A Change in Color!

"The snow falls soft and unfathomable, drawing the world down to a whitened hush, forcing us (as few things do) to pause long enough to take stock of everything that we miss in our crazed pursuit to gain everything that we can."

― Craig D. Lounsbrough 

Southern Wisconsin was buried under more than a foot of weekend snow, and the forecast promises even more. This morning's single-digit temperatures locked it all into a deep, brittle cold.

Over at Pheasant Branch Prairie, Sandhill Cranes were sailing out of the marsh toward nearby fields, probing for whatever food they can still reach. They really should move south, but they have a habit of staying here well into December.

A very tundra-like landscape ...

The 10-day forecast points to a run of bitter cold, the kind that quiets everything and settles the prairie into its true winter rhythm. Birdlife was sparse—just a handful of American Tree Sparrows and a couple of Kestrels hunting along the north end. A small group of Snow Buntings and Lapland Longspurs passed overhead, adding brief flashes of movement to an otherwise still landscape.

All images © 2025 Mike McDowell

The RBNU!

"The brevity of life is to be yourself."

― Lailah Gifty Akita 

November is slipping away, and suddenly only a handful of days remain as 2025 edges toward its final stretch. My birding has been pretty low-key lately, but the season is shifting all the same—the light is shorter, the air a little sharper, and the landscapes settling into their muted late-autumn palette. It feels like the quiet before winter fully arrives, a pause that invites you to pay attention to the small, steady changes happening at the edges of things.

At Pheasant Branch Prairie, the birding was subdued—mostly Dark-eyed Juncos, American Tree Sparrows, White-crowned Sparrows, and only a few other song birds moving around. Pretty quiet, really. To be honest, I was more focused on getting my steps in than building a list. 

The drumlin at Pheasant Branch! I've spent so much time here since it opened up to the public back in the 90s. Technically, geologists would call it a drumlinloid rather than a true drumlin. A classic drumlin has a very consistent, streamlined shape—an oval hill of compacted glacial till with a steep upstream face and a long, tapering tail that shows exactly which way the ice flowed. The landform here shares that same general, glacier-molded look, but it isn't as uniform or cleanly sculpted as a textbook drumlin. Still, I refer to it as The Drumlin to my birding friends.

Back at my apartment courtyard, a Red-breasted Nuthatch ended up stealing the show. I was lining up a digiscoped shot of a young Cedar Waxwing when the RBNU's comedic yenk-yenk calls caught my attention. I gave a volley of pishes, and in he darted—curious, bold, and impossible to ignore. I probably pished more than I should have. He was not happy with me, so I stopped once I got a few photos.

Gorgeous weather, scenery and birds closes out November!

And what awaits in December? 

 

Find out ...

 

All images © 2025 Mike McDowell

Shrike!

"November at its best - with a sort of delightful menace in the air."

― Anne Bosworth Greene

It hit 70 degrees yesterday — in mid-November, no less. By this morning, the warmth had swung back to a more seasonal low-30s. Sue and I took advantage of the brief reprieve and drove up to Sauk County to wander a few of our favorite natural areas and see what was still out there.

Astonishingly, at least one Dainty Sulphur (Nathalis iole) was still fluttering around the beach at the Sauk City Canoe Launch. We've had some pretty cold nights, so seeing any butterflies this late was a surprise. A few small flies and grasshoppers were hanging on along the shoreline, but no tiger beetles.

Perhaps a little November insecting will help shorten the winter — if not on the calendar, then at least in the mind. 

 

Next stop, Sauk Prairie State Recreational Area ...

We were hoping to find a Northern Shrike, and we did.

The shrike was perched atop a tree a fair distance away, but I was still able to digiscope it. Not my best photograph of this species, but any shrike sighting is a good one. 

Our last stop was a short walk along the Roznos Meadow segment of the Ice Age Trail in Wisconsin, where the green has fully slipped away and November settles in with its palette of tan, brown, and russet.

Bird-wise, it was pretty quiet — just a few American Tree Sparrows and Dark-eyed Juncos, their muted plumage perfectly echoing the November palette around them.

With the sun sinking in the west, there were some stunning views of the prairie.

By the time we called it a day, the wind had swung around from the north and the daylight was sliding away, but it still felt like the right kind of ending — a late-autumn day distilled to its essentials: muted colors, sparse birds, and the simple pleasure of being out there before winter really takes hold. And best of all, cold beer and hot food was waiting for us at Vintage — the perfect reward after a November outing.

All images © 2025 Mike McDowell

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Lake Superior © 2025 Mike McDowell

A Taste of Winter!

"I suppose we should not care much for natural history, as I have before said, or for the study of nature generally, if we did not in some way find ourselves there; that is, something that is akin to our own feelings, methods, and intelligence ... In fact, the problem of the essay-naturalist always is to make his subject interesting, and yet keep strictly within the bounds of truth."

