Nature Note #175: A Visit to the Camillus Forest Unique Area

We are fortunate in Central New York to have so many natural areas within which to walk around and explore. Whether it be the many waterfalls of Ithaca or the pleasant expanse of forest and fields at the many conservation areas dotted around the countryside between the built up areas of the state, we are truly spoiled for choice.

I had the fortune of walking around a lovely patch of meadow and forest with my parents a few hours ago. While my mum noted that it seemed that "only mad dogs and Englishmen would be out in the midday sun", we walked on nonetheless.

The property was called the Camillus Forest Unique Area and is located 20 minutes from Marcellus up NE Townline Road. The property has a series of trails running along a large interconnected meadow with a huge deciduous forest at the top of the hill. Several times as we were walking near the forest, we were treated to some wonderful views of Camillus and beyond.

The plant life was diverse and abundant, mixing several species of grasses, asters, and others together into a subtle mix of color in a sea of green. Seeing the asters reminded me of a botany class I took at college where we had to collect samples from thirty plant families in order to get full credit for the class. After collecting any and all flowers we could find on the campus (mostly dandelions and daisies to start with) we realized that most of what we had been collecting for the past week had been part of aster or composite family. 

Aster spp.

We walked on to find a key feature of the Unique Area; an abandoned, rusted piece of farming equipment, resting under a canopy of trees. Their broad leaves had sheltered its deteriorating frame while it offered clues to the arable past that was now hidden by trees.

According to the NYDEC website, the property was originally owned by John and Sarah Vacher in 1796 and was farmed by them and another family called the Hopkins, for well over a century, before ownership was transferred to the state in 1926. While the woods themselves have been present for well over a century, the forest itself isn't regarded as being virgin old growth, but was harvested from in the past and had an active sugar bush at one point.

After completing the forest loop, we started back to the car. As we walked downhill, my dad noticed a feather in the grass. I had been noting what birds I could see as we had walked, but due to the sun and heat, I had only heard a few. Song sparrows (Melospiza melodia) sang infrequently, while swallows swooped overhead. 

The feather turned out to be the primary feather of a wild turkey (Meleagris gallopavo). Once extirpated from much of the Northeast, the bird had been reintroduced back to its native habitats in the Midwest and Northeast. I tend to glimpse them when they are foraging by the side of the road or whenever a gobbler is proudly strutting his stuff to a group of unimpressed hens.

During their mating display, gobblers will drag their primary feathers along the ground while puffing out their body feathers and spreading their tails. While they do this during the late spring, it is thanks (pun unintentional) to Thanksgiving that we are used to seeing flexing male turkeys, often in unnatural orange or green colors, with gleeful Pilgrim children, mouths watering, awaiting the feast day.

Fortunately for the turkeys, it is the part of the breeding season where hens and chicks are sheltered in the woods, while the gobblers bravado is subdued by the upcoming molt. 

As we reached the car, we checked for ticks to make sure none of us would suffer the ills of Lyme Disease or something equally noxious. As we did so, an orange butterfly fluttered about near the dogbane and milkweed. It was smaller than a monarch (Danaus plexxipus) and didn't look the part at all.

Judging from the white spots at the top ends of the forewings, this looked to be a viceroy (Limenitis archippus) instead of a full blooded monarch. While similar looking, one isn't a smaller version of a monarch, but instead a mimic of the other. Initially, it was thought to be a case of Batesian mimicry where one harmless species mimics a poisonous species so that it can gain the protection of looking dangerous while not possessing any harmful toxins. Scientists would later discover that the viceroy does seem to have toxins of its own and by mimicking the monarch's look, it is instead engaging in Mullerian mimicry which involves several species displaying a similar color scheme to deliver a simple message: "Don't touch me, I'm poisonous."

As we departed, I thought about how even a simple walk in with one's parents can yield so much discovery. After all, it was thanks to them, that I had such a love for the natural world and how I had ended up where I was today. As the summer grows, I will have to see what other places I can visit and experience as I begin my second summer in Central New York. Who knows, maybe we'll find another place to explore real soon.