Linda J. Spielman

Walking the Rails

When I was a kid I used to enjoy exploring the woods and fields near my home, and one of my routes involved travelling along a seldom used railroad line. The rocky bed that supported the ties and rails was hard to walk on, and the spacing of the ties was just a little different from my natural step, so I often walked on one of the steel rails. Recently I found myself doing the same thing–walking along a seldom used railroad line and attempting to keep my balance as I walked on a rail. As I stepped carefully along I saw some peculiar muddy smudges on the rail ahead of me.

I thought at first that someone with muddy sneakers had been there ahead of me. But the marks didn’t look like the tread pattern of a shoe, and some of the groups of muddy spots seemed to form zig-zags rather than the centered prints that a person would make. My puzzlement turned to delighted comprehension as I noticed more details. The zig-zag sections were separated by areas that were smeared or had a jumble of muddy marks, such as the the area at the top right in the photo above. It was as if a walking animal had occasionally lost its balance and shifted its steps to keep from falling off the rail.

In the clearest impressions, arrays of small mud spots seemed to form half-circles around central clusters of smudges, as in the two photos below. The more I looked at them, the more the outer marks looked like toes and the inner clusters like middle pads. And those half-circles of widely separated toes, spreading across most of the top of the rail, could only have been made by an opossum.

Compare the images above with the photo of opossum tracks in mud (from a different opossum encounter) below–the left front track at the upper right and the left rear track below. Notice how the widely spread front toes encircle the middle pads; the upper two middle pads show as triangular impressions and the lower two as faint roughenings of the shiny mud surface. Four toes of the hind print point toward the upper left and the innermost hind toe–probably superimposed on the innermost front toe–points toward the right. The front print is a pretty good match for the mud-on-steel prints in the photos above.

Here’s another shot (from last winter) of opossum tracks, the left front on the right and the left hind on the left. The perfect tracking snow recorded the triangular to oblong middle pads of both front and rear feet beautifully. In the front print the position of the middle pads inside the circle of toes reproduces the positioning of the inner clusters and outer circles of mud marks in the tracks on the rail.

The positioning of the rear feet of a walking opossum is often erratic, and the animal that walked on the rail left many rear tracks that were smeared, distorted, or partly missing. In the photo below the middle pad area of the left rear foot (on the left side) made the large smudge behind the left front print (on the right), and the four outer toes of the rear track left spots and smears on the sloped upper edge of the rail. The lack of precision in the placement of its rear feet may have caused some missteps as the opossum attempted to balance on that three-inch rail.

Putting it all together, the whole scene made sense. I found the muddy slough the possum had crossed, coating its feet in ooze, before it climbed up onto the railroad bed. There were sloppy smears and spatters on the rocky shoulder of the railroad bed, and on the ties where it had first stepped onto the rail. The zig-zag pattern of the walking gait was occasionally punctuated by sections with extra steps and smeared mud where the opossum had struggled with its balance. (What would it look like if a more precise walker–like a cat–had left muddy prints on a rail?) At each step mud was transferred from the opossum’s feet to the rail, and the tracks grew fainter and finally disappeared. I continued in the same direction toward a road bridge which crossed the railroad line. Under the bridge there was a wide, dusty area, and when I stepped away from the tracks to investigate I saw a recently made opossum trail. Could it have been the same animal? I can’t be sure, but I feel a kinship with the opossum that made the muddy tracks. In spite of our balance problems we both found walking the rail to be a good way to get where we wanted to go.

Getting to Know Porcupines

I’ve been thinking about porcupines. There are porcupines in central New York where I live, but they’re not common, so in that region (unlike in the Adirondacks) I don’t often encounter their tracks. But this spring we had some late April snowfalls, and on two different occasions I was surprised and excited to find porcupine trails. In the photo below (direction of travel from right to left) you can see the left front and left rear tracks. The hind track (on the left) shows the flattened sole area of the foot nicely, with the marks of the claws to its left. The smaller front print lies to the right but isn’t as clear because the thin snow fractured in the sole area and three of the four claw marks were covered by the hind print.

Those meager April snowfalls weren’t ideal for recording clear tracks, so I’m including a more revealing photo of porcupine tracks that I took a few years ago in the Adirondacks. There was a light skiff of snow on a dark, icy base, and the soles and claws can be seen clearly. Again, the tracks are left front and hind, and the direction of travel is toward the upper left. In the rear print (on the right) the sole is larger but the claws are shorter than in the front print (on the left). If you look carefully at the front track you can see the faint imprints of the front toes (which usually don’t show up at all) just behind the dark holes made by the claws. And those streaks that run toward the upper left from the front claw impressions are drag marks made by the claws as they came forward when the foot was lifted.

