Cardinals, kingfishers, hawks, Oh my!
Sep. 11th, 2003 09:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
catsittingstillI dreamt that I drove Kip's car into a ditch because I couldn't find the brake pedal in time, and woke with a start in the dim blue light of 7:00am. Seizing the opportunity I threw on some warm clothes and pushed myself out the door, Mountain Dew in one hand, bird book and binocs in the other, to watch for birds. I saw a cardinal foraging in the side yard (I can't get over all these red birds). It's an active bird, and I had a hard time training the binoculars on it, but I finally managed.
The laundry bag worked very well for keeping stuff together, and made getting ready to go much faster. The water is a couple of feet lower than it was last week; the rangers tell me it will be drawn down a great deal during fall and be very low all winter.
I practiced the Omer stroke again, gliding in and out of little bays and coves. In the inlet of Panther Creek I saw a bird flying back and forth, low over the water. It was too far away to make out its markings, but thanks to the Birding By Ear CD, I identified it by its repeated rattling call--a kingfisher. I was very pleased; I think this is the first time I've identified a bird by ear. Further up the inlet I startled a great blue heron off its perch, then near the drowned stream mouth came across a real-life animal-kingdom drama. I was working my way among some trees when I heard screeching and flapping. I glanced right and saw a hawk chasing another bird that was kicking up an enormous fuss. The victim came straight at the canoe--maybe 14 inch bird, (orange?) legs set well back on the body, dark grey-blue wings and an iridescent deep blue crest raised in agitation. It threw me a panicked glance and veered off as I stared, darting around me to land on the water and swim a few strokes (at least, that's what it looked like). It then flew into the bottom branches of one of the flooded trees and the hawk took up residence in the upper branches. I was so fascinated that I forgot what I was doing and drifted sideways slap into a tree. Fortunately there's no current on the lake, so it was just an embarrassment. Once I got myself sorted out I sidled toward the tree; the hawk flew away and the bird retreated deeper into the branches, watching me warily. When it is not upset its crest doesn't show.
I have no idea what it was. I've looked in the bird book and can't find anything quite like my memory of it. I'm inclined to keep the bird book in the canoe from now on--it's only 20 dollars or so, and I might have been able to identify the bird if I'd had the reference handy instead of having to wait till I came back to the car. I'm waffling about bringing the camera; it would be hard to replace if it fell in.
Later on I also saw more kingfishers, chasing each other back and forth across the water. I also startled a deer who walked hastily into the trees. She was precisely the same color as the mix of tree trunks and forest floor she passed among, her legs looking like saplings in the dapples of sun. After a few dozen yards she looked back at me, spreading curious ears wide.
I paddled the other way from the launch this time, north and east around the spit of land that forms most of the park. The shore of the lake becomes cliffy here, and then true cliffs--water etched sedimentary rock, buff sandstone layered with darker siltstone that falls away in flakes. In some places there are small beaches of the flakes. The layers aren't straight; they rise and fall, in one place curling so sharply they look like rings of a giant tree. The joins between the layers are eaten out where the lake has lapped against them, and trees have taken root there, some as thick as my thigh. Their roots spread out, doing the spits and digging for purchase like the limbs of an acrobat or a rock climber. The lake talks to itself here when the wind is from the north, muttering like an artisan with a technically challenging project that is not turning out as planned.
Coming back I filled the garbage bag I'd gotten from the ranger station. The flaky beaches are fine to walk on, though I slid down two or three inches with every step at the water's edge because the ground is so steep. The mud banks are deceptive--they look like muddy sand, more or less stable, but when I actually stepped over the side I sank to my shins. Away from the water's edge it firms up a bit.
I did another load of apples today--but ran out of lemon juice to soak them in and quit after five trays. I have this theory that soaking in lemon juice might help keep the slices from turning brown, since I don't want to sulfur or sulfite, and steam blanching (which I tried yesterday) is a lot of trouble. We'll see.
The laundry bag worked very well for keeping stuff together, and made getting ready to go much faster. The water is a couple of feet lower than it was last week; the rangers tell me it will be drawn down a great deal during fall and be very low all winter.
I practiced the Omer stroke again, gliding in and out of little bays and coves. In the inlet of Panther Creek I saw a bird flying back and forth, low over the water. It was too far away to make out its markings, but thanks to the Birding By Ear CD, I identified it by its repeated rattling call--a kingfisher. I was very pleased; I think this is the first time I've identified a bird by ear. Further up the inlet I startled a great blue heron off its perch, then near the drowned stream mouth came across a real-life animal-kingdom drama. I was working my way among some trees when I heard screeching and flapping. I glanced right and saw a hawk chasing another bird that was kicking up an enormous fuss. The victim came straight at the canoe--maybe 14 inch bird, (orange?) legs set well back on the body, dark grey-blue wings and an iridescent deep blue crest raised in agitation. It threw me a panicked glance and veered off as I stared, darting around me to land on the water and swim a few strokes (at least, that's what it looked like). It then flew into the bottom branches of one of the flooded trees and the hawk took up residence in the upper branches. I was so fascinated that I forgot what I was doing and drifted sideways slap into a tree. Fortunately there's no current on the lake, so it was just an embarrassment. Once I got myself sorted out I sidled toward the tree; the hawk flew away and the bird retreated deeper into the branches, watching me warily. When it is not upset its crest doesn't show.
I have no idea what it was. I've looked in the bird book and can't find anything quite like my memory of it. I'm inclined to keep the bird book in the canoe from now on--it's only 20 dollars or so, and I might have been able to identify the bird if I'd had the reference handy instead of having to wait till I came back to the car. I'm waffling about bringing the camera; it would be hard to replace if it fell in.
Later on I also saw more kingfishers, chasing each other back and forth across the water. I also startled a deer who walked hastily into the trees. She was precisely the same color as the mix of tree trunks and forest floor she passed among, her legs looking like saplings in the dapples of sun. After a few dozen yards she looked back at me, spreading curious ears wide.
I paddled the other way from the launch this time, north and east around the spit of land that forms most of the park. The shore of the lake becomes cliffy here, and then true cliffs--water etched sedimentary rock, buff sandstone layered with darker siltstone that falls away in flakes. In some places there are small beaches of the flakes. The layers aren't straight; they rise and fall, in one place curling so sharply they look like rings of a giant tree. The joins between the layers are eaten out where the lake has lapped against them, and trees have taken root there, some as thick as my thigh. Their roots spread out, doing the spits and digging for purchase like the limbs of an acrobat or a rock climber. The lake talks to itself here when the wind is from the north, muttering like an artisan with a technically challenging project that is not turning out as planned.
Coming back I filled the garbage bag I'd gotten from the ranger station. The flaky beaches are fine to walk on, though I slid down two or three inches with every step at the water's edge because the ground is so steep. The mud banks are deceptive--they look like muddy sand, more or less stable, but when I actually stepped over the side I sank to my shins. Away from the water's edge it firms up a bit.
I did another load of apples today--but ran out of lemon juice to soak them in and quit after five trays. I have this theory that soaking in lemon juice might help keep the slices from turning brown, since I don't want to sulfur or sulfite, and steam blanching (which I tried yesterday) is a lot of trouble. We'll see.
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no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 04:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-13 01:35 pm (UTC)Yes, I think this area is very beautiful.