AstroBob presents: Journey to the Center of Our Galaxy

Amateur astronomer Bob Fisher (better known as AstroBob around these parts–much to his chagrin) has been a passionate star-gazer since childhood when he first saw the superbly dark skies of the Adirondacks on camping trips.  A part-time resident of Olmstedville since 1991, he taught earth science and astronomy in New York City public high schools for more than two decades before making his permanent home here in 2006.  Now a substitute teacher in Warren and Essex county schools, he is also an active astrophotographer. He frequently leads astronomy workshops in local schools and libraries, and occasionally serves as a docent at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City.

The arrival of summer brings to the night sky the most awe inspiring astronomical spectacle of all – The Milky Way. This ghostly band of light spreads across the entire sky from North to South. In early July in the Central Adirondacks, the best time to observe this beautiful luminous band is from midnight until dawn when it rises prominently overhead. Although The Milky Way is observable all year, it attains greatest brilliance during summer, particularly near the southern horizon. Look toward the constellation Sagittarius, where celestial wonders proliferate!

The Milky Way, where we reside, is one of many billions of galaxies that populate the known universe. If we were to travel far out into intergalactic space and peer down, it would be similar to a well formed hurricane as seen from satellite photos with one exception. Instead of an empty “eye” at the center, there would be a fat central bulge packed with stars, gas, and dust. From Earth, the center of our galaxy is obscured by dark nebulae. Although this region appears dark to the human eye, it radiates intensely in radio frequencies of the electromagnetic spectrum. Astronomers have labeled this region Sagittarius A . Strong evidence suggests that the source of this radiation is a gigantic black hole two to three million times the mass of our sun, surrounded by a disk called the event horizon, where all matter and energy including light is greedily swallowed, spiraling inward and disappearing from the known universe.

Our Milky Way is about 100 thousand light years in diameter with half a dozen or so spiral arms radiating outward from the nucleus. Our Solar System resides two thirds from the center in a suburban outlier called the Orion Arm. As our galaxy rotates, it takes our Solar System about 250 million years to make one complete revolution!

The eight brightest stars of the constellation Sagittarius sit right in front of the star-clouds of galaxy central.  Although its name is Latin for The Archer, modern observers sometimes call it the teapot, because it resembles an old fashioned teapot complete with handle on the left ( East ) and spout on the right ( West). This constellation never rises far above the southern horizon at our northern latitude, and as a result of this, it is frequently lost in haze and glare. (To appreciate it in its full glory, go to South America where it rises high in the sky). Despite this, on exceptionally clear nights with transparent sky, I can clearly see the dense glow of the Milky Way.

Space radio telescope Chandra’s image of Sagittarius A at the
center of our galaxy

A good pair of binoculars can greatly enhance the rich detail of this region. The brightest nebula, The Lagoon ( M8 ), just to the right of the “ teapot “ is faintly visible to the naked eye for keen observers. Binoculars reveal a cluster of newly formed stars illuminating the hydrogen gas that feeds them.  Many other nebulae abound along with a multitude of open and globular star clusters. For me, most impressive of all is to pan the region with 10×50 binoculars and see the dark bands of obscuring nebulae interlacing the bright star-clouds.  There is so much more to observe here and it is astounding to consider that you are viewing directly to the center of our home galaxy 70,000 light years away!

Finally, since the invention of the light bulb more than a century ago, artificial night lighting has proliferated exponentially in urban/suburban areas. It amazes me that some city dwellers have never seen the magnificent Milky Way because of the glare from city lights. Unfortunately, they are only able to see   the brightest planets and stars when they look up. Here in the Adirondacks, particularly around wilderness lakes, we still have a rare pocket of our dark sky heritage. I hope we can keep it that way.

A Monologue of an Adirondack Naturalist (In Training)

I thought for my first post I would give an introduction of myself and how I have found my way up to the Adirondacks and in this career path. So, here we go:

My name is Kristin. My hometown is in Endicott, the birthplace of IBM and spiedies (a.k.a the most delicious sandwich you will ever have). I am now going into my senior year at SUNY ESF in the Natural History and Interpretation program.  Just like every other college student, I’m always asked what I want to do once I get out of college and a couple of years ago, I didn’t really know. I kind of figured whoever was hiring and would take me. But now that I am spending my second summer in the Adirondack Park working at the Adirondack Interpretive Center, my answer has now changed to “whoever is hiring in the Adirondacks and will take me.”

