Let’s sit and talk and talk. It’s so nice, so warm and cozy here. Listen to the wind. There’s something in Turgenev – “On such a night, happy he who has a roof over his head and a warm corner of his own.” I’m a sea gull… No, that’s not what I mean. I’m sorry. What was I saying? Oh, yes, Turgenev. “And may the Lord help homeless wanderers.”
The Sea Gull by Anton Chekhov
(English Version by Jean-Claude Van Itallie)
Nina’s lines from Act Four of The Sea Gull often spring to my mind in the anticipatory hours before a big storm. Scientists say that most storms have relatively little effect on wildlife at the species level, meaning a bad storm, even if it destroys many individual animals, is unlikely to permanently affect populations of species. But thanks to anthropogenic climate change, we’re now seeing an increase in the number of “severe weather events,” from storms to droughts to seasonal changes that, taken together, are already affecting some species. Still my thoughts in a storm are not about the fate of a species, but about the suffering of individuals, animal and human.
Luckily for our local wildlife, Hurricane Sandy is arriving well past nesting season. Most of our young animals are on their own by now, and many birds have already migrated south. NYC’s resident wildlife will probably do pretty well, over all. The raccoons of Riverside Park should be safe in their retaining wall.
Songbirds will hunker down, lock their toes onto a protected branch, hold their feathers tight against their bodies, point themselves in the direction of the wind, and hold on for dear life as the wind blows past and the rain pelts down.
Feathers can effectively seal out water.
As long as the branch survives, the birds probably will, too. Cavity nesters, like owls and woodpeckers, are even better protected, tucked into natural holes in tree trunks. And squirrels, too, will find a hole in a tree or in the retaining wall, or they’ll burrow into their dreys, thick nests of leaves that they build high in the trees.
If their tree withstands the storm, these creatures will emerge when wind and rain abate to fluff their fur and feathers, and search for food.
Migrating birds are more vulnerable. Exhausted by their travels, their energy reserves depleted, they must find food and shelter wherever they may be. Migrating birds may be blown hundreds of miles off course. Songbirds may be blown out into open sea where they can find no shelter or rest, while pelagic birds may be blown inland.
What may be a disaster for birds – being blown far from their native habitat – offers thrills for birders, who rush out into the aftermath of a storm to search for rare vagrants they might otherwise never encounter.
Tonight in New York City, the wind is starting to gust, although the storm is still hours away. I look out at the strangely quiet streets from my cozy apartment, and hope that all creatures find shelter from tomorrow’s storm.
No animals are visible on today’s late afternoon dog walk in Riverside Park on the eve of Hurricane Irene’s arrival. Well, actually many animals are out, but only two species: humans and canines. No wildlife. Not a single bird or squirrel. Even the cicadas are silent, and the animal world seems to be tucked out of sight, quietly waiting, while over on Broadway, the humans scurry about emptying the local hardware stores of batteries and flashlights.
The animals are still there, of course, curled into nests, dens and dreys just yards away from us walkers. They know how to disappear. They do it all the time. On Friday, a raccoon performed a vanishing act.
First, a bit of wall-walking …
Then, a balancing act …
And, ladies and gentlemen: watch closely. Now you see me …
Now …
… you don’t!
And … hoopla! I’m back!
Here’s hoping all the animals find safe haven and come through the storm safely.
Strolling in Central Park with Esau yesterday morning, I was surprised to encounter dramatic new “Rabies Advisory” signs on lamp posts along the western edge of the park.
The new signs scream “Rabies” in multiple languages (La Rage! Rabbia! Tollwut!) and feature a realistic line drawing of a hulking raccoon that could probably hold its own as a National Football League center.
Last winter, when it had become clear that Manhattan was in the midst of a raccoon rabies epidemic, bright green signs appeared on park lamp posts, urging visitors to “Leave Wildlife Alone.”
Note the cute little cartoon-like drawing of a raccoon head and the small lettering for the words “rabies advisory.”
The new signs are striking, easy to read and, well, kind of scary. But why scare us now? The epidemic appears to be mostly over, thanks to USDA’s humane and labor-intensive program to individually trap, vaccinate and release Manhattan’s healthy raccoons. Over 130 already-infected raccoons have died off since summer 2009, while the remaining, much-decreased, vaccinated population should serve as a barrier that prevents the disease from reaching epidemic proportions.
After a monthly high of 38 reported rabies cases in March 2010, the numbers began to decline. June and July saw three rabies cases each, and August became Manhattan’s first rabies-free month since November 2009.
