Back in the summer of 2014, my life took a turn that I would never have foreseen, and I found myself moving a thousand miles away from my lifelong home of coastal Texas up to southeastern Wisconsin. The plan was to remain there until my partner Ithi finished his studies, a process that took a little longer than either of us anticipated. I ended up passing over five years there before we both moved to my homeland in 2019, but not without seeing a thing or two in the meantime. My life would take yet another unexpected turn at the end of 2021 when we found ourselves returning to Wisconsin. The back and forth served to starkly juxtapose life in both places. Unlike the seemingly eternal, lazy droning summer teeming with bustling life year-round that is the coastal Texas seasons, Wisconsin seemed to me a desolate moonscape for half of the year, but the spring and summer come with an explosion of life that feels fleeting and desperate, albeit beautiful.

For about two years of my time in Wisconsin, I had the great fortune of living in the midst of the Kettle Moraine State Forest — Southern Unit, and in April of 2015, after just shy of a year in America's Dairyland, I wound up working there, and would continue to do so for the next four years. In addition to genuinely enjoying the trails the Forest had to offer, I also began to make a point to visit them to help make better hiking suggestions to Forest visitors.

During this process I quickly discovered a particular fondness for the mile-and-a-half Scuppernong Springs Nature Trail, which despite its short span is also very sweet; varied segments of marsh, forest, and prairie all in one small area ensure jam-packed biodiversity, and the beautiful springs and frigid, crystal-clear water are a bonus treat. I would come to revisit this trail many times in the years ahead, and it was with Scuppernong Springs that we began our day on this particular adventure, which took place at the cusp of spring in 2016.

This time around, it was immediately apparent that we could hardly have picked a better day. A couple of weeks in mid-May, as it turns out, form the perfect narrow window to catch many of the colorful summertime visitors as they make their way up north, as well as the eruption of spring flowers, and we happened to see ourselves on the trail on a day with stellar weather. Owing to all of this, I obtained what was likely at the time my highest bird diversity count for a single day, totaling thirty-five species. Birds weren't the only highlight of the day, however; reptiles, amphibians, insects and other invertebrates, as well as countless wildflowers, enriched our hike further.

Mere minutes after setting foot on the path, we were greeted by the high-pitched squeaks and chatter of eastern chipmunks. These animals are active on the trail much of the year, and always seem to have something scathing to say to passers-by.

The first portion of the trail passes through a small grove of trembling aspen (Populus tremuloides), following the path of an old railway. Marsh can be seen through the forest's edge a few yards to the right. This means that red-winged blackbirds are ever-present on the trail, calling out loudly and enacting their unending dramas. I recall in days past feeling privileged to glimpse even a single one of these striking birds in the cattail wetlands of coastal Texas, always considering them a rarity. Here in this part of Wisconsin, however, they are one of the most abundant birds, and their territorial antics provide endless amusement.

I had begun this hike with several birds on my "hit-list," and we had hardly been on the trail for ten minutes, stopping to admire the chipmunks and blackbirds, before one of them brought itself right before us: a Baltimore oriole! These vibrant orange visitors only seem to linger in the Southern Unit for a few short weeks each year, and I was given some tips on sighting them by several coworkers. Needless to say we were successful! The male's musical whistle shot out from the treetops and set my heart thudding, knowing it would have to be something spectacular. And what a sight he was!

Yet another new species for me revealed itself from the tall grasses, this time a swamp sparrow.

And another still! I had heard common yellowthroats before, but this was my first photographed. They can be tricky to get a good shot of, since they have a tendency to hang around in the low-growing shrubs and tall grasses, refusing to remain in the same spot for more than a moment or two.

Eventually, progressing at the snail's pace that we were, me stopping to ogle everything that moved or made a sound, we came to the first junction in the trail, which is marked by the ruins of an old marl works, where the lime-rich soil was processed before being hauled away by train.

Stopping to take a photo of an American robin, I tried to draw the bird closer by pishing at it (a time-honored birding tactic wherein the observer makes a "pshpshpsh" sound to spark a bird's curiosity) with only limited success. It was at this point that Ithi obliged and produced a tremendously loud whisk (the modified, squeaking "kissing of one's teeth" that came to haunt my lexicon after my stay in Trinidad) that immediately piqued its interest, and it flew down to investigate.

The robin began scolding back, warning others in the area that something was amiss. It was promptly joined by a female Baltimore oriole, who looked down at us from a higher perch.

Others quickly followed suit.

Within a matter of a minute or two, the tree was full of what I estimated to be about a dozen chiding birds representing some half a dozen species.

I realized then that this "power whisk," as I would come to call it, would be a valuable addition to our birding arsenal, and I would call upon him to use it again and again in the future with further success.

After watching the chaos unfold for a few minutes, we continued down the trail, making a right turn off of the main path to visit the old marl pits, which lie beside the Scuppernong River and now form a habitat for various marsh and riverside critters.

The waterside here always makes for good birdwatching, and I was pleased to see a bright little male yellow warbler. While it wasn't my first to photograph, it was undoubtedly my best shot so far, as, like many warblers on the trail, it can be somewhat hard to track as it darts from low branch to branch, often heard but not seen.

As we made our way along the water's edge, we heard a rustling in the grass, and spied a northern watersnake (Nerodia sipedon) as it slid into the water. Although somewhat common in the area, this was yet another new species for me.

There was certainly no shortage of insect hunters taking advantage of the clear airspace around the water, and we saw a number of flycatchers sally from their perches in pursuit of some insect or other.