It wasn’t until high school that I had the “Adirondack experience.” I was a member of the school’s recycling club, Green Team. A club whose main purpose is recycling may sound kind of lame, but every week we were able to fill the back of our teacher’s truck with cans and bottles and the money we got from the refundables went towards hiking trips. In my sophomore year, we came up to the Adirondacks during our spring break and hiked Mount Marcy. We hiked in to a lean-to and the next day we climbed up to the summit. I remember being at the top on that clear day and being able to see for miles and miles. There were no housing developments, no telephone poles or roads. It was all forest. I still didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew that it somehow needed to incorporate nature’s treasures like those that can be found throughout the Adirondack Park.

Hiking has always been one of my favorite activities. The views in the Adirondacks are some of the best.
(Summit of Cascade Mt.)

I eventually made my way to SUNY ESF as a Biology major, but quickly learned that research wasn’t really my thing (a little bit too clumsy and easy to intimidate, I suppose). During my first college semester, I discovered the Natural History and Interpretation major. I realized that it fits me perfectly. The only thing greater than learning about my surroundings is passing that knowledge on to others who are interested in understanding the natural world. Bringing science and natural history to the public is one of the most important undertakings of the scientific community. Improving our natural world needs to be a community-based, large scale endeavor that cannot be limited to only those that are deep-rooted in the “hard science.” It needs to include all of us. I believe that someone will not feel a need to protect the environment unless they care about it. And how can you care about something when you know nothing about it? It is the role of natural historians and interpreters to help people make that connection with their environment. Everybody has some interest that is linked to nature, it’s just a matter of finding it!

And this includes the next generation of scientists and nature lovers!

Last summer, I was lucky enough to be accepted as the “Interpretive Naturalist Intern” at the Adirondack Interpretive Center. My goodness, what a summer! I developed programming, talked with guests, helped with marketing and personally explored the trails every day. By the end of the twelve weeks, I learned so much about the Adirondack region. Not only did I become familiar with the park’s natural history, but also its history and culture. I am certainly not an expert by any means, though I would like to think I’m on my way (though I’m sure it will take many more years)!

I learned about everything you can find in the Adirondacks, from the big things…
(Ruffed Grouse)

…to the little things
(Unidentified Mushrooms)

 

I couldn’t resist coming back for another summer, and can’t wait to see what surprises the Adirondacks have in store! And it is with this return that I have realized that I want to pursue a career in the park. I would love to be able to someday call the Adirondacks my home.

AstroBob Presents: Deep Space, Deep Time

AstroBob has been a much better contributor to this blog than I have, but I will write a new post soon, I promise! -Rebecca

Amateur astronomer Bob Fisher (better known as AstroBob around these parts–much to his chagrin) has been a passionate star-gazer since childhood when he first saw the superbly dark skies of the Adirondacks on camping trips.  A part-time resident of Olmstedville since 1991, he taught earth science and astronomy in New York City public high schools for more than two decades before making his permanent home here in 2006.  Now a substitute teacher in Warren and Essex county schools, he is also an active astrophotographer. He frequently leads astronomy workshops in local schools and libraries.

DEEP SPACE, DEEP TIME

The springtime sky at night in April is not spectacular when compared to other seasons. In winter, about a dozen of the brightest stars visible in our area are concentrated in the East and South. On a clear cold night in January, the brilliant stars of Orion and Sirius in Canis Major (the brightest star in the sky), are truly awe-inspiring. In summer, at a site free of any light pollution, the Milky Way spanning the sky from North to South can take your breath away!  With the exception of Arcturus and Regulus, the stars of April are relatively faint. Although the sky is relatively lackluster to the naked eye, we can gaze through a window into deep space and time, far beyond our galactic home.

At this time of year, our view is oriented out and away from our home galaxy, the Milky Way. As a result, we peer into deep space,  far away from our nearest stellar neighbors. This is the realm of the galaxies. With a little optical assistance it is possible to see these massive rotating disks, each containing billions of stars. Despite their immensity, they appear as faint smudges of light even in large telescopes. Thus, astronomers affectionately call them “faint fuzzies.” At minimum, you will need a good pair of binoculars (10×50), or a small telescope with at least a four inch objective. Let’s have a look.

The best place to go galaxy hunting is in Ursa Major (The Great Bear). Face north and look for that famous asterism The Big Dipper. At around 10:00 P.M. it is nearly overhead, bowl and handle upside down. With patience and a good star chart, it is possible to spot 10 or more galaxies in this part of the sky. To increase your success in locating these faint objects, I would like to describe three of the brightest and most distinctive. But first, let’s discuss terminology and perspective.

