"Lots of people go mad in January. Not as many as in May, of course. Nor June. But January is your third most common month for madness."
― Karen Joy
Baxter's Hollow, now draped in the full splendor of spring, remains a place of profound beauty. Yet, as I noted previously, a visit no longer yields the bird diversity it once did. It would be satisfying to conclude the month of May on a cheerful note, but birding has become a source of sadness nearly as often as it is a joy. Do new birders feel it?
Perhaps I'm focusing more so on misses rather than hits. A single Cerulean Warbler did sing near the first bridge — always a welcome find at Baxter's. Having said that, I can't help but recall when Hooded, Kentucky, Canada, Mourning, and Worm-eating Warblers were relatively easy to find here. But these aren't the only missing voices in the hollow today. Naturally, the Baraboo Hills span a considerable area, so it's likely these species still breed nearby, just not along the deteriorating road that follows Otter Creek. At least, that's a hope I have.
A Great Blue Heron was standing almost motionless in the shallows of the creek, occasionally surveying the water for prey. I know there are one or two trout species navigating these currents, but for such an opportunistic hunter, indifference is the rule when it comes to meals.
Acadian Flycatchers were present in modest numbers. Their diminutive pee-tsup song suggests a punctuation to the avian choir to my anthropomorphic ears, but all the other birds keep right on singing. It's interesting how some species get by with such a simple song while others have incredibly complex ones. It's largely the habitat they occupy, but competition and mate selection are factors. Song differences can reflect evolutionary trade-offs where complexity represents a different solution to distinct ecological challenges rather than inherent superiority.
The forest canopy's dappled light offers a perfect example of how a songbird can appear more green than it truly is. Without its distinctive song, this bird might be mistaken for a Yellow-bellied Flycatcher. Empidonax flycatchers are difficult to identify by sight alone, but the careful observer can often unravel their identity through the subtle clues of location, seasonal timing, and specific habitat preferences — each piece of evidence helping to solve what might otherwise be an avian puzzle.
But add a little sunlight ...
And Ovenbirds!
This is a warbler species that still comes to the hollow in good numbers. Their estimated global population is 26 million, which is a lot of teacher teacher teacher calls.
Perhaps I got carried away photographing them ...
You gotta love their colorful head feathers ...
This Eastern Towhee bears a mark of a narrow escape — a survivor's tale etched into its side. Did a cat have it in its mouth and the bird managed to break free? Perhaps an accipiter's talons failed to secure their grip. Whatever peril it faced, the bird showed no signs of diminished spirit, its drink-your-tea song ringing through the understory. Below the branch where it perched, a delicate spider web glistened, but you'll need to click to see it in the larger version. When I shared these images with Lori, her immediate reaction summed it up perfectly: "What a badass bird!" To be sure, he got lucky.
The ubiquitous Eastern Wood-Pewee!
A diffuser would have helped with the ladyslippers, but I captured better images of them a few weeks ago anyway. It's my experience that the plant simply doesn't photograph well in direct sunlight. Still, they're always a cool sight to see.
After Baxter's, a decision was made to check on the tiger beetles at Sauk Prairie State Recreational Area. The three expected species were present: Big Sand, Oblique-lined, and Festive.
While Festive Tiger Beetles can display remarkable color diversity across their range, the specimens at this particular site consistently show a reddish or ruby hue. This striking uniformity suggests their coloration may not be an adaptation to match the immediate substrate, as one might expect with typical camouflage. Perhaps they have evolved to mimic other prominent elements in their environment — specifically, reddish hues of surrounding rocks or flowers. At other locations I explore, they're generally mixed with brown or green accents.
Though the purpose is purely thermoregulation, I can't help but chuckle whenever a tiger beetle uses my shadow for a cool-down. Should you find yourself in this situation, be mindful they're not advancing with aggression, but simply seeking respite from the heat.
Later in the day, this next Festive was photographed at the Sauk City Canoe Launch ...
Similar color, but not quite as saturated on the head and thorax. Maculations vary, too, and this one has more prominent front ones compared to the Sauk Rec specimen.
While scouting the beach for tiger beetles, I found my first Shoreline Wolf Spider of the year. Though comparatively small compared to how large they can get, they're still a menacing looking critter.
Especially up close ...
And Blue Toadflax ...
And that's May!
Overall, it was a memorable month of exploration, observation, and photography. For the naturalist, May is a month of almost overwhelming abundance, where each walk brings discoveries and familiar places reveal their secrets in bursts of life. It's a time of transition, where the promise of spring is fulfilled and the lush, green world settles into the steady rhythm of summer.
But how much less will there by next May, and the one after that, and so on?
All images © 2026 Mike McDowell