So what if there’s no snow? Following trails may not be an option, but porcupines leave plenty of other evidence of their presence. Their winter diet includes the inner bark of trees, both conifers and hardwoods, and the buds and leaves of conifers. Scenes like the one pictured below (on yellow birch) show how efficient a porcupine can be at removing the cambium tissues of living trees. And this kind of evidence lasts long after the actual feeding was done. Small debarked patches high in hardwoods (but not conifers) could also be due to squirrels, which may turn to bark feeding when other food is scarce. However, the amount of exposed wood in the photo below is more than a squirrel would be able to achieve.

To get at tree buds or leaves a porcupine climbs high into a tree (where the most vigorous branches are), bites off twigs, eats the buds or leaves, and then drops the twigs. The photo below shows a scattering of nip twigs which accumulated on the ground as a porky fed in the hemlock tree above. When porcupines feed on the swelling buds of sugar maples in early spring, or on acorns in late summer, they harvest and discard the twigs in a similar manner.

But twigs and branches can fall with no help from porcupines, so how do we know whether a porky was the culprit? The first clue is the relatively even sizes of nip twigs (mostly 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 feet), compared with the wide range of sizes when wind or ice damage is the cause. Another clue is the appearance of the separation site. Randomly broken branches and twigs have ragged, irregular ends. The photo below shows the clean, angled cut found on a red oak twig that was nipped by a porcupine.

To get to feeding spots high in the canopy a porcupine must climb trees, and on trees with light bark, like the aspen in the photo below, climbing marks are very visible. Aspens are sought out by porcupines in spring when the leaves are young and easily digested, and preferred trees are often visited several years in succession. Bears also climb trees to feast on young leaves, nuts, and fruits, but the spacing between porcupine claw marks, between 1/4 and 3/4 of an inch, is much closer than the spacing in climbing marks left by bears.

Porcupine dens are another unmistakable sign. Unlike many other animals, porcupines defecate in their sleeping areas, and when scat piles up they simply plow through it or push it out of the way. The trunk of the sugar maple in the photo below had a hollow space which served as a porcupine den, and the waterfall of scat which fell down from it is evidence of an extended period of occupancy. Porcupine scats are cylindrical to kidney-shaped, and they can also be found among the nip twigs dropped from favored feeding trees.

In spite of their prickly defense, porcupines are preyed upon by most medium-sized carnivores. I found the coyote scat in the next photo last winter, earlier but in the same general area where I found the nip twigs and the tracks in the April snow. The coyote could have been responsible for the porky’s death, but it’s also possible that the initial killer was a fisher, and that the coyote scavenged the carcass later. The quantity of quill fragments is surprising and makes me wonder whether any quills entered the coyote’s body.

By now porcupines have left the mature forests and moved to more mixed habitats where they can find the growing herbaceous shoots and leaves, cattails and other wetland plants, roots, tubers, and fruits that make up their spring and summer diet. There are lots of other animals which consume the same plants, so unless you actually see a porcupine having a meal it’s hard to recognize the signs of summer feeding. But if you’re alert you may find long-lasting evidence of their cold weather activities.

Logs

Living creatures see the world in terms of significant objects. We humans are no exception–for us significant features would be such things as chairs, doorways, computers, streets, buildings, picnic tables, traffic lights….you get the idea. For wild animals rocks, thickets, streams, cliffs, and trees come to mind. And then there are logs–items that we usually ignore unless we’re looking for a place to sit. Downed logs are important to many animals in many different ways, and the evidence is often plain to see.

A chipmunk sat on the log in the photo above to eat a red oak acorn. In order to get at the edible meat, the animal tore narrow strips and small chunks from the outer covering. Logs serve as feeding platforms for many small rodents, including red and gray squirrels, and the leftovers often reveal who the diner was. When squirrels feed on red oak acorns, the shell fragments left behind tend to be larger than those discarded by chipmunks.

The log above was used by a red squirrel feeding on red pine cones. As the squirrel fed it dropped the cone scales and cores on the ground in front of the log to create a large midden. Red pines are self-pruning trees and don’t offer many branch perches, so although red squirrels prefer the safety of branch perches, they sometimes need to use more earth-bound objects. Logs, stumps, and rocks can offer a good view of the surroundings and allow the animal to detect danger.

And how do we know it was a red squirrel? Although gray squirrels do sometimes eat conifer seeds, they don’t store them the way red squirrels do, and they never feed on enough conifer cones to create middens the size of the one in the photo.

