Capturing a Vole

Voles are small, burrowing rodents known for creating intricate tunnel systems, or "runners," beneath the thatch of grasslands and gardens. These runners provide them with a safe haven from predators and a network for foraging. Voles primarily feed on a diet of grasses, roots, seeds, and bark, and they are particularly fond of tender plant shoots. Some people call them meadow or field mice. Voles do not hibernate and are active day and night throughout the year, even under the snow in the winter months. They are found throughout Montana. Unfortunately, they found just what they like in a modest flower garden we have just off our back deck.

To catch the voles, I recently purchased a live trap and set it among the plants in the garden, baited with chunks of walnuts. After first catching three mice in the trap, I finally caught a vole. Although similar to mice, voles are dark brown, fuller-bodied, and have a much shorter, fuzzy tail. Their round head, beady eyes, and tiny ears are also more typical of a hamster than a mouse.

After capturing the vole, I took it for a ride in my car (something it did not enjoy, as indicated by the way the critter ping-ponged about in the trap) and then released it in a gulley about a mile from my house. I have posted a photograph of the vole I trapped.

Trapped Vole

—Mitchell Hegman

The Bridge Test

You don’t want to fail the bridge test. The test is not complicated. To pass the test, you simply need to cross over a bridge without causing it to collapse. Yesterday, I wanted a septic pumping truck to pass the bridge test because it was crossing the bridge on my cabin property.

A typical septic system should be pumped every 3 to 5 years, depending on usage. My cabin septic system sees very sporadic use and has never been pumped to clear the sludge that collects at the bottom of the septic tank.

Septic pumping trucks are heavy. A rig with a fully loaded tank may weigh up to 30,000 pounds. By comparison, my truck (the heaviest vehicle regularly crossing the bridge) weighs something near 4,000 pounds.

The bridge is of wood construction and is subject to natural deterioration. For example, I had to replace the decking material in 2018. Given the weight of the septic rig, I felt mild concern about the truck crossing the bridge. Before crossing on the way onto my property, I had the driver inspect the bridge for his own sake. “This is a real structure,” the driver said. “I am comfortable with crossing.”

Thankfully, the septic truck passed the bridge test in both directions, as proved by the photographs I am sharing today.

The Septic Pumping Truck at Work

Crossing the Bridge on the Way Out

—Mitchell Hegman

Clearing the Road

Cabins, boats, campers, and all-terrain vehicles all have one thing in common: regular maintenance of one form or another is required. You have to “pay to play,” as the adage goes.

One of the maintenance issues at our cabin is keeping the primitive road clear for travel. This entails mowing the grass (and, sadly, wildflowers) that readily grow in the narrow mountain valley. On a less regular basis, the trees that have volunteered alongside the road must be trimmed to allow the free passage of vehicles. At this point, some of the trees are holding hands above the roadway.

Yesterday, Desiree took to the trees with a pair of nippers and a bow saw. This is hard work, but Desiree loves anything to do with plants or trees. By the time she was finished, I had a truck filled high with branches from the pine, fir, and willows attending the cabin road.

I am sharing three photographs from the day.

Desiree Cutting the Willows

Desiree With Trimmed Branches

Looking Across the Bridge

—Mitchell Hegman

Getting There

People who say that half the fun of going somewhere is getting there have likely not flown economy class from the middle of Montana to the Philippines.

—Mitchell Hegman

A Perfect Moment

Sleeping, my wife is impossibly beautiful. Her arms, which are rivers in her waking hours, have entirely becalmed. Even at rest, that natural smile of hers graces her face. I stand over her for a few moments, watching the wan light of predawn play softly upon her closed eyes and cheeks. It has taken eons to reach this exact point of this morning, but it was worth it.

—Mitchell Hegman

A Rock of Known Value

Generally speaking, I think I love rocks more than the next guy. I started collecting rocks as soon as I could clutch my hands, and I have been collecting ever since. Just yesterday, I picked up a thirty-dollar rock. Well, technically, the tire of my car picked up the rock.

For a rock to be properly and permanently collected by the tire of your car, it needs to fully penetrate the tire, which this rock did. In piercing the tire, the rock began a slow process of deflating the tire in question. Fortunately, I made it to the nearest tire shop before the tire went entirely flat. Thirty dollars later, I left with a repaired tire and a rock in my hand. Though the rock is neither pretty nor unique, I will be adding it to my collection as a matter of principle.

