It would be trite indeed for me to write that mountains loom large in human history. Yet at the same time it must be acknowledged that they do play a remarkable role in the myths and histories we have repeated for millennia.
Woodland Caribou, Common Loons, and Lake Sturgeon – what do these three species all have in common? All were once abundant around, on, or in the waters of the Great Lakes Basin. All are also greatly diminished in numbers there today. Yet they curiously persist as iconic images of this region. Scarcely any longer present, the memory of them persists. They are effectively ghosts.
When I first took up bird watching many years ago, one of the first books I bought to learn more about it was a copy of Margaret Morse Nice’s 1939 classic “The Watcher at the Nest” (I’m nothing if not anachronistic). Among the many things I learned from reading it are counted two qualities that have largely defined my life as a naturalist ever since: an appreciation of taking the time to make careful observations of even the most common species in the most everyday surroundings, and a deep love for the classic books of natural history.
Of the many natural delights to be found in urban areas, lichens present a reliable and readily available source of enquiry during even the most ordinary of strolls. However given the twenty thousand various species into which they have been divided, how can the amateur naturalist even begin to approach identification without toting along massive tomes and keys on even the shortest, most casual foray outdoors?