In the late 18^th century, French astronomer Charles Messier assembled a catalog of around a hundred faint, diffuse objects visible with his four inch telescope. In his honor, we begin the label of each of the brightest “fuzzy” objects with a capital M. M81 and M82 are a pair of galaxies, physically close to each other and usually the easiest to spot on a very clear night. At a mere 11 million light years away these are the closest galaxies to us visible at this time of year. The most common astronomical yardstick is the light year. It is a practical way to measure VERY large distances. For example, at 4.4 light years distant, the closest star to our Solar System is Alpha Centauri (a bright star visible only in the Southern Hemisphere). Light from this star travelling at 186,000 miles per second took four and a half years to get to us. That’s around 26 trillion miles. Considering the “nearby” galactic pair M81/M82 at 11 million light years distant, the distance in miles would be 6 trillion (for one light year), multiplied by eleven million. That’s a lot of miles! By the way, the latest estimate for the “edge” of the visible universe is 13.7 billion light years. Personally, my earth bound brain has a hard time getting any perspective or sense of scale for these “astronomically” large numbers.

Below is a detailed examination of a galaxy and two galaxy pairs that I photographed with my 8 inch f/4 telescope on March 20th and 21st from my wonderful dark sky site in Olmstedville,NY.

M81/M82 – At a mere 11 million light years away, the members of this galaxy pair are physically close to each other. M81 on the left of this photo is a large spiral galaxy in which powerful gravitational tides have churned up dust and gas in its companion M82, seen on the right. M82 has been nicknamed “the cigar galaxy,” because we are looking at its disc edge-on. This galaxy is a so-called starburst galaxy in which many millions of new stars are being created. The Hubble Space Telescope’s clear view displays spectacular red streamers emanating from its core.

M101 – At 28 million light years distant, this beautiful spiral galaxy clearly reveals the spiral arms that give it the apt nickname The Pinwheel.

M51 – The Whirlpool Galaxy – At 35 million light years away, this is a galactic pair. A spiral arm of the larger reaches out and connects to the smaller galaxy on the left of this photo.

AstroBob and the Grand Pageant of Planets

Amateur astronomer Bob Fisher (better known as AstroBob around these parts–much to his chagrin) has been a passionate star-gazer since childhood when he first saw the superbly dark skies of the Adirondacks on camping trips.  A part-time resident of Olmstedville since 1991, he taught earth science and astronomy in New York City public high schools for more than two decades before making his permanent home here in 2006.  Now a substitute teacher in Warren and Essex county schools, he is also an active astrophotographer. He frequently leads astronomy workshops in local schools and libraries, and occasionally serves as a docent at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City.

Ever since the dawn of humanity, the magisterial movements of the Sun, Moon, planets and stars have been an endless source of wonder and instruction. It’s a sobering thought in this age of atomic clocks, cell phones and GPS that prior to the 18^th century the most accurate way of telling time was done by observing the position of the Sun, Moon and stars. Ancient observers noticed that from dusk to dawn, the stars moved across the sky with predictable regularity. Over time, they observed that some of these bright stars shone with a steady light (did not twinkle), and mysteriously kept changing their position relative to the surrounding stars. This difference in their movements eventually earned them the name planets (Greek: planasthai – to wander). The birth of astronomy can be traced to the first great civilizations in      Babylon, China, and Central/South America, where sky watchers in all these diverse places kept careful, accurate records of planetary positions for months and years at a time. They eventually noticed that a regularity occurred enabling them to predict precisely where each planet would be in the sky well into the future.

For the casual, modern observer who rarely has the time to watch the sky, here is the key to know where to look: The planets always follow the path (called the ecliptic) of the Sun. In mid-March this path is due east to west. A planet will rise due east, be highest in the sky when it is directly above the southern horizon and will set due west.  Early March will provide us the best opportunity this year to see all five of the  planets visible without a telescope, where each one will reveal its unique personality. Let’s begin our planet tour on during the first week of March:

MERCURY

Go outside at dusk (6:15P.M) and face an unobstructed west, look for the place where the sun set and @ 15 degrees directly above that spot look for a “star” hiding in the bright glare.