My Thirty-Dollar Rock

Proof of Value

—Mitchell Hegman

The Survivalist in Me

If you have read my blog for any length of time, you are aware that I am a fan of the reality program Naked and Afraid. Survivalists on this show are released into the wild naked with only one personal survival item. Typically, a pair of survivalists is given a fire starter and a pot. They are then allowed to supplement with a personal item. A hatchet, knife, or machete is the first logical choice granted to one participant. The second survivalist might add paracord, mosquito netting, a bow and set of arrows, or fish hooks and line. I have even seen duct tape carried by a survivalist.

Desiree and I are always teasing each other about how long we might survive in the jungle or desert if plunked out there naked. “I think I have a good hour or so in me,” I told Desiree the other day. “But in order for me to survive long-term, the producers will need to place me someplace where root beer float trees grow.”

PHOTO: Discovery Channel

—Mitchell Hegman

The Bat Box

Bats are cool. For one thing, they are the only mammals capable of flying. They are also capable of eating 1,200 mosquitoes in an hour and navigating through the dark of the night to find insect prey using echolocation. I like bats well enough that I have affixed a bat box to the east gable of my house.

The bat box provides a safe roosting place for bats and has the benefit of attracting natural pest control agents to your yard. Bats typically use the box during their active months, from spring through early fall, as they seek shelter during the day and a place to raise their young.

This year, judging by the guano (the term for bat droppings) collected below my bat box, it has seen heavy use. Interestingly enough, bat poop is also good. Guano holds significant value due to its high nutrient content, making it an exceptional natural fertilizer. Rich in nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium, bat guano promotes healthy plant growth and enhances soil structure, which improves water retention and aeration. Additionally, it contains beneficial microbes that help to break down organic matter in the soil, further enriching its quality. Late each fall, once the bats have left to hibernate, I sweep the guano into a dustpan and broadcast it in my yard.

I am sharing a photograph of my bat box with the collection of guano below.

The Bat Box

—Mitchell Hegman

The Young Rider

As soon as we rounded a corner near the top of Flesher Pass, I saw something conspicuous on the right side of the gravel road ahead of us. “What is that?” I asked Desiree.

“I don’t know,” she answered.

At first, I thought it might be a collection of junk someone had pushed out from their car door and left on the road, but as we drew closer, I could see it was a young man lying supine in a patch of shade provided by the thick forest around us. I stopped when we were alongside the young man and rolled down the passenger window for Desiree. “Ask him if he is okay, Des.”

The young man assured Desiree he was okay and then popped himself upright alongside the passenger door. He was clean-cut, not yet in his twenties, and clutching a nearly empty bottle of water. “Are you heading to Helena?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Can you give me a ride?”

“We are not actually going all the way into Helena.”

“Maybe you can give me a ride to the bottom of Flesher Pass?” In saying this, he appraised the truck and could see we had the back seat piled high with an assortment of things we were hauling home from the cabin. “I can ride in the box in back,” the young man added.

“Sure. Hop in.”

The young man clambered into the bed of the truck and we continued on our way, kicking dust up behind us. By the time we’d reached the highway at the bottom of the pass, Desiree and I agreed to offer the kid (he was a kid) a ride to Bob’s Valley Market in the valley. I stopped the truck and offered the kid a ride to the valley. “I can move the cooler into the back so you can sit up front,” I offered.

“I’m fine back here.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

I gave the man a fresh bottle of water from our cooler and asked, “Would you like something to eat?”

“If you have something.”

I gave the young man a cinnamon roll and then we drove on to the Helena valley in the ninety-degree heat. Desiree and I talked about the kid along the way. The young man was not unclean, he did not seem strung-out or lost, he was just a young man without resources. Maybe he had a troubled life back in Lincoln where his day started.

The kid jumped from the truck as soon as I drew to a stop in the parking lot at Bob’s. “Would you like something more to eat?” I asked.

“If you have something.”

I produced a few bites of cheese from our cooler and handed them over. “Is there someone you can call?” I asked.

“I know where I am going. Thank you.” The kid reached out one more time to shake my hand. He offered a firm handshake—a respectful and righteous handshake.

