The male ruffed grouse in the photo above was documented on a Rosslyn wildlife camera about a year ago. Fancy fowl! And the two images below were recorded a few weeks ago.
Rosslyn’s backlands are fortunately flush with ruffed grouse (Bonasa umbellus), a welcome reminder that wildlife gravitates — as if by some primal sense — to safe havens and sanctuaries. If you preserve it, they will come (or so our experience over the last 12+ years suggests.)
Ruffed Grouse (Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
What is a Ruffed Grouse?
A brown or gray-brown, chicken-like bird with slight crest, fan-shaped, black-banded tail, barred flanks, and black ‘ruffs’ on sides of neck.
Habitat: Deciduous and mixed forests, especially those with scattered clearings and dense undergrowth; overgrown pastures.
Female gives soft hen-like clucks. In spring displaying male sits on a log and beats the air with his wings, creating a drumming sound that increases rapidly in tempo. (Source: Audubon)
Popular among hunters for their tender meat, the ruffed grouse in these images are safe in Rosslyn’s wildlife sanctuary. Although Susan is a vegetarian (a pescatarian, actually), I concede a robust appetite for wild game. That said, I’m not a hunter. And when we purchased first one, and then a second adjoining lots, our intention was to preserve and rewild, to invest in a healthy and resilient wildway buffering the already significant wildlife moving along Library Brook. With acreage expanded and John Davis’s wildlife stewardship guiding our rewilding efforts, native wildlife are returning and prospering.
If you’ve never heard a ruffed grouse drumming, you should definitely play the video below. It’s a mysterious rhythm I associate with late winter through early spring outings — cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, and sometimes mindful, sometimes mindless meandering — through Rosslyn’s forests and meadows.
Exciting update from one of Rosslyn’s wildlife cameras when I awoke this morning. Not sure why, but I always get especially enthused when we document a Bobcat. The sequence of three images captured at 2:29am appears to be the same bobcat we photographed a few months ago. Still healthy. Strong. Well fed.
Bobcat, May 10, 2023 (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
I’m struck by the fact that we capture bobcat photos and witness bobcat tracks, but I’ve never actually come across a bobcat at Rosslyn. Elsewhere, yes. But it would seem that our Lynx rufus representatives are especially stealthy, keen to avoid human encounters. Susan prefers it that way. But these photos do incite a persistent yen to meet — safely, respectfully — one of these regal neighbors some day.
Bobcat, May 10, 2023 (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
Thank you, John Davis (@wildwaystrekker) and Tony Foster (@anthonyfoster335), for siting and creating this trail last winter. Susan and I thoroughly enjoyed our cross-country skiing outings on thus new loop back in February and March. And it’s abundantly clear that our wild neighbors are fans as well!
Bobcat, May 10, 2023 (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
In this third photograph a small sapling appears to have sprouted along the downhill side of the trail. Do you see it camouflaging the front legs of the bobcat? It took me a moment to determine that’s what I was seeing. The disparity between the stout forward striding front leg and the strong but slender rear extended front leg — likely an incongruity exaggerated by the angle more than actual physiological discrepancy — initially drew my attention. But the darker mottling, especially on the forward leg, perplexed me. An injury? Atypical fur patterning? A skull and crossbones stocking?!?!
Exciting news to share. Today while reviewing images from one of our wildlife cameras, I came across this pair of River Otter photographs. Our first sighting ever!
River Otter, April 26, 2023 (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
Better yet? As you can see, the date stamp is April 26, 2023, my birthday. So I’m choosing to see this rare encounter as a birthday gift from our wild neighbors, from nature, heck, from the universe itself.
The North American River Otter (Lontra canadensis) is apparently a common resident of these environs, but they’re elusive. I’ve come across their tracks and slides in the snow on frozen streams, rivers, and ponds, but I’ve never been fortunate enough to witness one firsthand. Nor have we captured photos on our cameras until now, so these less-than-perfect images hold special value. And they serve as encouraging evidence that Rosslyn’s wildlife sanctuary is thriving.
River Otter, April 26, 2023 (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
Rather than fumbling my way forward with a cobbled, secondhand introduction to River otters I’ll defer to a more knowledgeable source.
