Dew condenses on a spiderweb attached to a sweet clover plant dried from summer.

By Nick Simonson

Wading into the grasses from the cut wheat field, I knew the chances of finding any grouse would be limited.  The sea of dew that coated the bluestem, forbs and wildflowers in the conservation planting of the public access parcel might as well have been lake water as the hydro-resistant material on the lower part of my field pants quickly gave up the battle.  Fifty yards in, I accepted the fact that my first foray for upland birds at the start of North Dakota’s season would be a soaking but held out hope that the laughing sharptails would be in the sparser, drier areas of the acreage – if I could locate such a space in the dampness just after dawn.

What I didn’t expect to find was a world that I had never experienced before, tall untouched stands of brittle clover, dried by the summer’s heat along with clusters of small plants bearing dried fruits and flowers, all playing host to an ecosystem of creatures held captive by the layer of condensation which had settled in during the still of the night. Rising over a ridge along the south end of the hunting area, the white morning sun pierced through the layer of fog rising from the river valley and battled it back, revealing silver circles spread throughout the grasses and vegetation.

Though notedly not a fan of spiders, I was awestruck at their overnight efforts as they spun their webs ahead of the moisture condensing on each silken strand.  High and low, the gossamer structures captured the tiny droplets of dew, which in turn snagged the white light of the sun, setting the drab beige alight like tinsel on a Christmas tree. In the center of each web, holding position, each spider waited for the warmth of mid-morning to come, dry them off, and start their day.  In browns, and creams, and whites, the various stalwart arachnids of sizes ranging from a pinhead to a thumbnail anchored their handiwork, in likely hopes that the coming day would bring more insect activity once the dew had evaporated.

It was evident that their wait would take a bit longer, as my pants absorbed the morning’s dampness, and my boots took on the trickle-down effect of the condensation, each step landing with a slosh and a squish.  While continuing the damp trek through the grasses, I caught the movement of something simply falling from the top of a plant to the ground.  Again it happened and I paused to see what my commotion had caused to dislodge from its perch on top of the plants.

Without even a flutter, I saw it was a dragonfly, as soaked as I was, laying still at the base of a clump of grass.  Looking around, I noted more and more of them on the surrounding plants, not frozen in time, but instead held captive by the beads of water that had developed on their crystalline wings overnight as they too awaited the coming of morning and the drying out of things which would allow them to take flight. I tried not to stray too close to them, knocking more into the grass, but with the sheer multitudes and their inability to take to the wing, they simply dropped off from their perches into the grass like overripe apples falling from a September tree, the act apparently their only option with the inundation of moisture on their bodies.

With a  new wave of fog rolling up over the hills to do battle with the rising sun, and ninety minutes worth of soaking under my belt to kick off the new upland season, I made the turn toward the truck and followed a cut field edge toward the sun to help myself dry out. In the distance I heard the laughter of a couple grouse behind me, and I smiled knowing they were somewhere out there and that drier times would bring me back to pursue them in the near future.  My lab rousted a young running rooster pheasant, safe in his pre-season dappled plumage, from along the edge of the field as we approached the truck, and my dog came to the running boards as wet as if he had left the lake with a stick in his mouth this summer.  While the only shot was the ear shot of the cackling grouse, it was an eye opening experience to see what the dew brings in early fall and how the smallest things in the world react to it in anticipation for the drying out that follows after…in our outdoors.