“Good luck to you,” I told him.

We soon pulled away to drive on as he began walking along the highway. Some people are meant to simply glance off your life in strange ways, as did the kid we picked up along the road home.

—Mitchell Hegman

Sex With a Bad Twist

Sex is not all fun and games. I thought about this after catching two moths coupling on the side of the pavilion wall down at the lake. In the insect world, mating often involves life-and-death stakes, particularly for males. In the case of honeybees, drone bees die immediately after coupling with a queen in mid-air. During this dramatic mating flight, a drone’s endophallus is everted into the queen and subsequently detaches, resulting in severe abdominal injury that proves fatal. This sacrificial act ensures the queen is fertilized with enough sperm to start a new colony. Thanks, pal!

Similarly, in the world of arachnids, male black widow spiders often meet a grim fate during mating. After successfully mating, the male is frequently killed and consumed by the female. This macabre ritual, known as sexual cannibalism, provides the female with a nutritious meal that aids in the development of her offspring.

Another fascinating example of unique mating behaviors is found in the praying mantis. During copulation, the female may decapitate the male, which paradoxically increases the male’s reproductive success as his body continues the mating process without the inhibitions controlled by his brain.

I am not sure about the fate of the male moth in the pair I saw mating, but, given that I have the technology, I will share a photograph I captured of the moths joined together.

Two Moths Mating

—Mitchell Hegman

While down at the lake working on my latest project (commonly called screwing stuff up), I checked on the LBJ bird nest a couple of times. When I checked early in the morning, I found two fully-feathered baby birds sitting on the rim of the nest. About two hours later, I spotted the mother bird hopping around on the main branch near the nest. Surprisingly, the two baby birds had left the nest and were experimentally hopping about on the branch. Not wishing to interfere, I left them alone and went back to work nearby but out of sight.

A few minutes later, when I walked near the nest, I found all three birds gone and the nest empty. I poked around near the tree but did not see any of the birds. The little birds have left the nest for good.

My little grandbirds made it!

I am posting two images I captured yesterday.

The Last Two Baby Birds at the Nest

The Empty Nest

—Mitchell Hegman

Note: There were four birds in the nest at the start and three the day before yesterday. I have no accounting for the two missing birds.

Proof of Idiocy

When working on any sort of construction project, I often “plan as I go.” In other words, I generally have no idea what I am doing, but I don’t let that slow me down—I just get to work and hope the details sort themselves out as the work unfolds.

I am currently fastening metal siding to an existing sauna down at the lakefront. It’s a little tricky because I am fastening to an uneven log structure. Naturally, I have had to do a lot of stopping and thinking, and I have also cut some weird pieces of wood to create points for fastening the metal to the uneven structure.

After cutting one short length of treated 2 x 4 material, I decided to clean up my “construction site” while I thought in depth about my next move. After about ten minutes of cleaning and pondering, I picked up my drill and some screws, thinking I would fasten in place the last length of treated 2 x 4 I’d cut. And that’s when it occurred to me that I’d pitched the piece I cut into the burn pile while cleaning.

Once again, we have firm proof that I am an idiot, likely in need of a better plan.

The Board I Needed

—Mitchell Hegman

It’s Hard to Be a Flower

It’s hard to be a flower. More specifically, it’s hard to be a flower in the modest flower garden near the deck at the back of our house. First and perhaps foremost, a flower there must be able to shrug off a harsh Montana winter, including sub-zero temperatures sent down from the Arctic. Once winter is beaten, a host of other perils must be faced. There is the possibility that Desiree will dig up some of the flowers and force them to set roots in a new location. And then we have the list of pests and enemies.

This year has been especially brutal. A spider mite infestation swept through the dame’s rockets in June, wiping out many of them. Shortly thereafter, a pack rat nipped the flowers off the lilies and purple fuzzies (I don’t know their name) growing at the edge of the patch. Throughout all of this, chipmunks and the occasional insect nipped at things here and there. And now, at the critical end of the growing cycle for this season, a vole has appeared and is wiping everything out from a subterranean level. I am going to attempt to rid the garden of the vole by means of a solar-powered electronic repellent.

According to the product information for the repellent: “The device emits sound pulses and vibrations in all directions, stimulating the central nervous system of underground animals. This acts as a natural warning signal for moles, encouraging them to gradually vacate the area.”