The playful North American river otter is well adapted for semi-aquatic living. The mammals have thick, protective fur to help them keep warm while swimming in cold waters. They have short legs, webbed feet for faster swimming, and a long, narrow body and flattened head for streamlined movement in the water. A long, strong tail helps propels the otter through the water. They can stay underwater for as many as eight minutes. North American river otters have long whiskers, which they use to detect prey in dark or cloudy water, and clawed feet for grasping onto slippery prey. They are very flexible and can make sharp, sudden turns that help them catch fish. Their fur is dark brown over much of the body, and lighter brown on the belly and face. On land a river otter can run at speeds of up to 15 miles (24 kilometers) an hour—they can slide even faster. Their playful snow and mud sliding, tail chasing, water play, and snow burrowing activities also serve other purposes—they help strengthen social bonds and let young otters practice hunting techniques. (National Wildlife Federation)
Many thanks to John Davis for setting and monitoring Rosslyn’s wildlife cameras. It is John’s stewardship and oversight that underpin Rosslyn’s increasingly robust wildlife population.
Earlier this month one of Rosslyn’s wildlife cameras captured this remarkable image of a coyote (running with her/his mouth full.) Despite the grainy, blurry photograph, John and I both believe that we’ve identified this movable feast.
Coyote with Deer Leg (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
To be certain, the eyes are prominent. And the snout. But the coyote is unmistakably carrying something. To our eyes it’s unmistakably a deer leg. Can you see the hoof hanging down?
Let’s try tweaking the contrast, the depth range, etc.
Coyote with Deer Leg (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
Okay, still grainy, but it the movable feast bears an uncanny resemblance to a leg — or, more accurately, a part of a leg from a whitetail deer. Hoof and all?
This evening we’ll let the photos do the talking. Enjoy this healthy fisher (Pekania pennanti) documented recently with one of Rosslyn’s wildlife cams.
Fisher (Photo: Rosslyn wildlife cam)
Part of the weasel family, these native neighbors enjoy dining on wild gates and they’re one of the few predators in our forests who successfully hunt and eat porcupines.
Given that we frequently document both sling the trail targeted by this camera, I suspect that this stealthy hunter will be sated during his nocturnal ambling.
Fisher (Photo: Rosslyn wildlife cam)
Often referred to as “fisher cats”, they’re actually altogether unrelated to cats.
Fisher (Photo: Rosslyn wildlife cam)
It’s profoundly satisfying to document these wild creatures trafficking Rosslyn’s wildway earlier this month. Here’s hoping this robust specimen has plenty of companions.
Tucked into a meadow surrounded by forest, the tennis court was starting to show a quarter century of soggy springs and icy winters. The net drooped, but we decided not to tighten it and risk breaking the rotten netting. Besides the droop better accommodated our rusty tennis skills.
The twelve foot tall fence around the court sagged along the north side. A tree that had fallen across it a few years before had been removed, but the stretched steel mesh retained the memory. Several young maple trees grew along the crumbling margin of the court and protruded inside the fence. Towering maples, oaks and white pines surrounded the court on three sides, lush with new foliage that whispered in the wind. Birds and squirrels chattered in the canopy. Ants paraded across the court’s puckering green surface, and a pair of small butterflies danced in a rising and falling gyre. Tasha sniffed around the perimeter of the court, her obligatory inspection as head ball girl for our sylvan Roland Garros.
We started to volley back and forth, balls collecting quickly on both sides of the net. It felt great to be hitting a tennis ball again, and – like every spring – I vowed to spend more time on the court, perennially optimistic that a solid tennis game was within my reach.
The sound of our rackets making solid contact with the fresh balls encouraged us and prompted Tasha to abandon the grasshopper she had been badgering. She headed out onto Susan’s side of the court and started to lunge at balls, attempting to catch them in her mouth. We tried to be more creative in our placement, trying simultaneously to avoid hitting her and to protect the nice new balls from her slobbery maw.
Soon enough she discovered that she could simply take her pick from the balls that were collecting beside the net, and she plunked down in the middle of the court to enjoy a new chew toy.
“Maybe we should have brought the hopper of old balls, so it wouldn’t matter if she chewed them…”
“Home run!” Susan cheered, sending a ball soaring over the fence into the woods. Excited, Tasha got up and padded over to the fence where she stood, looking for the ball in the woods.
