy February and to help rekindle our appreciation of our natural world.
Comments
Post a Comment