Vole Repellant

—Mitchell Hegman

Updated Bucket List

Following is my updated list of things I want to do:

1. Visit Monument Valley.
2. Learn to say “meatloaf” in five languages.
3. Sleep a whole night through without having to get up to pee.
4. Save someone from imminent death or serious injury using only 40 feet of duct tape and a half-bottle of Scotch.
5. Be the person who decides where to place the fuzziness on the survivalists filmed on Naked and Afraid (Note: I would take a few risks).
6. Find a huge, flawless blue sapphire.
7. Prove that the light goes out when you close the refrigerator.
8. Invent a coffee cup that sends regular location notifications to my smartphone so I can find one or the other when I misplace them.
9. Uninvent political expediency.

Monument Valley (PHOTO: Wikivoyage)

—Mitchell Hegman

Something Lady Gaga Said

—   “I don't want to make money; I want to make a difference.”

—    “I don't think that women need to smell interesting.”

—    “I'm working on bringing the instant film camera back as part of the future.”

Lady Gaga

Lewis and Clark Caverns

Found within Montana's first state park, established in 1937, and located along the Jefferson River within the Tobacco Root Mountains, Lewis and Clark Caverns offers a glimpse into the state's subterranean marvels. Even given its depth inside the mountains, a tour of the caverns will, at one point, find you at an elevation of exactly one mile above sea level.

The geological formation of the caverns is a result of ancient sea deposits dating back to the Mississippian period, around 325 million years ago. Today, the caverns showcase a variety of spectacular formations, including stalactites, stalagmites, and columns, each requiring centuries of slow, patient development. All of the formations are the result of slightly acidic water dissolving minerals from the limestone, then dripping into the caverns and leaving behind deposits of calcium carbonate. These deposits build up over the eons to create all the wondrous features seen today inside the cave system.

Yesterday, Desiree and I took a 2-hour walking tour of the caverns. The tour proved both beautiful and pleasurable given the cool temperature of 50°F inside the caverns. I am posting photographs from our tour.

Waterfall Formation

Grand Finale Room

Desiree in the Caverns

Our Tour Group Descending

—Mitchell Hegman

Horse Gulch Fire Update

Today, the Horse Gulch fire (just northeast of my house) is six days old. As of yesterday, the fire had burned through over 12,000 acres of timber and scrub. At present, the fire is 0% contained and is clawing into a rugged swath of the Big Belt Mountains.

Wildfires in Montana can be as confounding and as weird as our weather. A change in wind and weather conditions can quickly alter a fire’s direction or cause a fire to blow up in only a few minutes. Rolling flames can travel up to 14 miles an hour and consume many thousands of acres in a single day. When wildfires blow up, they actually create their own weather, which comes replete with billowing clouds and swirling winds at all levels.

A fire such as Horse Gulch can potentially have hotspots burning all the way into the fall months. Some fires may continue fizzling along until blanketed with heavy snow. Sometimes, stranger things may happen. On occasion, a fire will linger under the snow by smoldering underground while slowly nibbling away at the roots of trees. In the summer of 1991, a range fire swept over the parched grasslands south of Chinook, Montana, burning hundreds of thousands of acres in a matter of days. In the years following the fire, the rangeland greened and recovered. Cattle again dotted the break-and-begin plain. Yet, five years later, fire crews were still trying to douse the fire where it had crept into an exposed coal seam, burrowed in, and remained burning underground.

I hope for something quicker with this fire.

A Fire Map Capture as of Yesterday

—Mitchell Hegman

Poppies (The Condensed Version)

You cannot eat the poppies that make you feel good. You can eat Brussels sprouts, bitter melon, and anything that makes you wince. But eating that which makes you feel good is perilous.

An Opium Poppy

—Mitchell Hegman

The Planted Rock

My house sits on just a bit over 5 acres of property. About a year and a half ago, my friend Tad “planted” a collectible rock on my property. He placed the rock, a specimen of agate, just off the road not too far from my house. Sometime after planting the rock, he told me about it. He was curious how long it would take me to find the specimen, if I ever did. He also gave me a rough description of the rock.