Soon, enough balls had vanished over the fence that we headed out to see how many we could recover.
“Hey, come check out this snake!” I called out to Susan after startling a small garter snake in the tall grass near the woods.
“Tasha, come! Grab her. Don’t let her get close to it!” Susan’s words came like machine gun fire as she sprinted toward me. “It might be poisonous!”
“It’s just a garter snake,” I said. “Tasha’s fine.”
“Are you sure it’s not a rattlesnake? Where is it?” she asked, next to us now, grabbing Tasha by the collar and pulling her backward, away from the grass where the snake had already vanished.
“It’s gone.”
“Gone? Where? Why didn’t you keep your eye on it?” Susan hustled Tasha back toward the tennis court.
“Relax. It was a garter snake, Susan. It’s harmless. Nothing to worry about.”
“How do you know? What if you’re wrong?”
Tasha shags a tennis ball
When I returned from the woods with most of the balls, Susan had our tennis rackets tucked under her arm. Tasha was leashed.
“I’m ready to go,” Susan said.
“Because of the snake?”
“No. I’m just ready. I’ve played enough tennis.”
“Okay.”
Susan asked me to walk ahead, checking for snakes. I laughed, then obliged, walking a few paces with exaggerated caution.
“Stop!” I bellowed, freezing and pointing into the grass ahead. “I think I see one…”
“That’s not funny,” said, repressing a smile.
“Wait, do you hear that rattling noise?”
Susan laughed. Tasha pulled at her leash, excited, ready to help me search for snakes.
“Well, you never know,” Susan said. “Tasha’s a city dog. She might try to attack a rattlesnake.”
“Because that’s what city dogs do?” I laughed.
Tasha, our twelve year old Labrador Retriever, enjoyed bark at wildlife, maybe even an abbreviated mock charge in the case of deer, but she had little interest in tangling with animals, birds or snakes. Frogs intrigued her more, briefly, until she realized they were not toys. A sleepy cluster fly could entertain her for five or ten minutes. But Tasha would leave rattlesnake attacking to younger, more aggressive beasts.
Larger than life, or at least most of our avian life, the Pileated Woodpecker (Dryocopus pileatus) is a familiar plumage and percussive soundtrack in our Adirondack Coast forest. And often at our suet feeders, even trees in our yard.
Freaky physics notwithstanding, the poise and drama of this sylvan neighbor stand out among our local bird population. And for the first time one of our wildlife cameras documented one, a mature male pileated woodpecker mid flight.
Drilling and darting, my scarlet capped companion drums for his dinner.
Of course, I’ve taken some poetic license, imagined myself into the moment this digital voyeur glimpsed the pileated woodpecker. But it’s a familiar enough sound and sight that I don’t got a moment feel guilty about my imposter poem. Micropoem. Well, maybe a little…
Hope you were able to celebrate and take time for gratitude yesterday. And today. As with most holidays, I find myself thinking that we should dedicate longer than a day to giving thanks. Maybe a week? Even that seems too brief a time to honor everyone (wild neighbors included) who adds value and happiness, health and wisdom, balance and compassion, laughter and beauty, and so much more to our lives.
Today, the day after official Turkey Day, I send you a feast of Thanksgiving thanks, from our family to yours.
In the photo above we’re just about to come inside for a bountiful family feast. What? You say that doesn’t look like Rosslyn? True enough. This year our gratitude is being celebrated in Santa Fe. (But that turkey at the top of this post was celebrating his wild freedoms mere feet from Library Brook. As were those in the photo below, one year ago.)
The Eastern Coyote (Canis latrans var) is an omnipresent wild neighbor at Rosslyn. The tracks, the songs, and the holistic balance that the Eastern Coyote brings to our +/-70 acres are an everyday reminder that the wildway is healthy and that wild flora and fauna are thriving in our small slice of the Adirondack Coast.
Although I won’t pretend to present the most current science about a topic that is enjoying diverse debate among scholars and researchers far more learned than I, my understanding is that the eastern coyote which frequents our fields and forests is a relatively new hybrid (aka crossbreed) between coyotes, wolves, and domestic dogs.