Tracks on logs tell us that they can also serve as travel routes. Of course we need snow to see this kind of evidence–the light snowfalls of early winter and early spring often show the prints of animals that walked on logs. The coyote that made the tracks in the photo above found the log to be a convenient route through an area obstructed by branches and undergrowth. Walking on logs may also be quieter since leaves and debris can be noisy, even under a layer of snow. Another advantage of walking on logs is a better view. The greater elevation helps prey animals to detect danger, and predators to detect prey. I’ve found many different tracks on logs–the list includes squirrels, white-footed mice, chipmunks, raccoons, bobcats, bears, red and gray foxes, coyotes, fishers, minks, and weasels.

Logs offer these same advantages when there’s no snow, so we can be sure that animals also walk on logs in warmer weather. Without snow their tracks are difficult to detect, but we may still find evidence of their passing. A long-tailed weasel left the scat shown in the photo above on a mossy log. The scat was not quite 1/4 inch in diameter and contained hairs from a small mammal.

The logs in the photo at the head of this article are ones I visit regularly, and they often accumulate the scat of several different kinds of animals. This suggests that they have some special importance, but I’m not sure exactly why. The log in the foreground bridges a low, rocky gully, but the more distant one lies on more level ground. Both logs are large, but there are other logs nearby that are as big or bigger and don’t accumulate scat. Whatever the reason, we can be sure that each species that travels those logs takes note of the messages left by other creatures.

In addition to serving as perches, travel routes, and bulletin boards, logs may be a source of food. This log was torn open by a black bear in search of the grubs that were living and feeding in the rotting wood. Bears are not the only creatures that find food in logs–skunks, raccoons, and woodpeckers also open logs in search of edible morsels. But the size of the fragments and the distance to which they were thrown could only have be the work of an animal as powerful as a bear.

Have you heard a grouse drumming this spring? At this time of year ruffed grouse are looking for mates. The males seek out large logs, and once they find a log that offers a stable and well elevated surface they send out a kind of drumming sound with their wings. The low sound travels long distances, and the elevation of the log gives it even more range. Females are drawn to the sound, and if they’re impressed they will mate with the male. In the photo above I’m perched on a grouse drumming log, taking a photo with my old SLR camera. In front of me on the log you can see several grouse scats.

Whether they’re dinner tables, highways, message boards, pantries, stages, or even just obstacles, logs are significant objects for inhabitants of the natural environment. The evidence they present can reveal unseen dramas in the lives of animals. So before you sit on that log, take a look at it. You might be rewarded with a message that opens a window into the life of a wild creature.

Incisive Communication

Communication is an essential part of life for all animals. For squirrels and their kin spring is a time of intensive communication, as they select nest sites and prepare to birth and raise young. And the leafless canopy of early spring affords good visibility, so it’s a great time to spot the messages left by these animals.

The strong, sharp incisors possessed by all rodents–two in the upper jaw and two in the lower–are perfect tools for inscribing messages. In the photo below bright gouges show where a squirrel bit into the sides of a narrow cleft in a tree. The cleft was at eye-level, so the reddish marks of the animal’s incisors were easy to see. After making the bites the animal may have rubbed its cheeks on the bark to leave a scent message. Squirrels have a well developed sense of smell, so the saliva left in the bites and the scent from the cheek rubbing may have been even more meaningful than the visual marks.

Squirrels also create “stripes” on tree trunks. In the next photo gray squirrels–probably more than one–made many bites in an elongated zone between four and six feet off the ground along the trunk of a white oak. If you look carefully you’ll see that the individual bites vary in color, from bright reddish (the most recent) through grayish red to dull gray (the oldest). The varying age of the bites indicates that this stripe has been worked in the same way over several years. The individuals making the bites probably also did some cheek rubbing, so the bark would have been perfumed with an abundance of scents.

Marks like the ones pictured above are usually found in the general vicinity of nesting or feeding areas, but sometimes the bites seem to indicate a claim to a particular nest site. I’m not talking about summer nests, the leafy dreys seen high in the branches of large trees. In areas with cold winters, both winter and birthing nests are located in safe, weather-proof sites like hollow trees or underground cavities, and the supply of good sites may be limited. The hole shown in the photo below was located about 20 feet up in a large tree. There was probably a perfect nest cavity inside–the opening looked well used, and the varying intensity of the bitten areas suggested that the site had been used for at least several years. By marking the opening, the resident squirrel was able to establish ownership of its chosen refuge.