Yesterday, while wandering about, a rock caught my attention. I reached down and plucked it from the ground—a fine agate with a flat, polished side. The stone seemed conspicuously clean. After examining the agate a bit, I snapped a picture and texted it to Tad. Tad responded almost immediately with a phone call. “That’s it!” he said. “You found it.”

I think both of us are a little impressed that I found the stone, but at the same time, I am dedicated to looking for rocks wherever I go. This is not a lifestyle choice for me. This is a hardwired necessity.

I am sharing a photograph of the planted agate.

The Planted Agate

—Mitchell Hegman 

Horse Gulch Fire

At present, the local news and all social media platforms are awash with stories, photographs, and astonishing videos of the Horse Creek Fire. This includes the sad tale of the pilot of an Air Tractor 802 plane who perished Wednesday afternoon when her aircraft crashed after retrieving water from Hauser Lake.

My house is some 10 or 12 miles from the fire but is not in any manner threatened by the blaze. Still, we are early in this fire season, and we are just now entering a hot, dry spell. As of yesterday afternoon, the Horse Creek Fire had surpassed 7,000 acres and led to evacuations near Canyon Ferry and York. Sadly, this fire was human-caused.

It's scary living around humans during fire season.

My House (Fire in the Background) (7-10-2024)

Smoke Billowing Up from the Horse Gulch Fire (7-11-2024)

—Mitchell Hegman

The Songbird Nest

During a large gathering at our lakeshore property on June 22nd, one of the guests found a small bird’s nest about five feet off the ground in a tree near our pavilion. Inside the nest were four eggs about the size of a quarter. The bird responsible for the nest had abandoned it due to the commotion and the number of people milling about in the vicinity. The presence of overnight campers kept the nest unattended for a second day. The bird, a small LBJ that looks something like a nuthatch, finally appeared on the 24th.

As I monitored the nest to see what happened to the eggs and the nesting bird, I researched a bit about songbirds and their eggs. Some eggs can go several days without incubation. Furthermore, the birds will know if the eggs are viable and will generally not expend time and energy incubating eggs that will not produce babies.

Much to my pleasure, once the small bird returned, she remained in her nest, incubating the eggs for nearly two weeks. The other day, when I went down to the lake, I saw the bird sitting higher in the nest, an indication she might have hatchlings. I intended to mow the lawn near the nest but opted not to in case she had little ones. A while later, I got a chance to peek into the nest.

We have babies!

I am now the “grandbird” of four little songbirds. This is the best stuff ever. I am posting a picture I captured of the eggs on June 22nd and another picture I took yesterday when mom went out hunting for food.

Nest With Eggs

Nest With Hatchlings

—Mitchell Hegman

A Sober Assessment

The time is presently 4:07 a.m. I have five fans stationed at five open windows, and I am pushing cool predawn air throughout the house. At one stage of my life, this would have been a time for me to write a poem or stand outside on the deck and evaluate the stars. Today, however, I am making a more sober assessment of the day. By all accounts, our afternoon temperature is expected to reach above 100°F. My smartphone weather app is predicting a high of 104°F.

This is not romantic.

There will be no poems today.

This is just me pumping cool air into the vessel that will be my refuge from the heat.

—Mitchell Hegman

Bannack Ghost Town

Yesterday, Desiree and I drove through the Big Hole Valley and spent the better part of two hours visiting Bannack Ghost Town. The town and some nearby campsites are currently a state park.

Bannack was founded in 1862 following the discovery of gold along nearby Grasshopper Creek, which also sparked one of the first major gold rushes in the region. Bannack and Virginia City, some 50 miles away as the crow flies, flourished concurrently.

Along with prospectors, a host of thieves and bad actors also swept into what is now southwestern Montana. Notably, on January 10, 1864, Henry Plummer and two of his road agent associates were arrested and summarily hanged in Bannack by a company of Vigilantes, a group of citizens who took the law into their own hands to combat this criminal activity. The town briefly served as Montana's territorial capital from 1864 to 1865 but failed to secure this position permanently. As the gold reserves dwindled, miners moved on to more promising locations, and Bannack's population began to slowly decline, with a significant downturn in the 1940s. This decline continued, leading to its eventual abandonment by the 1970s.

I am sharing a few photographs from our tour of Bannack.