— John Burroughs, Ways of Nature

Sunday morning. Twenty-six degrees. A thin layer of fresh snow has softened everything — rooftops, lawns, the last of the fallen leaves. It isn't much, barely an inch, but it's enough to change the light, to make the world look newly minted. The first snowfall of the season always feels like a quiet reset, a pause between the noise of autumn and the long stillness to come.

 

Longtime readers should know how I feel about supermoon hype by now. Still, I couldn't resist stepping outside with the camera for November's full 'Beaver Moon' — billed as the biggest supermoon of 2025. Could you tell? For amateur astronomers, the Moon is always an interesting celestial object to observe and photograph, whether it's a so-called "super" one or not. Though supermoons are, in truth, just regular full moons in slightly closer orbit, the power of being told this one is special is collective persuasion that gets people outside to look up, which, come to think of it, isn't such a bad thing. 

I haven't gone on many birding excursions lately, but it doesn't take much effort to know what's around. A quick walk through the prairie at work is usually enough — a few familiar calls, a flash of movement in the grass, maybe a photo or two to mark the day.

There are newly arrived American Tree Sparrows ...

A shy Fox Sparrow seen along a treeline ...

And quite a few White-crowned Sparrows ...

White-crowned Sparrows seem to be showing up more often in winter. Or maybe it's just that I've gotten better at noticing them over the years. In southern Wisconsin, they're mainly considered migrants, passing through in spring and fall, though a few hardy individuals do linger through the cold months. So perhaps it's not that there are suddenly more of them — just that I've learned to see what was always there.

Here's a WCSP range map with the intensity of blue indicating abundance:

Southern Wisconsin has decent winter representation, but most of them are to the south and west. 

Such a gorgeous songbird. I'm grateful to have them (and other winter birds) around, but I sure do miss tiger beetles already. Winter isn't so much a pause as a shift in tempo. Getting ready takes longer. It's not just a matter of throwing on grubby clothes, grabbing the backpack, and heading out the door. You have to think it through — layers, gloves, boots, hat, maybe a thermos of coffee. By the time you're zipped and bundled, the whole outing feels more like an expedition than a walk. Once you're out there, with the cold air biting and the prairie under a pale sky, it always feels worth it.

 

Winter is also a time to turn inward — to write, review photographs, process field notes, and revisit earlier posts with the perspective of another year's experiences. This fall turned out prettier than I expected, and that's always something to savor.

As surely as I'll take a last breath, there will come a final blog post. I don't know when that will be, or what small thing in Nature will earn those last few sentences — maybe a bird, a beetle, or the shape of the moon on a cold night. But until then, I'll keep writing them as I always have: to remember, to notice, and to share a little of what this world still offers to anyone willing to look.

 

All images © 2025 Mike McDowell

October Ends!

"I remember it as October days are always remembered, cloudless, maple-flavored, the air gold and so clean it quivers."

― Leif Enger

Alas, 2025's tiger beetle season has come to an end — none remained at the Sauk Canoe Launch last Sunday. Though my primary quarry is gone for the year, I'll continue making return trips through winter to visit favorite natural areas. Even when wildlife is sparse, it's always fascinating to observe how the landscape changes with the season — and to see how the creatures that stay, or migrate in, manage to endure.

The fall colors at Indian Lake Park have already slipped past their peak, a sharp contrast to the dazzling display at Paya Lake just weeks ago — when every hillside burned with gold and crimson, and the season felt at its height rather than its decline.

Here's a striking adult White-crowned Sparrow, its bold black-and-white crown contrasting beautifully with the soft gray of its plumage. White-throated Sparrows outnumbered the White-crowned and Fox Sparrows, though Yellow-rumped Warblers were the most abundant species overall.

Under the dramatic wooded canopy of Indian Lake Park.

This brings October to a close. From here on, life in the prairies and woods begins to quiet — insects vanish, leaves fall, and the pulse of the season slows. There's a touch of melancholy in watching it fade, yet a calm satisfaction in the stillness that follows. Though the days grow short, the walks will continue through winter. Even as the land seems to sleep, there are always birds to watch and quiet signs of life to remind us that Nature never truly rests.

All images © 2025 Mike McDowell

Oconto Fall Colors!

"No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face."

― John Donne

Fall color has been muted across southern Wisconsin this year, so Sue and I headed north to Paya Lake, where reports promised a brighter show. And those reports were right — the colors were absolutely brilliant, easily among the most stunning displays I've seen in years.

It was a short trip, so there wasn't a lot of time for exploring. Birds observed around the cabin were Common Ravens, American Crows, Blue Jays, Pileated Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker, Red-breasted Nuthatch, American Robin, Dark-eyed Juncos, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Double-crested Cormorants, Canada Geese, and Bald Eagle.

All images © 2025 Mike McDowell