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Fall
2002
Discovering the Inner
Naturalist
On
the Trail of the Cuckoo in Cuba Marsh
By Nancy Shepherdson
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Black-billed cuckoo. Photo by Art
Morris, BIRDSASART.
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Sometimes life-changing events don't
slap you in the face. Rather, they float in, as if on the
wings of birds. Two springs ago, my evening walks in the
middle reaches of Cuba
Marsh, a Lake County Forest Preserve property, were
accompanied by a haunting, hollow cu-cu-cu-cu coming from
somewhere beyond the pines.
"A black-billed cuckoo," my
husband, the birder, said.
"You're the one who's cuckoo,"
I replied. There couldn't really be cuckoos nesting in this
narrow swath of wilderness surrounded on all sides by the
suburban sprawl of Barrington, Long Grove, and Lake Zurich,
could there?
But I had to admit that in this
place, almost anything was beginning to seem possible.
In the four years since we moved almost next door
to it, Cuba Marsh has continued to amaze me. Here
I saw my first sandhill crane mating dance, all flopping
wings, awkward jumps, and amorous squawks. I witnessed
my first turtle laying eggs beside one of the wide
gravel trails. (Bad choice, honey.) I saw my first
double rainbow, arcing and re-arcing over a rolling
open space that somehow screens out the signs of civilization
just beyond the trees. I experienced my first restored
oak savanna and my first virgin, unplowed black soil
prairie.
Those last two, admittedly, didn't penetrate
my consciousness at first and probably wouldn't have if
I hadn't been on the trail of an elusive cuckoo. Casual
visitors to Cuba Marsh receive little guidance in appreciating
its wonders, aside from the maps the forest preserves will
send by mail. Most folks wander the three miles of trails
with their bikes, dogs, sweethearts, or binoculars, discovering
on their own what the Marsh has to offer. Many see nothing
beyond a pleasant place to exercise, populated with perhaps
too many mosquitoes in the summer.
Sandhill cranes sometimes perform their mating dances
in Cuba Marsh. Photo by Walt Anderson.
Closer observers may notice the squadrons
of dragonflies that keep the biters at reasonable levels,
or the hoards of tiny frogs that migrate across the trails
at the same time each year. Birders grow weak in the knees
during migration seasons, when water birds of all kinds
descend on the marshes and passerines (perching birds) dot
the trees. Plant lovers swoon at the variety and color of
vegetation (more than 237 known plant species, many of them
rare) that thrives in the Marsh's four distinct habitats:
prairie, marsh, oak woodland, and oak savanna.
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| Drummond's aster and
blackberry leaves. Photo by Carol Freeman. |
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Common sulphur butterfly
on New England aster. Photo by Carol Freeman. |
To discover if cuckoos were likely
residents, though, I had to dig deeper. The Audubon
Field Guide to North American Birds says that cuckoos
are most likely to be found in "moist thickets
in low, overgrown pastures and orchards." As
it turns out, for most of its history since European
settlement, the majority of the Cuba Marsh property
was farmed or used for pastureland.
Two farms occupied the 780-acre
site, which is comprised of the larger, gravel-trailed
portion on the west side of Ela Road and a smaller
prairie on the east side. Drainage tiles dried up
the extensive wetlands, and most of the trees had
been cleared except for a few stands of oaks at the
edges of the farmland. Thus, the area must have seemed
like no more than a couple of Lake County "vacant
lots" when developers asked permission in the
mid 1970s to build single family homes on the east
side (also called the Ela Marsh addition) and condos
and a light industrial park on the west side (what
is now the Cuba Marsh public area).
It's chilling to me to think what might
have happened to Cuba Marsh had the Citizens
for Conservation and The
Nature Conservancy not stepped in at this point. I was
still in college at the University of Illinois and, for
the most part, blissfully ignorant of the uncontrolled urban
sprawl encroaching on open space in much of our region.
Sure, I sang along when Joni Mitchell scolded those who
would "Pave paradise and put up a parking lot,"
but it didn't mean much to me then. It wasn't my backyard,
after all.
Thank heavens people like Waid Vanderpoel,
former president of Citizens for Conservation, were looking
out for my interests, even though they didn't know it. Vanderpoel,
a tall, retired banker who remains distinguished-looking
even in overalls, met me at Cuba Marsh one day to explain
what had been done on behalf of the people of Lake County.
"Cuba Marsh and the Ela Marsh addition were only protected
after a massive campaign by civic organizations, the Barrington
Courier-Review newspaper, and the efforts of many volunteers
going to meetings and speaking up," he told me. "There's
always a fight over land use in Lake County. Developers
never give up; conservationists must always be wary."