The Masonic Lodge and Schoolhouse

The Masonic Lodge and Schoolhouse

The Hotel Meade

Desiree on the Hotel Staircase

—Mitchell Hegman

Not All Who Wander Are Lost

The best gifts are those given just because someone thought about you when they saw something—a trigger that evoked enough thought or emotion that they had to share what they found. Such is the case for a t-shirt given to me by my friends Tom and Patti Russ. When giving me the shirt, Patti said something to this effect: “This is a random gift for no reason.”

Anyone who knows me well knows that I am hard-wired to hunt for rocks wherever I go. This is a constant feature of my personality. As a case in point, I snuck home two specimens on my recent trip to the Philippines. Given this, Tom and Patti gave me a shirt with this printed on the front:

NOT ALL WHO WANDER ARE LOST
SOME ARE LOOKING FOR COOL ROCKS

Good stuff, this!

Thank you, Tom and Patti. I am posting a photograph of me wearing the shirt while holding onto a couple of cool rocks.

Wearing My New Shirt

—Mitchell Hegman

Deer-Proofing (In the Bag)

A few days ago, a doe mule deer discovered some of the flowers Desiree is growing here and there around our house. While she has fenced in many of the flowers, a few are growing without any manner of protection. Upon finding some of these unprotected flowers, the doe handily chomped down the flower heads and left the stem and leaves of the plant standing.

Desiree, as you might suspect, finds the loss of the flowers fairly distressing. I told her when she first arrived here in deer country that I long ago gave up fighting off the deer. My motto is, “Give unto the deer what they want and grow the stuff they don’t.”

Among other things, the raiding doe made quick work of two tall lilies at the bay window but left one cluster of flowers intact. I am posting a picture of what is left of two Gaillardia (blanket flowers). Also posted is a picture of Desiree’s new deer-proofing method for the lilies: bagging them. I have not been told when viewing hours are for the lilies; I guess that will be a surprise for both me and the deer when Desiree unveils them.

Blanket Flower Stems

Deer-Proofed Lilies

—Mitchell Hegman

Posters

By most accounts, the best-selling poster of all time is the iconic 1976 image of Farrah Fawcett in a red swimsuit. The poster, which features the actress and model at age 29 in a red one-piece bathing suit, sold over 12 million copies. This image quickly became a cultural phenomenon and is considered a defining piece of 1970s pop culture.

Interestingly, I was at the height of my poster-posting era at the same time, but I did not purchase a Farrah Fawcett poster. I stuck with more attainable things in my array of posters: artwork from record albums, M.C. Escher prints, and random photographs I liked.

Years later, a friend of mine found a sexy life-size cut-out of Salma Hayek (a solid crush of mine) and gave it to me. I really wanted to put Salma in the living room, but my wife said Salma would have to stay in the garage. I kept her there, along with my carpentry tools and stacks of building materials, for several years.

I am sharing the Farrah Fawcett poster along with something from my 1970s stuff and a picture of Salma Hayek for reference.

Farrah Fawcett

Dark Side of the Moon

Salma Hayek

—Mitchell Hegman

Practical Use

Some items never lose their practical value for certain occasions or tasks. Bottle and can openers are perfect examples. Similarly, there is no substitute for a landline telephone when it comes to calling and locating a misplaced smartphone so you can make an actual phone call.

—Mitchell Hegman

Turned Aside

Nobody likes to be turned aside when they are on a self-assigned mission. This includes bullsnakes.

I don’t know everything that motivates bullsnakes to go where they go, but I do know they have one potentially fatal quirk. Operating as cold-blooded creatures, when a bullsnake (or most any snake) intersects with an open roadway, they tend to stretch out to take in heat from the sun. They will pause their journey there, even at the risk of being run over by passing automobiles.

Yesterday, on a drive back from town, I spotted a 3-foot bullsnake extending onto the road not far from my house. As is my habit, I stopped and prodded the snake back off the road. The snake readily objected to my intrusion by coiling and hissing at me. It struck at me a couple of times. Though they are not poisonous, having any snake strike at you unleashes a primal fear within you. I eventually pulled a twisted branch from a nearby rabbitbrush and used that to urge the snake a few feet off the road.

The snake did not thank me but rather gave me the beady-eye treatment before I left it there amid the bunchgrass and scrub.

The Bullsnake Stretched Out of the Road

—Mitchell Hegman