Squirrels are not the only creatures associated with tree holes. The openings shown below were made by pileated woodpeckers. From a distance the bright margin of a woodpecker hole may look like the chewed edges of a squirrel hole, and the size and shape may be about right. But it’s easy to tell that these holes are not squirrel holes. The first clue is their rough, splintery margins. Another clue is the number of holes–in this case there were five similar openings distributed along the trunk. These holes were made for feeding, and they’re distributed up and down the trunk because the insects the woodpecker was seeking–probably carpenter ants–had colonized much of the tree. Woodpecker holes are often more irregular in shape, and when that’s the case it’s easy to tell that they weren’t chewed on by squirrels.

Whether a mark was made by a red or a gray squirrel is often hard to determine–both are known to make stripes along trunks, and both probably mark the entries to nest cavities. Flying squirrels may mark in similar ways, but I haven’t been able to find any mention of that in the tracking literature and I don’t have any examples to share. If anyone knows the location of a definite flying squirrel nest hole, I’d love to hear about it.

Chipmunks tend to use underground refuges rather than tree cavities, and I haven’t seen anything in the literature about chipmunk marking. But a few weeks ago I came across the hole in the photo below, located a little above my head in a small tree. It puzzled me at first because the chews looked rougher and more irregular than the typical squirrel chew. But the mystery was solved when I stood on my tip toes to get a closer look. Out of the hole came the frantic chittering of a chipmunk. The animal sounded so upset that I left quickly, but I thanked it for showing me what a chipmunk can do with its teeth.

Raccoon Spring Fever

Winter is still with us, but the season is advancing and mild days are beginning to outnumber the cold ones. Raccoons have spent the frigid periods in a state of torpor, denned up in hollow trees, rock crevices, second-hand burrows, or perhaps under your porch. On warm days the animals emerge from their winter dens and roam about in search of food and mates. Their habitual use of a gait called the pace-walk gives their trails a unique and easily recognizable appearance.

In the pace-walk the tracks lie in sets of two, each set made up of front and rear prints from opposite sides. One of these prints generally falls ahead of the other (although they can be perfectly even). In each successive pair the sides of the front and rear tracks switch and, if they are uneven, the leading side also switches. In the photo above the larger hind prints lie ahead of the smaller front ones. The succession of tracks, starting at the lower right corner, is: left front with right rear, right front with left rear, left front with right rear, and right front with left rear.

Raccoons are not good at digging, and as long there’s a substantial snowpack they have difficulty getting at edibles in the leaf litter. But seeps and unfrozen streams are not only free of snow and ice–they also harbor tasty morsels like aquatic insect larvae, worms, snails, and other invertebrates. Seeps are likely to form during mild weather, and they’re usually found in the same places each year. Muddy tracks like the ones below tell us when raccoons have been visiting them.

There are two separate passages in the photo above, the upper one heading from left to right and the lower one going in the opposite direction. If you focus on the darker tracks in the middle of the photo, you can see the similarity between the patterns in the two photos. But in addition to being more irregular, the mud-on-snow tracks have a slightly different arrangement. In each set of two the larger hind foot touched down a little behind the smaller front foot. This, and the fact that the steps are shorter, tells us that the animal was going slower. The icy crust was probably slippery and the raccoon needed to be more careful with its footing.

As spring–and mud season–draws closer, raccoon tracks can be found in all sorts of wet places. When the photo below was taken a thin blanket of snow covered most of the landscape, but the silty stream margins were clear and unfrozen. The small tracks heading in both directions were made by minks, and the larger ones belong to a raccoon. There’s a pretty clear hind print near the right edge of the frame, but the other raccoon prints (one to its left and another toward the bottom of the frame) are distorted because the animal slipped in the mud. In fact the very weird track at the lower edge of the photo is actually two prints, one on top of the other. Apparently the heavier raccoon had more difficulty with its footing than the smaller minks did.

Here’s another trail made by a pace-walking raccoon on a nicely moistened sand road. The pairs of prints are a little closer together than the ones in the first photo, and the rear tracks fall slightly behind the front–both signs of lower speed. Maybe with its feet sinking slightly in the soft sand the animal chose to move more carefully, or maybe it just wasn’t in a hurry. On a mild spring day even a raccoon might feel like taking it easy.

Wild Lives Hang by a Thread

When small rodents feed above ground they usually leave obvious signs of their meals in the form of inedible remains. I love finding these because they reveal a lot about what, how, and where these animals have been eating. It’s especially exciting when I see something unusual, and that’s exactly what happened a few weeks ago. I was walking along a seldom-used (but familiar to me) trail which, at one spot, runs along the edge of a large depression in the ground, about the size of a small room. As I scanned the sunken area I saw odd scatterings of small things on the snow. Looking more closely I saw that the scattered bits were maple seeds. There were red squirrel tracks in the same areas, and many of the seeds had been opened. I knew that gray squirrels fed on maple seeds, but this was the first time I had observed evidence of red squirrels doing that.