So I repeat, why the scary new signs? Well, it ain’t over till it’s over and with rabies these days, it may never be completely over. In early September, a single rabid raccoon was found in Central Park in the West 70s, reminding us just how difficult it is to eradicate a disease with a long incubation period. And to maintain effectiveness, we’ll probably need an annual vaccination program to ensure that new babies are trapped and immunized.
But even if we were to succeed in immunizing the entire resident raccoon population, raccoon rabies is now endemic across the eastern seaboard from Florida to Maine. Raccoons and other wild animals, including skunks and coyotes, regularly find their way from the mainland to Manhattan, as juveniles seek new territory. They cross the railroad bridge from the Bronx or swim a narrow channel. If in their travels, they have been in contact with a rabid animal, they will again bring rabies to our island paradise.
So heed the scary signs, and leave wildlife alone. Enjoy the raccoons, but don’t feed them or try to lure them closer so you can get a better photo.
And while we’re at it, it’s probably better not to feed any of our urban wildlife, except maybe small migrating songbirds.
Grazing geese take over the outfield in Morningside Park
Feeding by humans encourages animals to overpopulate, which makes us consider them pests that need to be eradicated, as in this summer’s killing of geese in Prospect Park. Unnaturally dense populations allow disease to flourish and spread. So if you have a soft spot for geese, raccoons, pigeons, squirrels and other urban wildlife, do the animals a favor and stop feeding them.
Red-eared sliders, expecting crumbs, mass beneath the Turtle Pond overlook
If you don’t have a soft spot for animals, count yourself lucky that we don’t yet have a need for these signs in Manhattan:
Sign in Vancouver, Canada proclaims: Warning! Coyotes in the Area
Then again, coyotes love goose eggs, so maybe you goose-haters want to roll out the coyote welcome mat. After all, as the sign says, coyotes are “smart, fast, and will take what they can get.”
Welcome or not, coyotes will be back in Manhattan. If not this winter, then next. They may be here already, slipping through the old growth of Inwood Park and the tangles of Highbridge.
Esau contemplates ducks as a possible food source.
Find out why yesterday’s sighting of a USDA truck is cause for rejoicing.
But first, strange markings appeared last week on the retaining wall and nearby path.
Target close-up
What does it mean?
With my wildlife-obsessed outlook, I speculate that the circled numbers and targets have something to do with the raccoon vaccination program. But what? Do the markings indicate that trapping and vaccinating has begun in Riverside Park? Do they show where raccoons are likely to be found?
The park is cool, bright and windy.
Here and there the pervasive brown of winter yields to color.
Storm-created ponds remain.
Hay bales enisled in spring pond
Sparrows huddle in forsythia bushes, puffed up like little balloons against the wind.
Magnolia buds prepare to pop.
Suddenly, up ahead on a pathway, we see … a USDA truck.
Be still, my heart.
You have to understand. USDA is handling the Trap-Vaccinate-Release program for the city. If anyone can answer my many questions, USDA can. Earth-shattering questions, like: How is the program going? Any estimates on the Central Park raccoon population? How long will it take to know if the program is succeeding? Any new theories on why the disease took such vehement hold this year?
Esau and I run after the truck. But it gets away.
Saddened, we trudge toward home. Then, half a mile north, it suddenly reappears. We run. We wave our arms. The truck stops. The window rolls down. Success! We speak briefly with the driver through the window.
A USDA biologist, he confirms that the Riverside Park phase of the raccoon vaccination program began on Tuesday. The markings on the wall have nothing to do with the raccoons. He seems to need to get back to work and offers his card for a follow-up conversation.
We sing as we head north, happy to have even a little more information.
At 108th Street, we discover the Man Behind the Marks.
He’s keeping park-goers safe by surveying the retaining wall for structural weaknesses in hopes of preventing problems, like the collapse of the retaining wall that closed the West Side Highway for three days in 2005. The marks and targets help him line up his equipment for accurate readings. The targets are always there, he says. He recently freshened up the paint, which is why we suddenly noticed them.
“So how’s it look?” I ask. “The wall.”
“It’s an old wall,” he says. “But it looks pretty good.”
I couldn’t agree more.
Snow-covered retaining wall from just a few weeks ago. Beautiful.
Yesterday I managed to get down just after sunset to the Pond at the southeastern end of Central Park to watch for the coyote. Photographer Bruce Yolton was already on the bridge with his big camera set up. He said the coyote had been out on the ice about ten minutes before, but had left. We waited.
I walked a slow loop around the Hallett Nature Center and the pond, staring into the dusk, hoping to see the coyote on the other side. No luck. I rejoined Bruce on the bridge, and we waited some more in the gathering dark.