During the fight to preserve this
land, it became apparent that these properties were
much more than simply "open space." An old
growth oak savanna, choked with brush, was clinging
to the railroad right of way on the northwest edge
of the farmland. Later, an undisturbed black-soil
prairie was found at the far south edge of the Ela
Marsh addition. Even the existence of these rare habitats,
however, did not end the fight to develop these tracts.
In the 1970s, in fact, it was not accepted wisdom
that partly degraded habitats could be restored to
good health. If a site was already "degraded,"
the thinking in some quarters ran, what's wrong with
putting a nice, money-generating building there? Of
course, such thinking still is all too common today.
The fight only ended when the Lake
County Forest Preserves agreed in 1976 to acquire the
550 acres that make up the main portion of Cuba Marsh. Shortly
thereafter, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service removed the
drainage tiles from the property, allowing the marshes to
return to their natural water levels. "The number of
waterfowl just boomed after they did that," remembers
Vanderpoel.
Great blue heron carrying nesting
material. Photo by Art Morris, BIRDSASART.
The marshes here are known as
hemi-marshes, which are normally somewhat dry during
the warmest months but hold deep water between patches
of tall vegetation in spring and fall. The varying
level of water keeps cattails in check and allows
a great diversity of wildlife and marsh plants to
flourish. Along with great blue herons, now common
in Lake County, endangered and threatened species
like the Cooper's hawk, northern harrier, pied-billed
grebe, and black-crowned night-heron — and more
than 80 other recorded species of birds — find
Cuba Marsh immensely attractive now. Moreover, in
the last breeding bird survey, conducted in 1997,
two rare black-billed cuckoos were recorded.
Volunteers with Citizens for Conservation
also planted thousands of oaks in the preserve in
those early years. Those young trees were in the area
where I thought I had heard the cuckoo. "Ever
seen one?" I asked Vanderpoel. He hadn't.
My efforts to understand Cuba
Marsh and its cuckoo potential led me eventually to
a northern Illinois conservation classic, Miracle
Under the Oaks by William K. Stevens. Stevens recounts
the success of groundbreaking savanna restoration
efforts in this region's forest preserves that set
the stage for more widespread projects. In 1988, restoration
work began on the oak savanna at Cuba Marsh, with
both Citizens for Conservation and the Lake County
Forest Preserves providing manpower. Clearing and
herbiciding invasive, nonnative European buckthorn
formed the bulk of the backbreaking work. Volunteers
then seeded big-leaved aster, nodding fescue, and
other native plants. Areas of invading buckthorn have
been cleared twice more since then.
The tiny patch of pristine oak
savanna in the northwestern portion of Cuba Marsh,
west of the EJ&E railroad tracks that cross Cuba
Road, was never threatened with development. Too wet
and marshy to be drained by even the most zealous
farmer, this section was once a Victorian pleasure
garden, a hideaway of winding canals and bridges,
overlooked by the landowner's mansion. Remnants of
the bridges remain, but the house was destroyed by
fire years ago, leaving that section of Cuba Marsh
to the enjoyment of the water birds. Those brave enough
to walk down the tracks a mile or so will find two
heron rookeries.
Many parts of Cuba Marsh, however,
are clogged with buckthorn. Once I learned to identify
it, I saw it everywhere. Forest Preserve restoration
ecologist Ken Klick showed me a draft management plan
that expresses great concern about buckthorn, which
spreads quickly and shades out local species, as well
as 21 other invasive plants that pose a threat to
the natives of Cuba Marsh. Forest preserve staffers
often field calls from upset residents whenever a
tree is cut or a prescribed burn is completed. "Why
are you destroying habitat?" the well-intentioned
callers ask.
Of course, they are not destroying
habitat, but restoring it to health. In my search
for that elusive cuckoo, I have discovered that as
lovely as Cuba Marsh is to look at and as filled with
rare species as it is, it cannot be left to face the
invasive species on its own. I couldn't help thinking
that just as it once needed to be saved from development,
it now deserves to be rescued from neglect. I realized
that, as I had followed the cuckoo into a more intimate
relationship with the Marsh and its needs, I had changed
as well: from a mere appreciator of nature to someone
motivated to contribute to its preservation.
These days, I join other volunteers
as often as I can for the workdays at Cuba Marsh, where
we work up a sweat chopping invasive trees, pulling weeds,
or planting seeds. And I finally did see a black-billed
cuckoo disappearing into a stand of trees not far from where
I'd been hearing him call all those evenings — tan
back feathers, white belly, sloped-back wings, and long,
elegant tail. At least I think it was a black-billed cuckoo.
Could have been a yellow-billed — they've nested in
Cuba Marsh, too. I guess I'll just have to keep looking
while I work.
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