Montville sanctuary isn’t just for the birds
Red-tailed hawks, red-eyed vireos, scarlet tanagers, white-throated sparrows, indigo buntings, blue-winged warblers, bluejays, great-crested flycatchers, phoebes, flickers, crows, ravens, owls, Carolina wrens, downy woodpeckers, red-bellied woodpeckers, pileated woodpeckers, hairy woodpeckers — it’s not surprising that so many different avian species flock to a nature preserve owned by the Connecticut Audubon Society.
But the Morgan R. Chaney Sanctuary in Montville isn’t just for the birds — it’s also a haven for hikers, as our small group learned one overcast morning last week.
The property features lush woodlands, an expansive swamp, as well as mossy ravines, overhanging ledges and miles of wide, well- groomed trails that traverse a 441-foothigh ridge.
In addition, the sanctuary contains a 10-acre “rabbitat” designed to attract New England cottontails, and traces its origins, of all things, to cattle.
In 1986, Chaney, a former New London resident who owned a 60,000- acre cattle ranch in Texas, bequeathed his 233- acre Montville property to Connecticut Audubon — the state chapter’s largest land donation. Chaney stipulated that the sanctuary must remain undeveloped “for the benefit of those who study, observe and enjoy birds, plants, and animals.”
Then, last month, Walter N. Wainwright Jr. of Waterford donated an additional 33 contiguous acres to serve as a buffer between a housing subdivision he is building not far from the sanctuary’s Great Swamp.
Maintaining social distancing mandated by the pandemic, our crew hiked about five miles around the property’s perimeter. We started and ended at a tiny parking lot on Turner Road just north of the Lake Konomoc reservoir, which is owned by the city of New London and extends into Waterford.
“This is the best time to be in the woods,” Maggie Jones, director emeritus of the Denison
Pequotsepos Nature Center in Mystic, said.
The morning fog accentuated the contrast between evergreen hemlocks, red cedars and white pines, and deciduous oaks, birches and maples.
It also reminded her of a line from the Keats poem, “To Autumn,” published exactly 200 years ago, which described a “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.”
By good timing, we visited the Chaney preserve near the peak of this season.
“Cool, frost-free nights and warm sun are the key ingredients for good fall color,” Maggie explained. Chlorophyll, which gives leaves their green color in spring and summer, diminishes in fall. This allows other pigments, particularly carotenoids and anthocyanins, to become more visible with shades of yellow, orange and red.
“Trees with acidic leaf sap (maples, dogwoods, sassafras) produce brilliant reds and oranges. Alkaline sap creates purple shades ( ash). With many ash destroyed by the emerald ash borer, the distinctive dark mauve hue of American ash is sadly missing in the colorful canopy,” she said.
The golden foliage of spicebush, a deciduous shrub that abounds in the sanctuary, made up for any color deficit. These native plants also produce bright red berries that many birds rely on for food in fall and winter.
Spreading even more color were scatterings of witch hazel, common, small, understory trees that produce delicate, yellow flowers late into autumn. Early Native Americans used the plant to treat rashes, sore muscles and other maladies, and in 1846, a missionary named Dr. Charles Hawes perfected a distillation process that led to the nation’s first commercial production and sale of witch hazel extract in Essex.
The Dickinson family took over the operation 20 years later, eventually moving to East Hampton, where Dickinson’s Witch Hazel, a worldwide brand, now is produced.
After passing the witch hazel trees, our group entered a broad clearing where trees were cut down to create habitat for the New England cottontail. Its reputation as a reclusive rabbit is well deserved — we saw neither hide nor hare.
Worth exploring, though, were a stone hunting cabin, root cellar and old foundations from a farmstead that existed in the 18th and 19th centuries.
Finally, we worked our way up a long, winding, unmarked trail leading to the crest of what we assumed was Ridge Hill. With no reliable printed or online map, we took a chance that the path eventually would return to our cars. If not, we would have to retrace our steps back through the “rabbitat,” adding several miles to the hike.
Finally, after a protracted, undulating descent, we saw a wooden sign with an arrow pointing to Turner Road. Our gamble paid off.
After reaching the parking lot, we agreed that sometimes it’s more rewarding to navigate by instinct — though Maggie said she often relies on distinctive birdcalls to remind her of the direction home.
I’m not exactly sure how that works, but either way, we made it back. No New England cottontails, and come to think of it, no other mammals except for a few squirrels, but plenty of birds, exquisite fall color and fresh air — all in all, a great day.