Land Between the Lakes

On our way west from North Carolina, Jessa and I made an unplanned stop at Land Between the Lakes National Recreation Area in western Kentucky. (Kentucky Lake and Lake Barkley are the ones in question here, both created by the Tennessee Valley Authority as impoundments of the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers, respectively.) I had visited once before—camped there, in fact—on my way from Athens, Georgia to a summer job hacking peregrines in Augusta, Montana. That trip had given me my first glimpse of the American West, and in some ways set the stage for my current life in Nebraska. Two memories from Land Between the Lakes stood out: waking to find a brilliant prothonotary warbler perched on my Coleman stove, and the Elk-Bison Prairie. I had mentioned all this to Jessa, and when we saw signs for LBL along the interstate, she proposed a detour.

We found both common and butterfly milkweed in full bloom, as indeed they would be back home in our prairie garden. Jessa enjoyed photographing the butterfly milkweed and its attendant insects, as well as dragonflies, purple martins, and a handsome turkey vulture.

[Pipe-vine swallowtail.]

[Black swallowtail (or possibly Joan's swallowtail), a Batesian mimic of the pipe-vine swallowtail.]

[Bumblebee and unidentified blue, most likely eastern tailed blue.]

[Halloween pennant.]

[Cathartes aura.]

Eventually we made our way to the Elk-Bison Prairie. We saw no elk, but found the bison herd lounging and dust-bathing in a large wallow, with a couple of calves—a few weeks to perhaps a month old—amongst them. 

Visitors here are strictly enjoined to stay in their vehicles when bison are present, and a car makes a good blind in any case, but it seems there's one idiot in every crowd. This woman exited her vehicle (Florida tags, big surprise) and walked directly in front of us in her quest to take pictures on a phone much smarter than herself. Especially given the presence of young calves, we were surprised (and frankly, disappointed) that the buffalo didn't take greater exception to her effrontery. We can only hope that the broken-horned cow in the next photo had scored herself an obnoxious tourist...

But then again, maybe the herd has its reasons for lassitude. One nursing calf in particular was making a nuisance of itself to its mother, thumping her repeatedly with the top of its head to stimulate the flow of milk; we suspect the cow will be particularly relieved when the little bastard is finally weaned, especially as it's already budding horns.

For the most part, though, peace reigned as the herd took it easy in the afternoon heat, occasionally kicking up clouds of dust to keep biting insects at bay.

I can't remember at the moment who made this observation, but the golden pelage of the calves really does blend with dried bluestem and may serve as a form of camouflage when they're lying down. (This one, of course, isn't in little bluestem, but oh well...)

This last shot is my favourite of the many we took at LBL, and in fact my favourite bison photo of all time: with its intimacy and the dust hanging in the air, it looks like a Robert Bateman painting. We took turns with the camera, but I'm certain this one is Jessa's.