On Our Mountains

Thank you NOMAD!

by Lynne von Trapp

The dog agility trial was a big success with sunny skies the day we set up the ring and competitors arrived. Saturday morning brought a light rain that stopped by noon. Overcast skies made for cool temps, very pleasant for the dogs and handlers. Sunday was partly sunny and warm when the sun was out. Dogs cooled off in the kiddie pools and the Deer Pond.

NOMAD club members and Judge Cherie Whittenberg from Texas set the mood for a fun, welcoming, and challenging trial with lovely courses. Competitors enjoyed the views and walks in the woods between runs.

There were 127 dogs entered, with 350 runs on Saturday and 250 runs on Sunday. Steeplechase and Grand Prix classes were very exciting to watch. Snooker and Gamblers classes are other big crowd-pleasers.

This is the 3rd year the Trapp Family Lodge has hosted NOMAD's trial, and the trial has grown each year. A special treat this time was Trapp Summer Lager, purchased by NOMAD and offered to competitors at the end of the day. It was a great hit.

An e-mail from a competitor sums up the ambiance of the weekend: "The hills were alive with the sound of agility!"

A hearty thank you to all the congenial folks from NOMAD who put on a fabulous trial this past weekend in Stowe, VT. With the incredible facilities of the Trapp Family Lodge as the idyllic backdrop - this HAS to be the best trial on the planet! An old fashioned outdoor one ring trial high atop the Green Mountains meant no conflicts to stress about and you can watch each others run, but with the modern thrills of exciting tournament classes and past, present and aspiring national/world class teams demonstrating cutting edge training & handling.

We are still savoring the experience and putting this trial on our calendar for next year already!!

THANK YOU NOMAD!!!!

Territorial Males

by By Jan D. Axtell

There are individual birds I get to know very well while conducting tours here on the Lodge’s property; it is one of the many perks of employment here at Trapp Family Lodge. Each year tends to be a little different, but after a couple of weeks of guiding tours you make the acquaintance of the main players. These birds are the boisterous males who spend our early spring posted up singing their hearts out to attracting females and driving off rivals. Their song represents much more than an innate ability to announce their presence, but rather it provides an index to their relative vigor and insight into the evolution of their species.

The quality of a bird’s chosen breeding territory and/or nest site has a significant impact on said bird’s success in hatching, rearing, and fledging its progeny. The strongest individuals obtain and defend the best, highest quality, habitat. Male birds advertise their territories and subsequently the real-estate’s quality by singing. The females ultimately choose from these calling males.

Weaker males, within the species, are relegated to lesser quality habitat in the face of superior strength of their intra-specific competitors. These displaced males, typically, have limited access to those “species specific” resources needed to successfully bring off a brood of young. Subsequently, birds that are forced to nest in marginal habitat suffer a significantly lower rate of breeding success and contribute less of their own genetic traits to the next generation of the species at large.

So, as a general rule, males sing, flash their bright colors, and/or flex their muscles to attract mates, announce their intentions to defend their territories, and compete for the prime breeding and nesting covers. It is not unlike some human males at the local watering holes on Saturday nights. A bird’s song is one reflection of his potential strength to a suitable mate and the quality of habitat he has chosen as nesting habitat.

This year I have a couple of favorite’s territorial males. The first is the Indigo bunting that lives in the back corner of the Picnic Meadow behind the wedding tent. He is a striking color of blue - perhaps a shade darker than our resident Eastern Bluebirds- and highlighted with black markings on his head and wings and tail. He calls incessantly throughout the morning and, given the view, it is understandable why he has set up camp in this most romantic of locations.

The second bird is the American Redstart that appears to have set up shop in the deciduous copse of trees and gardens between the Lodge proper and the Outdoor Center. He is a small black warbler with orange patches on his wings and tail as well as a white abdomen. The contrast of his breeding plumage is beautiful and each time someone squares his site picture in the binoculars he elicits the “oohs” and “aahs” reserved for fireworks displays.

There are others, of course, whose company I enjoy very much: the Ruby-throated hummingbird in the hedgerow between the parking lot and the Concert Meadow, the Blue-headed vireos (male and female) near the intersection of Fox Track and Sugar Road, and the Bobolinks in the field behind the Administration Building. They all make this one of the great venues in the north woods to watch the great spectacle of nature play out. At times it seems almost a little voyeuristic to be watching them go about the very real work of survival, and the evolution of their respective species as these territorial males go about the business of attracting mates and defending territories.

