"Lichen Day" Sounds And Sights Are Overwhelming The cool, moist conditions in the early December woods make these dog lichens stand out like wildflowers. This morning was a time for relaxing contemplation. Not only was the weather crisp and ideal for being outdoors, but there was a rare combination of wild birds, a quiet wilderness in which to hike that is off-limits to deer-hunting, and some late fall plants in their best color of the year. The wind away from the lake was so calm that I could detect little to no movement in the trees. Yet there was a strong surf coming in from the southeast producing a very relaxing companionable monotone. Strangers to the area might imagine a waterfall being off in the distance. Some of the snow from the past few days was still intact and the fallen leaves and small twigs produced a pleasant resilient carpet underfoot. With the least little effort one could walk unusually quietly. As a matter of fact the more I walked the quieter I wanted to be. Even a single twig, if snapped as I stepped on it, seemed out of place. The balsam fir fragrance was simply overpowering and refreshing, carried by the same moist air which was being absorbed by the fallen logs, tree trunks, the mosses and lichens and everything in sight. This being an overcast day, the colors of the forest were at their best. Thoreau would have called it "a lichen day." Of all the lichens native to this region, two of the very commonest, the pixie cups and British red soldiers, perhaps some of the most exquisite and easily recognizable, literally carpeted several areas. Both are fruticose-type lichens. They are upright plants, some standing as high as an inch above ground level. What perfect names for these plants. Two other names I’ve heard for the British red soldiers are match-stick lichen and lighthouse lichen. I’ll take the soldier name! Each year during the Thanksgiving season one can expect to hear and see ravens in the unspoiled evergreen woods along the lake. It’s always more thrilling when one hears the birds before seeing them. And just as I had been secretly hoping for this day, causing me to stop in my tracks and "freeze," here it came, "koongk – koongk." It was very bell-like and far-reaching, one of their more unusual calls. I especially enjoyed hiking along the "edges" were the woods and fields met. Here, it seemed, the trees took on more character. Their total form was more visible to the eye. A tall dead white pine, bark already fallen to the ground, spiraled upward perhaps 75 feet or more, its trunk blackened this day by the heavy humidity. Suddenly a slow melodic gargle-like "CRraw, CRraw, CRraw" sound reached me, unquestionably another raven. This time I was able to get a brief glimpse of the black beauty with its wedge-shaped tail and outward-flaring pinions as it soared, all the while giving forth with those short bursts of joy. Some would question this thought with, "How do you know the raven was happy, or can it even be happy?" The fact of the matter is that nobody can prove to me that these welcome inhabitants aren’t happy, nor can anyone stop me from believing that they are downright blissfully happy, thoroughly enjoying the protective solitude of these deep woods – precisely as I was doing this day. About the time the singing raven disappeared, up piped a red-breasted nuthatch, and I’ll let you be the judge as to whether it was singing "yank-yank-yank" or "thank-thank-thank!" I would think that all creatures are extremely fortunate to be able to live in this rare, precious, primeval forest. Several black ducks dabbled contentedly in a narrow secluded inlet off the bay. A hundred yards farther out on the bay were a dozen or so buffleheads and several common goldeneye ducks. In all likelihood both species will remain on the open water in this area, where food-finding is good, for the duration of the winter. One of the waterfowl by itself on the bay caught my attention. A look through the binoculars soon brought about a good feeling – it was a common loon in its tuxedo-like winter plumage – black back and head and white front. Down it went, and up it popped, then down again in search for food. How I envy people who live near these loons during the summer and can hear their call of calls, one of the most thrilling wild sounds I could imagine reaching anyone’s ears. Bundle up in blaze orange if you have to and take to the woods one of these quiet, humid, overcast days. Not only will it help to temper you for the winter to come, but you’re bound to be attracted to the brilliant saturated colors of mosses and lichens on the forest floor. In fact there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re going to be liking these "lichen days!" This column appeared in the Door County Advocate on 12/06/2003. © Copyright 2003 Roy Lukes. All rights reserved.