“Eastern Coyotes are the largest wild canid in the Adirondack Park. They look something like a small German Shepherd Dog, with thick fur, bushy tails tipped with black, and large erect ears. Our Adirondack coyotes tend to be orange-gray or grayish brown above with paler underparts. The front surfaces of the lower legs are black, while the outsides of the legs are tan or rufous. The eyes are yellowish, with round pupils.” (Source: Wild Adirondacks)
In my firsthand anecdotal experience, the Eastern Coyotes we witness on our property are consistently larger than the coyotes we see on our property in Santa Fe, New Mexico. They are robust, confident, and healthy. While they’ve never threatened or even remotely intimidated us (or our dogs), I have more than once witnessed their curiosity. On the rare occasion when I’ve startled one on foot, it has fades into the forest almost immediately. But a couple of times I’ve come across a solitary Eastern Coyote while brush hogging, and it has lingered close enough to keep an eye on me, not so much following the tractor as keeping a wary distance but studying me. The experience has each time felt like a gift, a rare opportunity to observe this handsome canid up close without its immediate instinct to retreat.
This post, the latest installment in my friend or foe series, will endeavor to demystify Canis latrans var.
Eastern Coyote Family & Territory
A similar gift has been received on multiple occasions when we listen to coyotes yipping, calling, and howling. Often the voices merge from multiple directions, eventually gathering into a vast chorus. It can sound as if dozens of coyotes are fêting (and feasting) just beyond the veil of darkness, though I’m aware that the numbers are likely much fewer.
“The Eastern coyote does not form a true ‘pack’ with multiple adults living together like their relative the wolf. Instead they are organized as a ‘family unit’. Each family unit is made up of the adult pair and their pups from the current year. A family unit will defend a territory of 2 to 15 square miles against other coyotes. It is the territorial behavior of coyotes that limits their numbers in any one area.” (Source: NYS Dept. of Environmental Conservation)
In other words, the Eastern Coyote is an effective community organizer, dispersing its population according to the sustainability of the region within which it resides. And a healthy Eastern Coyote population significantly benefits the trophic dynamics within our broader community. Nevertheless, these charismatic canids are often misunderstood and persecuted. Efforts to extirpate coyotes are not only inhumane, they are also ineffective due to compensatory reproduction.
“Research suggests that when aggressively controlled, coyotes can increase their reproductive rate by breeding at an earlier age and having larger litters, with a higher survival rate among the young. This allows coyote populations to quickly bounce back, even when as much as 70 percent of their numbers are removed.” (Source: The Humane Society of the United States)
Eastern Coyote Concerns
Conversation about coyotes, coywolves, and most other apex predators inevitably incites worry among pet owners, farmers, and outdoor enthusiasts. Popular mythology has long touted the ferocity of our charismatic, carnivorous neighbors. While we are wise to respect their feral nature, wise to minimize risk to our domesticated animals, and wise to ensure that we not take undue risks or provoke wild animals of any sort, it’s also important to balance our concerns with a scientifically sound understanding. It’s even more important to adapt and embrace cohabitation; our ecosystem will pay dividends and our own health and pleasure will benefit immeasurably.
Frequent readers are aware that friend and Essex neighbor John Davis (Executive Director, The Rewilding Institute; Rewilding Advocate, Adirondack Council) serves as Rosslyn’s wildlife steward. He monitors the health of our land and the increasingly abundant flora and fauna that thrive in our small wildway along the Adirondack Coast. I reference here some of John’s advice on why it is wrong to kill Eastern Coyotes.
Killing these apex predators is wrong for several reasons:
1. It doesn’t work. If people are concerned about Coyotes or CoyWolves killing livestock or house pets, it is better to let the big dogs attain stable, self-regulating populations. Conflicts with domestic animals are most common in predator populations that are being persecuted, such that the young do not have mature role models to teach them to hunt and keep clear of people.