Mercury over New Jersey, 6:30pm on March 5, 2012 Photo by Bob Fisher

VENUS

Moving higher up along the ecliptic in the west, we come to Venus. Shining like a brilliant jewel, it is unmistakable. Although it will reach greatest brilliance in mid-April, she is the third brightest natural object in the sky after the Moon and Sun. Since Venus is inside the Earth’s orbit, it goes through phases like our Moon. If you have a modest telescope, you will notice the planet will look like a small first quarter Moon. Later this month, it will appear larger and brighter, unmistakably displaying a thin crescent. At the Equinox, (3/20/12) when the Moon is nearly new, try this fun experiment to see your shadow cast by Venus’s light. You must be in a very dark place and having snow on the ground would enhance the shadow. Although the ancients named Venus after the goddess of love, a visit there would be far from lovely. The terrain is a desert baking at 800+ degrees F, with a thick permanent carbon dioxide atmosphere and occasional rain of sulfuric acid.  No romantic garden of sensual pleasure. Blame modern science for revealing her true nature!

JUPITER

By today’s standards, the telescope Galileo used in 1610 was probably not as good as a piece of junk    purchased from a big box store at the mall. But his crude instrument, careful observations, meticulous diagrams and notes enabled him not only to make profound astronomical discoveries but also start his troubles with the church and eventual trial and inquisition. Why all the fuss? Over a series of nights, he noticed that the planet Jupiter had four faint stars that always remained in a straight line but constantly changed position. He correctly concluded that they must be moons orbiting the planet. Since the Catholic Church believed that the Earth was the center of the universe, and the stars, Sun, Moon and planets revolved around the Earth, it was heresy to claim that any celestial objects revolved around anything else. This week you can observe these four Jovian satellites as they constantly change position within a period of a few hours. All you need is a good pair of binoculars. With a small telescope at 50x, it is possible to see the dark and light bands of gas clouds covering the largest planet in our Solar System. In our sky it is readily visible just above Venus and this week both objects make a striking pair! Jupiter is getting closer to the Sun and will be lost in daylight by late Spring.

Photo by earthsky.org

INTERLUDE: By 7:30, Mercury will have set and the Moon will be high in the South. Mars is low in the South, but to get the best view of our last two planets we will have to wait a few hours. Take a break, and come back out at 11:00 or later.

MARS

Mars, named after the Greek god of war because of its blood red color has a rich cultural and scientific history. Like the deserts of the Southwest, the color is derived from iron oxide (rust) in the soil. This March will be the best time to observe Mars, when it reaches opposition (closest approach), to Earth on March 3^rd. This is the best time to see some surface details in a modest (4inch – 10inch) telescope. Under high magnification and stable seeing conditions, you should see dark markings and the shrinking South Polar Ice Cap which should appear as a small bright white spot. The larger the telescope, the clearer the image. Mars will surely be back in the news this August, when the sophisticated new rover lands  (hopefully intact) on August 6^th .

SATURN

Most people who look at Saturn through a telescope for the first time are dazzled by the other-worldly beauty of this planet as the beautiful rings surround the planet giving it a three dimensional effect. After 11:00 P.M., it rises higher and higher and should be a great object to see all Spring/Summer long.

NOTE: Although I gave details for observing during the first week of March, the first two weeks will be the best time for planet viewing. The main difference after March 15th will be that Mercury will disappear from view as it gets lost in the glare of the Sun and Jupiter will be well below Venus. I hope you have the opportunity to see these magnificent planets this week!

The Power of Nature -or- How Huck Finn Saved Me

As an overweight, overly-nervous child, I felt more comfortable in my house with books than I did outside. Sitting in my room I would stay up ‘til all hours of the night reading stories rich in natural history through setting, subject or both.

I romanticized what I read in books: secret gardens, perfect sitting trees, growing up on a farm, wild New England, special relationships with animals, the list goes on. I had this obsession with a perfect sort of nature that I could control within the confines of my imagination. I even went so far as to try to cram myself into my ill-fitting bedroom window to have the perfect relaxing reading spot close to nature. That lasted all of 35 seconds before the pain sent me back to my desk chair.

Experiences outdoors could have been available to me if I were open to them. My mother had (and still has) a close relationship with nature through gardening but, as she recently put it, “eating, sleeping and using the restroom outside are not for me,” so family camping was pretty much out of the question, but I could have joined her in the garden at any time. I never did. Even when my mom brought in fresh-cut flowers from her garden or the roadside, I was uneasy—weren’t there bugs crawling all over them?? My siblings and I never hunted for frogs or caught fireflies, never explored the woods or even our own backyard.

