Black spruce bog: northern wetland, sphagnum moss, tamarack, carnivorous plants, bog people

Call of the Black Spruce Bog
Spirits dwell in the deep of the woods

hen you cross the power line on the trail to Mohawk State Forest's black spruce bog, it is like crossing to the wild's other side. You plunge from light into deep shade, from open, mixed woods into a stand of old evergreens.

Suddenly, the forest emits a supernatural aura. On the right, a hemlock's gnarled roots grip a boulder, and a pink glow surrounds the branchless trunks of a group of red pines. The trail dips, and ahead the canopy opens slightly. A lumpy carpet of moss and a twisting boardwalk mark the beginning of the bog.

Rare in Connecticut, the black spruce bog is a type of forested wetland that, in my part of the country, occurs most frequently in northern New York and northern New England. This bog, ensconced in cool, wooded highlands, is about 50 miles north of Danbury, at the end of a 550-foot trail.

I went to the bog three times one summer, lured by its unfamiliar plants, Adirondack atmosphere, and accessibility. It covers a mere two acres, and after going 150 feet across the sphagnum moss, the boardwalk stops. Still, there is enough here to occupy the curious naturalist or mystic seeker for hours.

The bog is believed to have formed in a watery depression, or kettlehole, left by a block of ice after the last glacial period. Generations of sphagnum moss lived and died in the water, gradually filling the kettlehole from the edges inward with peat, a blackish muck. An accumulation of peat 40 feet deep, completely covered by living moss, lurks below the boardwalk.

In what might be thought of as the classic bog, a quaking mat of floating sphagnum moss, largely free of other vegetation, surrounds open water. Here, in contrast, trees and shrubs that can live in the bog's wet, acidic, nutrient-poor soil grow across the full extent of the moss, dominated by black spruces that reach a height of 50 feet. Impenetrable clusters of young spruces fringe the end of the boardwalk.

The black spruce shares the bog with another northern tree, the lovely tamarack. Also known as the American larch, the tamarack is the only deciduous conifer native to the Northeast. Tamarack needles grow in soft brushlike clumps and turn from blue-green to yellow before dropping in the fall. Highbush blueberry and mountain holly crowd the bog's understory; sheep laurel grows just above the moss.

"Black Spruce Bog, Cornwall, Conn." by Robert Winkler

The bog's catalog of botanical curiosities includes the carnivorous pitcher plant. Insects crawl down its steep sides, past downward-pointing fibers. They come to a smooth area where the plant's lining sticks to their feet and makes them lose traction. Unable to climb out, the insects slip to the base of the plant, into a mixture of rainwater and digestive juices.

Sphagnum moss can absorb 20 times its weight in water, so the wetness that defines the bog may not always be evident. One cloudy afternoon, I learned this the hard way. When I stepped off the end of the boardwalk onto ground that I mistook for a continuation of the trail, I sank to my ankles.

I turned back and sat crossed-legged on the planks. Songs of summering birds wafted across the spongy terrain, including a dark-eyed junco, black-throated blue warblers, a blue-headed vireo, and a host of hermit thrushes—all species with a northern affinity. In the dense vegetation, the only bird I saw was a northern waterthrush.

The sky grew darker, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Hunkered in this gothic greenery, I fell into a boggy mood. Past and present, living and dead, real and unreal seem to mingle in the bog. It was easy to envision a civilization of bog dwellers roaming below me through torchlit halls of mud. If I waited long enough, maybe I would glimpse their nightly foray into the upperworld.

The bog would have none of it. The thunder was getting louder, and raindrops had coated the boardwalk. I left this spirit world to its rightful owners.

There are other attractions in 3,350-acre Mohawk State Forest. You can drive to the summit of 1,683-foot Mohawk Mountain for a panoramic view of the Catskills and the southern Berkshires. From the bridge on Eli Bunker Road, you might see a beaver paddling along the east branch of the Shepaug River, which is bordered by a shrub swamp. Or, you can hike a section of the 24-mile Mohawk Trail.

The main entrance to the forest is on Route 4 in Cornwall. The bog trail, marked by a sign, begins east of the intersection of Toumey and Mohawk Mountain roads.

If you plan a trip to the forest, you might want to save the bog for last. On my visits, its cool, wet heart seemed to beat louder toward the end of the day. Just leave enough time to get properly bogged down.

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A message from Robert Winkler

Jeff Brush/Connecticut Post (used with permission)

If you enjoyed this essay, I know you'll enjoy my critically acclaimed book, Going Wild: Adventures with Birds in the Suburban Wilderness (National Geographic), which expands on many of the short pieces I've posted here. Why do I write about birds? Because they represent the wild in all its glory. They're numerous, diverse, intelligent, talkative, and beautiful; their power of flight never ceases to amaze; and they're the most conspicuous class of wild animal—even in the suburb, they're just about everywhere. Whether you're a beginning or advanced birder, a fan of nature writing, a curious suburbanite, or a reader in search of that rare bird known as a good book, Going Wild could very well change how you view your world. So get your copy now, or buy one for your favorite birder or nature lover. Best deal on the Web: brand new, perfect copies $5 each (69% off) at National Geographic Books.

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