2. Apex predators, particularly top carnivores, are essential members of healthy ecosystems. They help hold herbivores in check and prevent them from over-browsing plant communities…
Hunting by humans does not mimic hunting by native carnivores, for human hunters usually target the big strong “trophy” animals, whereas natural predators select out the weak. Plus, the mere presence of top predators keeps herbivores more alert and healthy and less prone to congregating in and over-browsing sensitive habitats. (Source: John Davis, Wrong to Kill Coyotes, Wolves and CoyWolves | Essex on Lake Champlain)
John’s full article warrants a read. Just use the link in the citation above. And I will sit down with him soon (soonish?) for a one-on-one “Coyote Q&A” in the hopes of fleshing out his perspective and following up on your feedback. Please reach out with questions, etc. in the comments below or via social media.
By way of ellipsis until I post the “Coyote Q&A”, my personal experience is one of wonder and gratitude for our resident coyotes. They keep the deer population healthy and balance the rodent and rabbit populations (effectively reducing Lyme disease risks). And their song is the Adirondack anthem I savor when I’m in Essex and miss when I’m away.
Coyote Haikus
Frequent photographs from our trail cams document the healthy population of wild canines calling our fields and forests home. Although abundant, the familiar faces greeting us in photos win us over again and again. And sometimes inspiration strikes in the form of a coyote haiku. Or two.
I admit to feeling a certain romance for these wild distant cousins to the Labrador retrievers we have owned. I’m not blind to the challenges they pose for farmers, but there is an increasingly robust and reliable body of scientific research that can help guide sustainable agriculture in concert with coyotes and other apex predators. It’s high time that we learn to live together with our wild neighbors.
Coyote Photos
The following photographs of Eastern Coyote were recorded with our trail cameras and have been shared over social media.
There’s something stunning if slightly startling about spotting (or hearing the howl of) our ubiquitous Adirondack canid. Agile and attentive, swift and stealthy, this familiar predator is a familiar and important part of our ecosystem. And yet much mystery and misunderstanding collects around this handsome neighbor, not the least of which is disagreement over whether what you’ve seen (or heard) was a coyote or a coywolf. Today I’d like to gather some helpful insights about this debate while showcasing some of the most recent Rosslyn wildlife cam photos of the carnivore in question.
Coyote or Coywolf? (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
The term “coywolf” is increasingly used to distinguish between the Eastern Coyote (Canis latrans) and a regional hybrid ostensibly blending coyote, wolf, and domestic dog.
By now, most of us who spend much time outside in the Adirondack Park have seen some sort of large canid that looks too big to be a Coyote, not quite big enough to be a Wolf. Quite likely, many of us have seen what some wildlife observers are calling the CoyWolf. — John Davis, January 23, 2016 (Source: Welcoming the CoyWolf: Whoever It May Be, Essex on Lake Champlain)
This topic is debated among naturalists and armchair pundits, curiously provoking much more emotional investment and editorializing than other similar topics. So, needless to say, I don’t pretend this post will decide the matter once and for all. But it just might provoke your curiosity, inspiring you to research and a little more. And perhaps these recent photos (as well as previous coyote images we’ve recorded and published) will afford you some visual context for conjuring your own opinion about the coyote-coywolf neighbor maintaining balance in our our wildway.
Coyote or Coywolf? (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
Let’s start with the first two photographs above, captured last Sunday. The top image of an unclose and personal encounter with a healthy and undebatable handsome wild dog was photographed on one of the Rosslyn wildlife cams exactly 18 minutes prior to my arrival on cross-country skies with John and Denise to download the photos. In other words, almost enjoyed this face-to-face encounter in person rather than digital facsimile. And about three and a half hours later, while John, Denise, and I were wrapping up a tasty brunch indoors, this same coyote (or coywolf?) returned in the opposite direction, perhaps after a similarly tasty brunch.
Coyote or Coywolf? (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
Persecution and Evolution
Too often conversation about the coyote involves judging it a nuisance or a threat. And too often “controlling” and/or attempting to eradicate the perceived nuisance or threat is treated as reasonable and even ethical. Our opinion differs profoundly, and the Rosslyn wildlife sanctuary is in no small part an effort to protect and preserve an essential part of our ecosystem. (I will defer frequently in this post to John Davis, our rewilding steward, who is far better versed in the merits and circumstances of both the Eastern Coyote and the Coywolf.)
The Coyotes and CoyWolves we’re seeing in the Adirondacks and Vermont are being heavily persecuted, which may not much depress their numbers (Coyotes practice compensatory reproduction) but upsets their social dynamics, and causes untold individual suffering.