When I was a pre-teen, my mother had to basically bribe/beg me to go to day camp at the local Y. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was every counselors worst nightmare—didn’t want to play sports or any sort of run-around game (might get sweaty—others would notice my weight), didn’t want to get up in front of my fellow campers and sing songs or act silly (everyone else will think I’m a total dork), didn’t want to touch fish, amphibians, insects, etc. (ew, slimy). Once, I even cried during a wacky relay race because I couldn’t whistle with crackers in my mouth. I mean really, I must have been exhausted from all my worry and anxiety.

I did find joy in camp activities like rock face painting in which we got to sit in the cool woods on large boulders in the stream and rub two small, wet rocks together to make “face paint.” I could do that for hours and not get bored of it. I went on a few organized biking and fishing trips (mostly because the boy I liked went—let it be known that he barely knew I existed!), but still none of these inspired that “ah ha!” moment.

Whether it be the boys, the candy from the Sugar Shack, arts and crafts, or my mother forcing me to, I stayed at camp a few more summers and even became a Counselor in Training. That summer my best friend Amanda and I were assigned to the beach with the Waterfront Director, Brian. Our task was to help him take out the old dock and put in a new one. Brian was our favorite counselor and obviously one of those people who grew up in nature. He felt completely comfortable on the water and in the woods, full of confidence and ease.

At the boathouse, Brian handed us the awful, orange life jackets, complete with moldy black ring-around-the-collar. Rolling our eyes, we put them on. He smirked, grabbed a long pole and led us to the waterfront. We stood on a section of the dock as he unfastened it from the others. Before we knew it, we were floating on the bay, Brian steering us with the pole—“Just like Huck Finn!” he exclaimed. We were at once exhilarated and scared. Our cool 8^th grader façades faded away. We laughed, we shrieked, we used silly accents. I never felt so free in my entire life.

Our Huck Finn experience didn’t last long, an emergency at camp brought us back to shore. However, something clicked in me that day. A little seed was planted deep inside of me and for that I will always be grateful to Brian because he linked me with the natural world in a way that organized activities never could. That day is the reason I am now an outdoor educator.

These are the experience we can give to our younger cousins, our kids, our nieces and nephews and siblings. And these experiences are the reason I do what I do now; in the hopes that one of my nature walks, one of my coyote howls or campfires will make that connection in some lost kid’s soul and she’ll be able to finally feel free.

AstroBob and the Aurora Borealis

Amateur astronomer Bob Fisher (better known as AstroBob around these parts–much to his chagrin) has been a passionate star-gazer since childhood when he first saw the superbly dark skies of the Adirondacks on camping trips.  A part-time resident of Olmstedville since 1991, he taught earth science and astronomy in New York City public high schools for more than two decades before making his permanent home here in 2006.  Now a substitute teacher in Warren and Essex county schools, he is also an active astrophotographer. He frequently leads astronomy workshops in local schools and libraries, and occasionally serves as a docent at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City.

THE AURORA BOREALIS

On a clear, spring night near Fairbanks, Alaska in the late sixties, I witnessed a sky event of spectacular proportions. Low on the northern horizon, a dimly glowing band of green light appeared. After a few minutes, the band widened, grew brighter with small areas randomly brightening and dimming. As the green band spread to the east and west, long thin parallel rays projected above the band with faint red and purple, pulsing and shimmering. The rays connected and a multicolored dance of wavy curtains formed constantly changing shape and brightness. Eventually, the whole sky was aflame with brilliant colors and for a jaw-dropping finale, the corona: a rapidly rotating multicolored oval where brilliant colors swirled, brightened, dimmed and chaotically blended with the brilliance of the Full Moon. Within two hours, the light faded and vanished just as mysteriously as the performance began. I can assure you that my companions and I had not taken any mind altering substances that night! We had witnessed the best of a common sky event near the Arctic Circle. Aurora Borealis.

Aurora in Fairbanks, Alaska. Picture from http://auroracabin.com/

The Aurora Borealis, commonly known as the Northern Lights, can certainly be one of the most dramatically beautiful of all nighttime sky events. There is a lot of folklore surrounding this phenomenon, so let me give you a brief summary of the latest science to accurately clarify what we know so far.

For the past 100+ years astronomers have observed that the sun undergoes predictable 11 year cycles of electromagnetic activity. Presently, we are nearing the peak of Cycle 24, which will reach maximum activity in mid to late 2013. Sunspots are the key feature in monitoring solar activity. The minimum of the present cycle was reached in 2006. For years the sun had few spots and a few months went by with no spots at all. As of late, the sun may have 100 or more spots on any given day.