Here’s close-up to show that the seeds were really being eaten. If you look at the one near the center of the photo (the one with the winged end pointing toward the upper left) you can see that it was opened at the base.

In our region red squirrels normally favor large stands of conifers, and the most common feeding sign consists of piles of cone scales and cores under their favorite trees. Cavities among the roots are used for food storage, and dead branches part way up the trunks offer well protected feeding perches. So my discovery of feeding sites on the snow surface, the diet of maple seeds, and the location–a mixed forest of sugar maple, red oak, yellow birch, beech, white pine, and hemlock–seemed unusual for a red squirrel. But because I was familiar with the area from warmer seasons, I knew that the sunken pit was actually an old cellar hole, probably part of a 19th century homestead. The stone walls were partially collapsed, and the rocky jumble provided perfect spaces for food storage. It appeared that this red squirrel had discovered an attractive abode.

As I explored the place I noticed another hole, shown in the photo below. This hole was bigger and looked well used–it was probably the main entry to the squirrel’s underground accommodations. But as I examined it I realized that something violent had happened. There were some spots of blood near the opening, and some of the snow around it was disturbed. There were also tracks. If you look carefully at the photo below you’ll see two small impressions in the top center. And to the left of the large blood spots some very different tracks are visible.

This called for some tracking detective work. To show the details better the next photo is a close-up. Above and to the right of the hole the snow is compressed and disturbed, and spots of blood can be seen on the left side (along with a smaller spot to the right). Although they’re faint, you can see the two small prints at the top of the frame.

The tracks to the left of the hole are particularly intriguing–the clearest ones are shaped like the letter K lying on its back. These are owl tracks, probably made by a barred owl. In an owl track the vertical stalk of the K is on the inside of the foot and the shorter angled branches are on the outside. There are two prints made by the owl’s left foot, one above and partly on top of the other. The track of the right foot is less clear, but lies below and a little closer to the hole. This means the bird was facing to the right when it made the tracks. To help you sort all of this out I’ve repeated the photo above with the owl and squirrel tracks labelled.

Here’s my take on what happened: the victim was emerging from its hole when the owl swooped down and seized it in its talons. As the owl tightened its grip the squirrel struggled and hit the snow in several places, touching the snow with its front feet to make the two prints (Sq L and Sq R). Finally the owl’s talons fatally pierced the squirrel and it held the victim on the left side of the hole, causing the bloody spots. The owl then stood on the left side of the hole, shifting its feet slightly as it got a good hold of the squirrel with its beak. It then flew off carrying its meal.

The squirrel’s life ended abruptly, and the owl beat the odds–low on average–of hunting success. Was the old cellar hole, in spite of its suitability for food storage, too exposed for a squirrel to live there safely? Will another small rodent find that spot, take up residence, and maybe even eat the stores still hidden among the rocks? And will that owl revisit the site of its good fortune, hoping for another meal? Sudden death is the way of nature, but it’s also the way of nature for animals to learn from experience and take advantage of every opportunity. I’ll be sure to go by that old cellar hole again to see if it has more stories to tell.

Ruffed Grouse Snow Beds

When the snow gets deep and temperatures go down, ruffed grouse have a wonderful way of staying warm overnight. They can’t climb down into woodchuck burrows the way rabbits do, or follow narrow openings down to warmer depths like weasels. And they don’t curl up with their tails over their heads like foxes. But they can fly, and that allows for a unique strategy. In mid-flight, a grouse tucks its wings close to its body and dives into the snow. Once submerged all it takes is a few wiggles to shape a perfectly formed and well insulated snow cave.

I found the grouse bed pictured below back in November after an unusually early snowstorm. The place where the bird plunged into the snow is on the left, and the exit side of the bed is at the lower right. The trail the bird made as it walked away extends toward the top of the frame.

Here’s the same grouse bed from another angle–the entry is now at the top of the frame and the exit is at the bottom. The cavity where the bird spent the night is located under the undisturbed snow between the two holes. If you could peer down into the lower hole you would see a chamber roughly the shape of the grouse’s body.

If you can’t picture how it all happened you’re probably not alone. One of the keys to interpreting nature’s messages is to go back in time to the beginning of the incident and work your way through to the end.