Please read “Friend of Foe: Eastern Coyote” for a more detailed look at precisely why killing these apex predators is wrong.
Coyote or Coywolf? (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
Now let’s examine the intriguing overlap of DNA that appears to be altering the native Eastern Coyote population, blending the bloodlines of three different canids.
We have in northern New York an illuminating experiment that we may do well to let play out. Coyotes have interbred with wolves, producing a bigger, more wolf-like eastern coyote, or coy-wolf, which is hunting in packs and occasionally taking down whitetailed deer…” — John Davis, November 1, 2016 (Source: “We Shouldn’t Hunt Moose“, Adirondack Council)
Coyotes and wolves have interbred. Not by whimsical accident or desire, but by necessity. But more on that in a moment. First a look at the first time I began to realize firsthand that the coyotes I was experiencing seemed different.
The coyote—or possibly “coywolf”—was easily as large as a malamute… and the head and tail were notably larger than other coyotes I’ve seen…
I have witnessed firsthand coyotes of significantly larger proportions. My first experience took place almost a decade ago while brush-hogging one of the rear meadows. The coyote—or possibly “coywolf”—was easily as large as a malamute and considerably more robust than the coyotes in these trail cam photos. Coloring was mottled grays and browns, and the head and tail were notably larger than other coyotes I’ve seen.
My second experience was more recent.
An almost black coyote/”coywolf” of still larger proportions was startled by me during an early morning orchard inspection. S/he loped away from me across the near meadow, slowly and confidently, gliding through the high grass with a confidence and elegance I’ve never before witnessed among coyotes. (Source: Coyotes Captured on Camera, May 10, 2017)
Coyote or Coywolf? (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
These sightings of larger canids, especially when the question of interbreeding with wolves enters the equation, alarm many homeowners and farmers.
Conversation about coyotes, coywolves, and most other apex predators inevitably incites worry among pet owners, farmers, and outdoor enthusiasts. Popular mythology has long touted the ferocity of our charismatic, carnivorous neighbors. While we are wise to respect their feral nature, wise to minimize risk to our domesticated animals, and prudent to ensure that we not take undue risks or provoke wild animals of any sort, it’s also important to balance our concerns with a scientifically sound understanding. It’s even more important to adapt and embrace cohabitation; our ecosystem will pay dividends and our own health and pleasure will benefit immeasurably. — Geo Davis, January 6, 2022 (Source: Friend or Foe: Eastern Coyote)
Coyote or Coywolf? (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
And this blurred barrier between coyotes and wolves becomes even more complex, and for some homeowners and farmers, even more threatening, when we consider the fact that our domestic dogs have also sometimes interbred with their wild cousins.
Our beloved dogs, of course, are in the same family as wolves, coyotes, and foxes. Indeed, domestic dogs, Canis familiaris, are closely enough related to both wolves and coyotes that interbreeding does occasionally happen, when a dog goes feral. Our big eastern coyotes can be nearly a third wolf in genetic material but also may have small vestiges of the domestic dog genome. — John Davis, December 15, 2022 (Source: “Dogs of the North Country”, Adirondack Council)
There’s plenty of interesting information if you’re interested in researching further, and the graphic, Eastern Coyote Genetics – What is a “Coywolf?” from the Wolf Conservation Center is a visually useful reminder for the evolutionary breakdown of the coywolf.
Let’s wrap up with a few helpful tidbits and links from John Davis that help illuminate the coy wolf’s fascinating evolution happening in our time and presence.
Coyote or Coywolf? (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
What is a Coywolf?
The CoyWolf is a skilled predator combining the wily nature of the Coyote with a healthy mixture of Eastern Wolf (resulting in more heft and power) and perhaps also a small amount of our beloved domestic dog (resulting in more nerve around humans). Recent genetic testing suggests that these hybrid canids are probably on average something like two-thirds Coyote, nearly one-third Wolf, and a small fraction domestic dog. — John Davis, January 23, 2016 (Source: Welcoming the CoyWolf: Whoever It May Be, Essex on Lake Champlain)
Coyote or Coywolf? (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
From Whence the Coywolf?