Two pitch-black shapes flew past us, low and swift. “Ducks,” Bruce said. They joined their tribe in the water under the bridge.
And then I caught a slim shape moving along the little spit of land that juts out onto the ice. The coyote!
Photo by D. Bruce Yolton/UrbanHawks.com
It disappeared around the far side, so we moved around the path after it. We were able to watch it for quite a while. It came out onto the ice many times, trotting and occasionally breaking into a lope. Its trot is remarkably quick and its movements efficient. Once it made a grand, pouncing leap from the bank back to the ice.
Wary and shy, it slipped back into the sanctuary at the sound of loud voices. It seemed to be trying to find a quiet space through which it could move on out of its Hallett-Pond territory, but was constantly deterred by people walking their dogs, loud ice skating music on the nearby rink and other evening park activity.
How different it must be in the wee hours of the night, when the park is empty of humans and dogs, and the coyote has free run. I’d like to see that.
See more photos and a short video of last night’s coyote sighting at Urban Hawks.
No further word on the three Columbia University animals. They seem to have melted into their city surroundings. They may have made their way to a park. On February 13th, a coyote was spotted at Highbridge Park up at the northern end of Manhattan. Is it one of the three Columbia coyotes or is it yet another visitor? No one knows. But it’s clear we have at least four coyotes on the island.
Gapstow Bridge over the Pond
The Central Park coyote has been seen most often on the frozen Pond at the south end of the park, near the Hallett Nature Sanctuary.
Hallett is a four-acre wooded area that is closed to the public to protect wildlife.
The coyote has also been seen at numerous locations in the park, including the Great Hill and the Pool up at the northern end.
Northern end of Central Park
I imagine that in the quiet of the night and early pre-dawn hours, our coyote can cover the entire park with ease.
Bruce Yolton of Urban Hawks shot new video of the coyote on the frozen Pond earlier this week. There’s something strange and poignant about seeing it play all alone with a discarded plastic bottle as lights from a passing emergency vehicle reflect on the ice. Bruce maintains that the nearby Nature Sanctuary “would be a perfect place for the Coyote to sleep during the day and was the favorite spot of the 2006 Coyote, Hal.”
Visit Urban Hawks to watch the video and see new photos.
Central Park Coyote, Bruce Yolton/urbanhawks.com
Then check back at “Out walking the dog” to read the start of a series on urban coyotes that will eventually include a little history on the Eastern Coyote, speculation on why they’re moving into these mean streets and what the future holds for city dwellers, both human and wild canid.
Meanwhile, remember: LEAVE THE WILDLIFE ALONE! Don’t approach or feed our coyotes or raccoons. Most problems – forget the rabies for a minute – stem from humans providing food for wild animals. Animals then lose their natural fear of us, look on us as a food source and become bold and demanding.
But hey, even Esau gets that way when people give him too many treats.
I spoke Tuesday with Dr. Sally Slavinski of the NYC Health Department to get the latest on the city’s response to the swiftly spreading rabies situation. I will write a more detailed post as soon as I can find time, but here is the news in a nutshell, with few details, few photos and little discussion.
As of February 10, 39 rabid raccoons have been found in Manhattan in 2010, most of them in or around Central Park. Add in 2009′s rabid raccoons, and the number is a staggering 49. (A number that makes us wonder just how large is the Central Park raccoon population – but that’s for a later post.)
Central Park raccoon by dscape/Flickr.com
One person and one dog have been bitten, and received post-exposure treatment. Another person received treatment after attempting to care for a sick raccoon. (In another post, I’ll fill you in on the latest from conspiracy theorists, who believe the city intentionally introduced rabies to justify eradicating a healthy raccoon population. Or something like that.)
So what is the city doing? On February 16th, in a multi-agency collaboration with the USDA, the Parks Department and the Central Park Conservancy, the Department of Health began a trap-vaccinate-release program to vaccinate raccoons in Central Park against rabies.
For the next four to eight weeks, raccoons will be caught in live traps that are strategically placed in less accessible areas of the park. The animals will be vaccinated on the spot by USDA workers, given ear tags for identification, and released back into their home environment. Raccoons that appear sick will be euthanized and tested for rabies. The program will expand to include Morningside Park (two reported cases) and Riverside Park (no reported cases).
In summer 2010, a second phase of trap-vaccinate-release will be launched to vaccinate baby raccoons born this spring.
Raccoons that are already infected will die within days of showing symptoms. If we can stop the cycle of transmission through inoculation, we can, theoretically, eradicate the virus. At least, for now. And when the next rabid raccoon follows the Amtrak corridor into Manhattan, our local raccoons will already be immunized.