Consider what happens when you toss a ball into soft, fluffy snow. The ball disappears and leaves nothing but a small depression where it went in. It’s only when you grope around trying to find the ball that more of the snow gets disturbed. A similar situation occurs with a grouse’s snow bed. Once the bird disappears under the snow, the only sign on the surface is a depression where it went in. The grouse can’t be seen, and there’s smooth, undisturbed snow everywhere except for a hollow of tossed snow. It’s not until the next morning, when the bird wakes up and begins to wriggle forward and upward, that the snow around it is disturbed and at least one other hole in the snow appears.

In the photo above, you can see some dark material in the lower hole. A close-up shows that the dark material in the cavity is scat. Grouse typically defecate before they begin to work their way out of the their snow cave.

If the snow isn’t deep enough–or soft enough–for a plunge, grouse rest in surface beds like the one shown in the photo below. On the right side of the photo you can see a hollowed out, grouse-body-sized depression. The usual scat pile sits in the bottom of the bed, and the tracks made by the bird as it walked away can be seen heading toward the left. The scat in the surface bed (and also in the snow cave in the preceding photos) is dry and fibrous, the type of scat produced from the grouse’s normal winter diet of buds, twigs, and catkins. But in the photo below there’s another kind of scat, lying roughly in the center. This wetter, softer scat is called caecal scat, and it’s produced when a grouse eats higher quality food, such as the cambium layer of woody plants. More nutritious food goes through an additional digestive process in specialized intestinal pouches called caeca.

I marvel at the adaptations that ruffed grouse–and other creatures–have for coping with the challenges of winter. And I love the way such behaviors become more real when when I can see and understand the actual evidence. It’s worth the effort to parse out the story and see what birds and animals really do to survive.

A Red Wolf Tracking Adventure

A few weeks ago I spent some time at the Alligator River National Wildlife Refuge (ARNWR) on the coast of North Carolina. The refuge covers 238 square miles and includes upland forests, swamp forests, marshes, ponds, creeks, brackish waterways, shrubland, and current and former cropland. The diverse habitats are home to an amazing array of mammals, birds, reptiles and amphibians. I had my first wildlife encounter in a port-a john before I even set foot on a trail. A green tree frog jumped out of the toilet paper dispenser, ricocheted off my arm, and leaped onto the wall. It posed while I got a photo and then scooted straight up the vertical surface.

With that welcome I knew I was in the right place. But I was really there because of one specific animal–the red wolf. Alligator River is home to the only wild population of red wolves in the world. Historically the range of the red wolf stretched from Texas to the Atlantic seaboard, and from the Gulf Coast to the Ohio River valley. But persecution and habitat loss decimated populations throughout the range, and by the mid-1960s just a few small remnants remained in the coastal prairies and marshes of western Louisiana and eastern Texas. Red wolves were on the verge of extinction, and the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service determined that the best strategy was to capture the last wild wolves and move them to captive breeding facilities. The red wolf pictured below was photographed at a facility in Texas. After several decades of captive breeding, 4 male-female pairs were released at ARNWR. The animals have thrived there, and the red wolf recovery program is seen as a model for reintroductions of other species. You can learn more about the program here.

Photo by the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service

The more I thought about this amazing story, the more I wanted to go there and see red wolf tracks. So about a month ago I set off for North Carolina. I had high hopes, but I didn’t know how hard it would be to find the wolves or what kind of tracking conditions I would encounter.

I learned more about the current status of red wolves and strategies for their future when I visited the Red Wolf Education and Health Care Facility in Columbia, NC. There’s lots of information on Center’s website, which you can find here. If you ever visit ARNWR you should definitely stop at the Red Wolf Education Center.

One helpful bit of information was that the red wolves spend most of their time in the northern parts of the refuge around the agricultural areas. And once I did some exploration and located the sandy roads and trails, I found wolf tracks aplenty. Red wolf tracks are similar to other wild canines–they have the typical central dome and canine X, and the claws usually show as small indentations ahead of the toes. The species most likely to be confused with the red wolf is the coyote, but there are several features that set the two animals apart. Compared to coyote tracks, red wolf tracks are wider in proportion to their length, and have larger middle pads.

There’s also a distinct difference in size. Red wolf front tracks range from 2 1/8 to 3 inches wide and 3 to 4 1/4 inches long. Even our northeastern coyotes–larger than western coyotes–fall in the lower end of this range. The coyotes at ARNWR are more like western coyotes in size, so their track dimensions don’t overlap those of red wolves. I didn’t find any coyote prints in the areas where the wolf tracks were–apparently the wolves don’t tolerate the presence of coyotes. The coyote front print below, which I found in the southern part of ARNWR, measured 2 5/8 inches in length and 1 3/4 inches in width.