Nest boxes beside the marl pits provide housing for families of beautiful iridescent tree swallows whose liquid chirps occasionally punctuate the rich soundscape.

We made our way back to the main portion of the trail, eyeing numerous natural curiosities as we continued along. I nabbed a photo of a song sparrow, somehow also my first, despite these birds' calls seeming rather omnipresent during Wisconsin's warmer months.

Marsh became woods and woods gave way to prairie near the highest point of the trail, a rounded mound of earth overgrown with the scrubby kind of vegetation that thrives in sandy soils.

One of the many delights on this particular trip were the seemingly abundant, jewel-like six-spotted tiger beetles (Cicindela sexguttata). These iridescent insects darted along the ground and occasionally flew in a hectic flurry of motion, fleeing readily from movement. I noticed over following years that I always seemed to find tiger beetles of this genus specifically on the sandy portions of the trails within this state forest, and nowhere else.

At the top of the rise, we paused to enjoy the view of the flower-covered slopes and the distant winding path of the dwindling Scuppernong River.

Suddenly, I heard it — the song that had been plaguing me since my move to Wisconsin two years prior. I had been hearing it every summer, usually far off in the woods, and had never been able to glimpse its maker. I spent a disheartening amount of time poring over countless bird calls online and found several similar, but none exact. There were a handful of suspects, but because calls can vary so much regionally, it was difficult to ascertain. But this time, it was close. I was determined to find the culprit!

For the first time that day, I found myself hurrying along the trail. I raced towards the sound, and...

Was it... blue?

It was! At long last, the mystery was solved: my tormenter was a male indigo bunting, and a handsome one at that. This was one of the species that I had suspected, and I was completely relieved to answer this ongoing question.

Mere minutes later, I made yet another addition to my collection: the chestnut-sided warbler. Oddly enough, this was another species that I had suspected was making the bunting's call, so I was somewhat surprised to see one almost immediately after discrediting the possibility.

As we approached the springs for which the trail is named, I was overjoyed to see them blanketed by blooming marsh marigolds (Caltha palustris), which also seem to have a relatively narrow seasonal window.

An array of calls from the treetops continued to herald the arrival new avian delights, and we observed many birds going about their lives in the serene setting of the headwaters of the river.

Upon hearing a banjo-like twanging sound, a quick examination of the water around the springs brought forth another treasure, this time a northern green frog (Lithobates clamitans melanota).

Nearby, we also saw a winding cluster of gelatinous eggs in the water. I initially assumed they were green frog eggs, but later discovered that they actually belonged to an American toad like the one we had seen earlier on the trail.

As we passed from a more open portion of the trail back into the woods, we were met with an extraordinarily loud, energetic song. It could be none other than that of a house wren, and definitely not a shy one (is there such a thing?).

At long last, after some three and a half hours on the short trail, we finally completed the loop. It was time for us to head across the street to the Ottawa Lake Recreation Area, where we had planned to have a picnic by the beach. As we pulled into the road leading up to the parking area, we passed closely by a stunning pair of sandhill cranes hunting in the tall grass. I consider these large birds to be one of the most iconic of the region, and the echo of their powerful, rolling, primordial calls never fails to give me chills. This particular pair seemed to be regulars at Ottawa Lake.

After admiring the prehistoric-looking birds for a few minutes, we continued onward to the beach, where several families of Canada geese were going about their day. These geese, unfortunately often offered scraps by the many picnickers, have a tendency to approach people, but luckily they kept their distance from us as we ate, and we were able to enjoy them from a respectful distance. As was also the case at Scuppernong Springs, there were hardly any other people around, and it made for a very peaceful meal.

Having finished our very pleasant meal, we bade farewell to our lunch companions and next made the short drive to Paradise Springs Nature Trail for a quick walk, at a mere half mile even shorter than our previous trail. This trail is notable for featuring the remains of an old springhouse built in the early 1930s. I had visited Paradise Springs once prior as a part of my onboarding training the previous year, but the dam had failed later that summer, and I was told it wasn't as pretty since. We were pleasantly surprised to find that although the water level was much lower, it was still a charming view with plenty of wildlife. The dam was restored perhaps about a year after this visit, returning the trail to its former beauty.

Ithi was especially fond of this picturesque little trail. There were far fewer birds than what we saw at Scuppernong Springs, and without me stopping every other moment to take pictures, we cleared the trail in an almost-respectable twenty minutes at our leisurely pace.

For our final stop of the day, we made a quick visit to the nearby Forest Headquarters, which has well-stocked feeders that attract an array of avian (and mammalian) visitors.

Despite having worked at the headquarters a small handful of times up to that point, I had completely forgotten about the small pond behind the building, complete with a little boardwalk, which we visited after watching the feeders for a bit.

After enjoying a few minutes of birdwatching, we decided to wrap up our long and fruitful day by heading home, where we had a couple more surprises awaiting us. I had elected to end the day picking lilacs and honeysuckle for pressing and a fragrant bouquet, and as I did so I spotted one final avian addition to my collection, this time an orchard oriole.

While unpacking shortly after, we discovered the last surprise of the day: Ithi had picked up two hitchhikers from our trek. And, in keeping with the day's theme of biodiversity, he was sure to get representatives of two distinct species: a wood tick (Dermacentor variabilis) and a deer tick (Ixodes scapularis).

Despite this unpleasant discovery, he seemed none too deterred, and I looked forward to our next adventure.

Bird count (35 total)