Snowed-in Raccoon Den in Riverside Park
I checked to be sure the Department of Health had plans to immunize the five raccoons I watch in Riverside, and am happy to report that a location has already been selected for a trap.
Much more to come. But meanwhile, if you come upon a trap in the park, leave it alone. Call 311 if the trap holds a raccoon. Also call 311 if you see a raccoon that appears sick or is behaving strangely. But leave the wildlife alone.
Esau imagines himself as King, Sergeant Preston of the Yukon's lead sled dog
And be sure your dog’s rabies vaccination is up to date.
I’ve been so interested in Manhattan’s raccoon rabies epidemic that I’ve been neglecting to write about the raccoons themselves.
I continue to watch my local raccoons almost every evening, and get powerful pleasure from seeing them go about their business.
Five of them live in one den, a rectangular hole in the stone retaining wall. A mother and two babies are the trio I see most often, making their way along the wall, usually heading north. Sometimes they stop and just sit in one spot for five minutes or more. Other times they seem almost to defy gravity as they move across the vertical stones, fifteen feet in the air.
Riverside raccoon in big home den
The two babies are darker in color, and their markings, particularly the rings on the tails, are less distinct. The little ones often duck into tiny holes on the wall, holes that seem way too small to admit them. But they pour themselves in, haul their tails in, and then whip around so their little pointy faces are peeping out. I’m guessing a lot of their seeming bulk is actually fur that compresses to allow them to squeeze into small spaces.
The remaining two raccoons are more mysterious. They seem to let the family trio leave first, then one spends a long time peeping out of the den before deciding to head out. I think both are adults, but am not sure. I’ve rarely seen all five out at once – only twice in the many times I’ve watched. And I’ve learned that it is surprisingly difficult to get a good read on size, unless the animals are in close proximity to each other.
I occasionally hear the raccoons chuckling and chattering at each other. Once there was a veritable “cat fight” going on inside the den. All we could see was the big rear end of one raccoon filling up the entry way. But it certainly sounded as if someone was reading the riot act inside.
Most of the time, though, they are silent, and their coloring blends right into the rock at night. People, and even dogs, stroll by, and never know the strange ring-tailed creatures are there, moving quietly along the wall fifteen feet above their heads.
Accept this thank you letter for a year of walks with Esau.
Thank you, Riverside Park, for tepee builders and basket weavers thank you for sculptors of driftwoodand balancers of stonethank you for cross-country skiers and crazy skateboard boys
Thank you for trees, tree holes and painters of trees
Thank you for fish on stonesfor dogs on hay bales for sports drinks on trees and conspiring red riding hoodsThank you for your long, narrow palm that holds the living secrets of the Great Retaining Wall on your eastern side and, on the west, the fishy banks of the Hudson Most of all, thank you for holding safe the wild things so they can go about their eternal and mysterious animal business right under our city noses.
After years of being pretty much rabies-free, Manhattan has four confirmed rabies cases in 2009, all in raccoons. One rabid raccoon was found last summer in Inwood Park; the other three were all found dead in Central Park’s North Woods, two in the week of December 7th.
Oh, my lovely Riverside raccoons, what will happen to you?
photo by mola jen/flickr.com
So how is rabies being transmitted around the island? An infected raccoon must have crossed into Manhattan, probably from the Bronx where rabies is quite common. Maybe it took the bridge or swam across at Spuyten Duyvil. Hey, it’s an island, you gotta cross the water somehow.
Henry Hudson & Spuyten Duyvil Bridges by mysticchildz
Maybe it hitched a ride in the back of a truck hauling garbage. Somehow it made its way to Inwood Park at the northern end of the island.
View west from Inwood Hill Park by Baslow/Flickr.com
Then it, or another infected raccoon, travelled south, maybe passing though Riverside Park (oh, my raccoons!), then through city streets
108th & Manhattan Ave.
until it reached the North Woods. Somewhere between 50 and 100 raccoons live pretty densely packed in Central Park, which means we can expect more rabies in the coming months.
Raccoons do venture into Manhattan streets. About a year ago, we saw them for a few weeks on 108th Street between Amsterdam and Broadway. And last summer, the New York Times described regular forays by North Woods raccoons across 110th Street to raid the garbage cans.
Raccoon in trash can by jeremy
Raccoons, listen up. It’s a jungle out there. Don’t share saliva with strange raccoons. Don’t bite or get bitten. Don’t scratch or get scratched. Be safe.