Happy Herd

by Sam von Trapp

The Trapp Family Lodge is distinguished by so many amazing offerings: The rich family heritage which inspired The Sound of Music, one of the best cross-country ski centers in the country, an unbelievable network of hiking and mountain-biking trails that one could never cover in one day, and even a world-class brewery that is the talk of the region right now. But with all that, our herd of Scotch Highland cattle seems to be one of the most popular interests of our return guests. This past week, while they were in the one pasture, where guests cannot see them, we fielded the same question over and over again “Where are the cows?" My sister Kristina proposed that we should start to try to schedule their grazing to keep them visible on holiday weekends. Of course it can be challenging to try to control all this, since the state of the grass in their pastures is supposed to determine the pattern of their "intensive grazing" program. My father has spent a good part of his life studying agriculture, and does a great job of moving the herd steadily to maximize the health of our pastures, based on the teachings of Alan Savory (anyone interested in the science of grazing management should definitely read up on this amazing Zimbabwean).

As you can see from the photos, the cows seem to know when it is time to move to a new pasture. We are moving them on one-week intervals right now, and this morning they certainly seemed to know that it was day eight. By 5 a.m. they were bellowing and mooing, grouped up by the gate. And as my father and I headed to the Lodge at 7:30 we decided not to make them wait for Darren to come open the gate, and found them ready to go, looking slightly surreal in the mist like some long extinct breed of cow that neanderthals might have hunted. Taking care of them is so rewarding. First of all, they are very gentle, as long as you stay out of their way when they are playing with each other, and you don't mess with their calves. Last month when some of the young calves needed to be bottle-fed and kept in the barn through a snowy night, I had an exciting walk carrying young "Whitey" while his mom chased me all the way through the field. The next day when I skied through the same field, that mama chased me the whole time. It was my first time being chased by a cow while skiing- there is always time for new experiences!

One of the most exciting aspects of the new brewery is that we can feed the "spent grain", the barley that has already been used for the brewing process, to the cows. They love it, and clearly have an extra spring in their step these days. As we slowly expand our brewing, we hope to have even more spent grain, and look forward to finding new uses for it once we have too much for our cows. Down the line it'd be great to have sheep, pigs, and chickens- but for now, we're pretty happy with our gorgeous herd of Scottish Highlanders, we hope you are too.

Spring Defines the Very Nature of Fly Fishing

by Jan D. Axtell

I am a trout angler and fly fisherman. There isn’t much I can do about that having been bitten by the bug early on in life. Like a chronic malady, my affliction (or affection depending on you perspective) for fly fishing flares up every year about this time. Much too my wife’s chagrin, the household chores are often times put on hold so that I might chase rising Brook, Rainbow, and Brown trout that gulp, slash, and sip bugs off the water’s surface.

As a fly angler I look forward to these late spring days on the water here in Vermont. The water temperatures have risen to the point that the fish wake from their winter lethargy and begin to feed in earnest. A fish that is feeding in earnest is one that can be caught. In addition to the increasing fish activity, the aquatic insect hatches that define the sport’s very soul begin. Dainty mayfly duns drift like sailboats downstream to hungry trout waiting in feeding lies to gulp them off the surface. Many times it takes more than a little effort to keep from charging into the water like an over excited Labrador Retriever and scaring every trout in the county.

The early hatches on our rivers and brooks start with intermittent emergences of Blue Winged Olive may flies and stoneflies. These early hatches provide irregular surface feeding activity, just enough to kindle the fire. Mid-May, however, brings the arrival of the Hendrickson mayfly (the “sacred cow” of fly anglers) and warming water temperatures which inspires the big fish up off the bottom to surface feed. March Brown, Blue Quill, Grey Fox Variant, and Sulpher mayflies follow as do the great numbers of caddis flies that inhabit our north central waters here in Vermont. It is a month of pure fly fishing bliss.

This time of year there is always a 4wt fly rod tucked behind my truck’s seat with a box of hand tied flies that I have spun up special with the hope of encountering one of those elusive magical streamside moments when angler, trout, and hatch all intersect at one spot in time and space. Just the thought of it makes me want to play a little hooky from work and go check out the “Holy Water” stretch of the Dog River right now. Tight lines folks.