How the CoyWolf emerged is a long, fascinating, and somewhat mysterious story. To greatly oversimplify, eastern North America originally had two or three Wolf species, at least one of which (now known as Red Wolf and surviving in tiny, imperiled numbers in coastal North Carolina) was closely related genetically to the Coyote. When European settlers eradicated our large Wolf species, they left a void that Coyotes moved in from the west to fill.
As Coyotes colonized eastern North America, they occasionally interbred with remnant Wolf populations in eastern Canada, and then moved south into the northeastern US. Coyotes in the US Southeast apparently came by a more southerly route (and were released by hunters, some accounts suggest) and did not interbreed with the larger Wolves (but do so now with Red Wolves), so are generally not as big as our northern Coyotes. — John Davis, January 23, 2016 (Source: Welcoming the CoyWolf: Whoever It May Be, Essex on Lake Champlain)
Coyote or Coywolf or Gray Fox? (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
How to Respect the Coywolf?
In my opinion, informed by thousands of miles of rambling Eastern forests and listening to and reading the words of naturalists and biologists, it is time to recognize this charismatic canid. Specifically we should:
welcome the CoyWolf,
consider the CoyWolf a native top predator,
and protect the CoyWolf as an integral part of healthy ecosystems.
The CoyWolf may be partly a consequence of human modifications of natural systems, but its emergence offers glorious evidence that evolution still works, even in our fragmented world. The Coyote and the CoyWolf are important regulators of prey populations which otherwise might grow out of balance with harmful results for natural and human communities. Plus, these big wild dogs are beautiful creatures, worthy of our respect and admiration. — John Davis, January 23, 2016 (Source: Welcoming the CoyWolf: Whoever It May Be, Essex on Lake Champlain)
Coyote or Coywolf or Gray Fox? (Photo: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
This winter Rosslyn’s trail camera silently monitoring a fence opening (along the margin of a woods-fields transition) recorded our second most frequent nocturnal visitor, the Eastern Coyote. The images in this post, captured this past January (2017), might even offer a glimpse at the animal frequently referred to as a “coywolf”.
[pullquote]The coyote—or possibly “coywolf”—was easily as large as a malamute… and the head and tail were notably larger than other coyotes I’ve seen.[/pullquote]Although none of these photographs portray exceptionally large canids, on several occasions I have witnessed firsthand coyotes of significantly larger proportions. My first experience took place almost a decade ago while brush-hogging one of the rear meadows. The coyote—or possibly “coywolf”—was easily as large as a malamute and considerably more robust than the coyotes in these trail cam photos. Coloring was mottled grays and browns, and the head and tail were notably larger than other coyotes I’ve seen.
My second experience was more recent.
An almost black coyote/”coywolf” of still larger proportions was startled by me during an early morning orchard inspection. S/he loped away from me across the near meadow, slowly and confidently, gliding through the high grass with a confidence and elegance I’ve never before witnessed among coyotes.
Spectacular!
Coyote Captured on Camera, January 2017 (Source: Trail Camera Photo by Geo Davis)
If you’re interested in learning more about coyotes and/or “coywolves” in the Adirondacks, I recommend friend and neighbor John Davis’s post on our Essex community blog, “Welcoming the Coywolf.”
I will share additional game/trail camera photos of Rosslyn’s native wildlife (including Bobcat) in the near future. Stay tuned!
Spring Dance: deer crossing trail camera during spring 2017 (Source: Geo Davis)
One trail cam. One location. Three months, give or take. Deer. Coyotes. And the transition from winter to spring in the Adirondacks’ Champlain Valley.
Spring Dance: coyote crossing trail camera during spring 2017 (Source: Geo Davis)
The perspective, situated near a fence opening at the transition of scrub forest and meadows offers a glimpse of the dance between ungulates (white tailed deer) and native canids (Eastern coyote). From awkward youngsters to healthy adults to slightly mangy elders, this short series of photographs taken with a relatively unsophisticated trail cam illuminates the springtime interplay of two increasingly ubiquitous species in our local ecosystem.
Oh, yes, there are a couple of human spottings in the video (slide show) above. Who are they? Unfamiliar to me. And unclear what they were were doing wandering this fence line…