Special Note: This post is now part of Scientia Pro Publica 21: Darwin’s 201st Birthday Edition. Scientia Pro Publica is a bi-monthly blog carnival dedicated to science writing that communicates to the public. Check it out! And now…The Drey Report:
Bare branches reveal dreys in Riverside Park. We counted five dreys in the Forever Wild stretch that runs between 119th Street and 116th, and six between 116th and 108th.
“That’s great,” you say. “But what’s a drey?”
See those brown blobs way up in the trees? Those are dreys. Squirrel nests.
“Huh. They don’t look like much.”
Maybe not, from the ground. But inside, inside, it’s a whole other story. At least, that’s what I hear. Lined with moss, lichen, fur and feathers, dreys are soft, inviting baskets for squirrels to spend cold winter days and nights. Some dreys even have separate compartments. At least, that’s what the Urban Park Rangers, Sunny and Sheridan, told me. I’m not sure exactly what it means, but I’m guessing it’s something like a Manhattan studio apartment.
500 Square Feet of NYC Bliss
Anyway, summer dreys are loose collections of leaves and twigs, not built to last. But winter dreys, tucked securely into a fork in a tree, will withstand wind and weather.They’re high enough to be safe from ground predators, but not all the way at the top where a marauding hawk could swoop down.
Savvy squirrels maintain more than one home. That way, they can move when a nest gets wet or infested with parasites like ticks, fleas or mites. All the research says squirrels prefer tree hollows, especially in winter, but I have yet to see any tree hollow action.
The retaining wall, on the other hand, is like an animal apartment building.
No vacancy
Squirrel with entries to right and left.
Raccoon peeks out of hole at night.
Raccoons take the big apartments and squirrels squeeze into the studios.
The squirrels come and go all day, zipping in and out of holes, up and down the wall.
And at night, when the squirrels have finally gone to sleep, the raccoons emerge slowly, like jazz musicians, to start their day in the dark.
Esau has never understood why I won’t go into the park at night. But though I’ve been sorely tempted, I’ve been ruled by an ancient taboo forbidding parks after dark, along with cannibalism and incest. But no more.
Last night, lured by the possibility that raccoon babies might be dancing in the night park, we descended the 116th Street steps. The rustling leaves gave me a little frisson, but I had just read the beginning of Marie Winn’s wonderful book, Central Park in the Dark. I mean, she walks in the Rambleat night – the Ramble, for crying out loud. I can handle Riverside Park.
Around 109th Street, we saw low shadowy figures just ahead: the raccoon family. The mother darted up the slope towards the wall, but the two babies bolted down the slope towards the lower promenade. Each ran partway up a tree, froze and waited. After a minute, the babies peeped cautiously around the tree trunks. They must have felt safe, because they climbed back down, and proceeded to chase each other up and down the slope in an exuberance of wheeling and turning. The babies were dancing.
A young raccoon enjoys life. Photo courtesy of Michael Scheltgen, creativecommons.org
The taboo is shattered. We’ll be back tomorrow night.
A little after 4:30 this afternoon, inside Riverside Park and just north of the 108th Street entrance, Esau and I spy three little faces all in a row, peeping out at us from a hole in the great wall: Raccoons!
Raccoons on Riverside Park wall. You can just make out raccoons on the ledge outside their den. Thanks to the nice soccer player for the photo.
They stare. They wrestle. They stare.
Dusk comes down fast and they seem restless. Probably hungry.
They venture out onto a ledge at the mouth of the den – a mother and two babies. A fourth little face appears, but stays behind.
The mother can’t decide what to do. She leads the babies up the wall. Stops. Leads the babies down the wall. Stops. She’s wary of us, and the other dog walkers and soccer players gathered to gawk.
She hustles her babies into a second hole, and waits. It’s almost too dark now to see the raccoons, camouflaged against the gray wall. My fellow gawkers leave the park, except Jay and his little dog, Chase.
A different NYC raccoon family. Possibly raccoons from outer space. Photo by Striatic: creativecommons.org. (Sadly, my cell phone camera is pretty useless on wildlife.)
Mom is on the move again. She leads the babies not up, not down, but horizontally across the wall. It’s not easy, especially for the little guys.
Wherever the stone bricks form a ledge, the trio goes on all fours. But in narrower places, they stand straight up on their hind legs, faces to the wall, hold on with their front paws, and edge along sideways, inch by inch, looking like small humans in lumpy fur suits.
The third baby never leaves the den. I wonder if the mother will bring it something to eat.
By 5:30 it’s too dark to stay in the park. I hate the shortening days. I hate the loss of daylight saving time. I hate the approach of winter’s stunted afternoons and endless nights.
But I saw raccoons in the early dusk! And now I know where they live.
And, ladies and gentlemen: watch closely. Now you see me …