Think of a sunspot as a powerful magnetic field. They appear dark against the surface because they block upwelling convective currents where matter slows down and cools. At times, a large sunspot group is capable of releasing an enormous amount of matter and energy into space. If the Earth is in the path of the ejected material, a powerful geomagnetic storm can occur in the Earth’s upper atmosphere right down to the ground triggering powerful and potentially harmful magnetoelectric effects. To get a sense of the how a particular solar storm occurs, I’d like to tell an imaginary story set in the near future. Although this tale is hypothetical, I have based it on real events from the past.

In early November, 2012, an enormous sunspot complex appeared on the west limb of the sun. Two large central spots were surrounded by a few dozen smaller spots of various sizes. At 35,000 miles across, when viewed through a filter, it was easily seen from Earth with the naked eye. Being a manifestation of cycle 24, the complex was about 25 degrees north of the sun’s equator. After a few days as the sunspot group moved to the center of the solar disc, the magnetic field between the two large spots snapped open releasing a massive blob of ionized plasma gas and energy causing a brilliant white light to appear at the site of eruption. This occurrence was observed by dedicated solar observers using an array of ground based and sun orbiting space telescopes. As this supercharged piece of the Sun was propelled into space, Spaceweather.com posted a CME alert  (Coronal Mass Ejection) on its website. They predicted that a massive x-class class solar flare was in progress and that this blob of ionized gas weighing billions of tons would reach Earth’s magnetosphere within 36 to 48 hours. On November 10^th, it slammed into the Earth’s magnetic field, reacted with matter in the ionosphere and produced spectacular, multicolored auroras from Canada to Florida. On the downside, several communications satellites were fried and many power grids in the northern hemisphere experienced blackouts.

Although it is impossible to predict the exact date when a powerful solar storm will occur, as we approach the maximum of Solar Cycle 24, the probability for an event of this magnitude is very high.

In early November 1991, during the maximum of Cycle 22, a spectacular show of Northern Lights occurred one clear night over my cabin in Olmstedville, NY.

Here are some photos I took of that event:

Aurora seen from Olmsteadville, 1991 (taken by Bob Fisher)

If you’re interested in seeing this phenomenon for yourself, Spaceweather.com is a reliable site for making aurora predictions. Look to the Sun and stay posted!

Hello, Winter, it’s good to see you!

As a Rochester, NY native I never thought I would say, “I love winter.” Growing up in the snowbelt, the season always brought bucket upon bucket of lake effect snow, bulky coats, bad driving and salt-stained pant bottoms. I didn’t ski (or winter recreate in any way other than a few sledding adventures) and never understood people getting excited over 6 feet of snow.

Before you send me hate mail, I have to tell you that my views on winter have completely changed. (Well, not completely, I’m still not a fan of winter driving). What brought about my change of heart, you ask? Animal tracking.

I’m not the best tracker out there. I have no training other than reading books and my own exploration. By nature, I’m a fast walker meaning I often ruin any chance I had of seeing an actual animal and my Speedy Gonzalez routine can keep me from observing all those little details that matter so much. But that is one of the things that I love about tracking.

It forces me to slow down.

Be still.

Refocus my thoughts and take in my surroundings. Sounds a little cheesy, I know, but fewer things are more effective at calming my busy and anxious mind than getting out on a quiet winter’s day, observing the snowy world around me and getting lost in its stories.

Of course, you can track animals in all seasons, but I find tracking on a pair of snowshoes much more rewarding. At the end of a long day of winter tracking, you feel that good, cold-weather tired. You know the kind of tired I’m talking about. That I-braved-6-hours-of-trekking-through-the-woods-in-2 degree-weather-and-3-feet-of-snow-with-numb-toes-and-frozen-boogers kind of tired. And when I find any animal sign–whether it be tracks, feathers, scat, bones, or browse–that cold-weather tired comes with a whole lot of satisfaction.

On January 7, a colleague of mine and I went out on the Sucker Brook and Sage trails in search of animal signs. And although there wasn’t enough snow for snowshoes and it was over 20 degrees, we certainly came back feeling satisfied!

All told, we saw tracks from red squirrel, mink, water shrew, short-tail shrew, coyote, fox, deer mouse, white-tailed deer, grouse, marten and a scent post, scat, tracks and slides from river otter!

Read on for highlights from the day…