Here’s another photo of red wolf tracks, and these are also distinctly different from coyote tracks. The overall shapes of both the front track (upper left) and the hind track (lower right) are more rounded, and the middle pads are larger and more triangular. As in other wild canines, the front tracks of red wolves are larger than the rear tracks, and the claws don’t always show on all the toes.

ARNWR is a haven for all sorts of wildlife, and one group that was clearly thriving was snakes. Several times I saw snakes basking on roads, and every time the snake was very reactive to my presence, either fleeing or adopting a defensive posture. On my way out one afternoon I came upon this very large–at least four feet long–rattlesnake. (I wasn’t as close as it looks–I used the telephoto setting to get this photo). But there was something wrong with this snake. It wasn’t moving away or coiling up, and it seemed unable to raise its head or straighten out its neck. There was no obvious wound, but it must have been hit by something.

The next morning I drove in on the same road, and where I had seen the snake the day before I saw this:

Remains of rattlesnake eaten by red wolf, ARNWR

Along the sandy edge of the road I found wolf tracks leading up to the snake carcass and then continuing in the same direction away from it. To make a meal of the disabled snake, the wolf must have known not only that the snake was vulnerable, but also how to go at it without getting bitten. For me this was an incredible look at a slice of the life of a red wolf, and at the way the animals make use of every opportunity. Their intelligence and adaptability has served them well for thousands of years. If we just give them a chance they can thrive for thousands of years into the future.

A Gallery of Red Fox Tracks

I’m fascinated by track variation. No two tracks are ever exactly alike, even if they were made by the same animal doing the same gait on the same substrate. Sometimes variations within the prints of one species are so extreme that it’s hard to believe that they were made by the same kind of animal. This applies to all creatures, but I think the red fox is a particularly good illustration.

In the photo below you see a front print made by a red fox traveling from left to right. This is a typical track: oval in shape with finely pointed claw marks, and a curved impression–called a bar or chevron–running vertically through the middle pad. A striated texture in the toes and middle pad shows how the fur which covers the underside of the foot pressed into the mud.

The track pictured above also has some features that are found in all of our wild canines. There’s a dome in the center, and the major ridges meet at the dome to form an X shape. The toes are held tightly together and the claw marks point straight ahead.

Here’s another front print made by a red fox, again traveling from left to right but at greater speed. This time the mud was firmer, so the track is shallower and the marks of the hair are lighter. Instead of lying tightly together, the toes are spread and the claws, especially the inner and outer ones, angle outward. The bar in the middle pad is the deepest part of the track, suggesting that the horny protrusion might have served to increase traction.

A fox moving on even firmer mud and at even greater speed made the next example, again traveling from left to right. We see only the claw marks, the tips of the toes, and the middle pad bar. As in the previous photo the toes are spread and the claws angle outward.

Sometimes the fur on the underside of the foot is the most obvious feature of the track. In the next photo, made in wet mud, the direction of travel is from right to left, and the texture of the hair seems to cover the entire track except for the middle pad bar. But take a close look at the areas toward the tips of the toes, especially the two leading toes. There’s a spot in each toe impression that’s deeper and doesn’t have the striated texture. These marks aren’t just accidental artifacts–they’re real (although seldom seen) features of red fox tracks. Each toe has a small, hairless bump near its tip which can protrude through the hair to leave a mark.

There are other anatomical parts which can show up in tracks. The print in the photo below was made in soft sand by a red fox moving from left to right at high speed. The spread toes and deep toe and middle pad bar impressions should be familiar by now, but just behind and above the middle pad there’s an additional mark. This was made by the dew claw, the reduced fifth toe present on the insides of the front feet of most canines. And to the left of that and straight back from the middle pad there’s a shallow indentation made by the carpal pad, a knobby protrusion found higher up on the back of the front leg. This is another feature found on foxes, coyotes, and domestic dogs.

Dewclaws and carpal pads only show in tracks if the lower leg joint (it’s actually the carpal joint) is well flexed or the foot sinks down into the substrate. The print pictured above had some of both–the foot sank into the sand and the galloping gait caused significant flexion in the carpal joint.

I’ve been focusing on tracks in mud and sand because they show track details so beautifully, but snow can be just as revealing. The red fox that made the prints below was traveling from left to right. There’s a nice bar in the middle pad of the front track (at the lower left), and as we expect in the red fox, the rear track (at the upper right) has a smaller middle pad with no bar. The dome and canine X show clearly in both tracks. Small depressions at the tips of the toes of the rear track show where the hairless protrusions (the same ones seen above in the wet mud) pushed deeper into the snow. In dry, fluffy snow like the substrate in the photo below, the fur on the undersides of the feet doesn’t leave distinct marks. Instead it has the effect of blurring the outlines of the toes.

Track variants can be puzzling, but they can also lead to better understanding of foot anatomy and animal movement. So when you’re perplexed by an unusual print take a breath, focus on something different for a moment, and let the pieces of the puzzle fall into place at their own speed. It will be well worth your time.

A Perfect Storm of Jumping Mice

I guess I was just in the right place at the right time. I was in a part of the western Adirondacks where the soils are sandy–they’re called glacial outwash soils, and they’re a gift from our glacial past. After a day with several heavy downpours the weather cleared, and the next morning I went out to look for tracks. I headed to one of my favorite spots, a sandy truck trail that meanders through a mosaic of wet meadows, marshes, and shrubby uplands. The low spots in the road had filled with water during the rain, but the sandy soil had allowed the pooled water to drain away, leaving perfect tracking mud.

And there were tracks aplenty, mostly small rodents. But not just the usual small rodents–many tracks had the distinctive features of a very special animal. In the photo below (direction of travel toward the top) the five-toed hind tracks are in the upper section, nearly even with each other and set widely apart. Below them are the four-toed front tracks, one leading the other and set more narrowly.

These are the tracks of a small rodent called the meadow jumping mouse. (It’s cousin, the woodland jumping mouse, is restricted to boreal forests and would not have been found where I was tracking that day.) The meadow jumping mouse is pictured in the photo below by Martha Beck (from her blog, Martha’s Blog). This beautiful little creature has a very long tail, large ears and eyes, long back legs, and really interesting rear feet.

Here’s another example of the tracks I found that day. The direction of travel is toward the right, and the front prints (on the left side) are distorted by the impact of landing from a long jump. Nevertheless you can see that the rear tracks (on the right side) are much larger than the front,

especially in this example in which the entire lengths of the rear heels touched down. These long heels are unique to the jumping mouse, as are the long, slender toes. The three central toes are often slightly curved, and they spread more than the corresponding toes of most other small rodents. Another special feature lies in the elongated middle pad area of the rear prints. The inner and outer toes attach considerably behind the area where the three central toes come together.

In the photo below, another one from that amazing day, the elongated middle pad area shows nicely in the left rear print (farthest to the left). The right rear track is on the extreme right, the two front tracks lie between the two hind tracks, and the direction of travel is toward the top. Some interesting details of the front prints can be seen in the right front print (the lowest of the group): it’s canted toward the outside, with the innermost toe pointing up and a little to the left, the toe next to it pointing almost directly upward, the third toe pointing toward the right, and the outermost toe pointing downward. The middle pad area of this track is in the center, and the paired heel pads show at the lower left edge of the print.

Once you’re aware of the critical details, jumping mouse tracks look very different from the tracks of other small rodents. The meadow vole tracks in the photo below, also from that wonderful day on the sand road, are in the same relative positions as the jumping mouse tracks in the previous photo. But the front and rear prints of the meadow vole are similar in size and there is no elongation of toes, heel, or middle pad. The inner and outer toes of the hind tracks show as small ovals on either side of the middle pad area, and the front tracks are only slightly angled.

Although their feet are larger, jumping mice are actually much smaller than meadow voles, but they’re similar in size to another common small rodent, the white-footed mouse. But white-footed mouse tracks are also very different from jumping mouse tracks. The white-footed mouse tracks in the photo below (direction of travel toward the top with hind tracks above and front tracks below) are tiny compared to jumping mouse tracks, and the toes in both front and rear prints are small ovals with no connections to the middle pad. The three central toes of the rear print are close together and parallel with each other, and the middle pads are a distinct series of bumps.

My walk along the sand road that day was a real revelation. Although the drying mud puddles may have been more attractive to jumping mice than to other small rodents, I still have to believe that the abundance of jumping mouse tracks indicated high population numbers. Those scattered, moist habitats were just the kinds of places favored by meadow jumping mice, and the muddy low spots were perfectly situated to capture the animals’ movements. Since jumping mice spend the winter in extended hibernation we don’t have the luxury of seeing their tracks in snow. But a perfect storm of favorable influences created conditions rivaling the best snow tracking, revealing jumping mouse tracks like I’ve never seen them before.

9/26 – I just got a comment from Janet Pesaturo about the range of woodland jumping mice, which is broader than I realized. They’re found in mixed softwood/hardwood forests in temperate zones as well as in boreal forests. Thanks, Janet.