Here’s what was on my mind this past week while (mostly) immersed in nature.
Monday:
Note: Pair of hooded warblers just flew past me and landed in a nearby tree. Several ovenbirds dart across the trail.
Note: Possibly cattails past lake maybe 1/10 mile along blazed trail.
Note: Eastern Wood Pee Wee throws its head back when it sings. Lots of binocular time to study this bird.
Tuesday:
I’m attempting to use bird ID toys to learn what I’m listening to. It’s more than just “Who makes that sound?” Some birds are defining territory, some call to locate another bird. I’m at the lake, where I’ve journaled on and off since I first hiked here last August. Right now a light southwest breeze pushes cumulus clouds across an otherwise blue sky; it’s an authentic fair weather day. The last four days have been cold and windy. Yesterday it felt like only mid-60’s F. Today it’s a bit warmer, and a little less windy.
Every bird that nests here is calling and I still cannot sort them out. Catbird is meowing at the moment. I think the blended descending spiral sound that sang me to sleep last night and greeted me this morning is the veery. I think I may also be hearing the hermit thrush. I’ve seen towhee, robin, oriole and dozens of others. The wind shifts to northwest and clouds fill the sky. Two male mallards fly off away from the lake. Moments later one male returns.
The wind abates and the sun glistens on the choppy lake surface. Turkey vultures ride the air currents; a gust sends surface lake water into spiral patterns of diffracted sunlight. Bird chorus continues. I just saw a pair of redstarts.
Nature’s lessons don’t come like coursework; sometimes learning happens by surprise. Until the day both a downy woodpecker and a hairy woodpecker landed on the same tree, I could not tell the birds apart. Now I have a reference point; the hairy woodpecker is larger. Despite my years of trying, I didn’t “get it” until the “aha” moment arrived.
I’ve been fooling around with bird identification for years. When it comes to songs and calls, there’s no substitute for repetition. I’ve discovered that my selective hearing is slowly improving. A mockingbird can still fool me, but I can identify blue jay and catbird mimics. I’m getting better at identifying the year-round birds, but the migrants, especially the warblers, are still a challenge.
I cannot think of a better way to spend a perfect spring day than sharpening my bird identification skills while the woods are at maximum capacity. This is a rare feel good day. The air is filled with the scent of tiny pinkster blossoms. I get to watch night give way to day and day give way to night.
Birds sing well after sunset. The veery’s song at dusk is like a prayer.
Wednesday:
An hour or so after sunrise I spot a black figure moving past the lake. About the size of a Saint Bernard, I realize it’s a small black bear. I watch through binoculars and it walks on all fours, nose to the ground, along the trail up the mountain.
I woke to the songs of the veery and wood thrush, two of the most beautiful sounds in nature. I don’t hear these birds in the border areas, only in what deep woods we have left. The wind has died down; the sun is almost blinding.
There’s something really magical about watching a mallard fly in over the lake and land with precision and ease, like sitting in a chair, but a lot more graceful. Everything I’m looking at is natural - no sign of human structures or creation anywhere, except what I have brought with me. I used to make camp fires. This has been a dry year, so I’m sticking with the camp stove. I am enjoying having the bird ID tapes handy. I was able to watch the hermit thrush sing and confirm my identification.
Waking up here, as opposed to driving to the trail head and hiking in makes a difference. I’m no longer antsy, just enjoying the slow pace of nature unfolding. I’m glad I chose to be here. Nature would unfold whether I was here to witness it or not. No corporation or entrepreneur created this. I am grateful.
A baby catbird just took a short flight from one lakeside shrub to another. It’s molting; part adult feathers, part baby down. It repeats its meow calls, makes another short flight and lands in the next shrub, calling again. Every bird in and out of the area lands on this shrub.
A protruding form is either a branch or a frog. It doesn’t move, despite the halo of insects hovering; it’s a branch. The hermit thrush pecks something from the lakeside shrub, then pauses and sings. It likes to be near the white pines. I pause to sip solar tea and a nibble a Larabar.
One mud-covered painted turtle suns itself on a near log. A second turtle positions itself on a log with some floating foliage. It’s too cool for them to stay out very long.
Phoebe or other fly catcher? Grey head, black and white tail feather tips, two wing bars, white throat, dark eye - streak? Note: Check this. Possibly juvenile.
Dark shapes move just below the surface of the shallow water. Three slender fish with very long tails and tapered noses. They look dark brown, almost black.
A red winged black bird flies to the lakeside bush I think of as an avian highway stop. Heron just flew in over the lake toward the marsh and circled back, chattering.
A turtle climbs on to a distant log. It swats at the air with each foreleg and snaps at something I cannot see before sliding back into the water.
Thursday:
I wake to the bird chorus and lie motionless listening to the incredible variety of songs. Will I ever sort them out? I got veery and pine warbler. I’m still sorting out yellowthroat from ovenbird. I can feel the humidity building, so I will reluctantly pack my gear before this afternoon’s thunderstorm. I’ll spend a few hours working on bird ID before heading back.
At the lake I notice bubbles and a rippling in the otherwise calm lake. I see something swimming along the edge of the water. I think it’s the otter, but it slips under the water before I can get a really good look. I’m grateful for the overcast skies, I’m not getting sunburned.
I’m really thrilled to see so much wildlife here, but I’m also worried. Is it because these animals are losing habitat and they would normally not be so easy to see? I don’t know. My heart breaks when I hear about the loss of species in Madagascar, the relentless bear killing in New Jersey, the never-ending lust to drill for oil in the Arctic Wildlife Refuge.
The solution? I don’t know. I know I have the privilege of spending time in nature and as long as I respect that and spend time in the natural world, I’m not wasting an opportunity. I’m still not pleased with my newly-developed dependence on the Internet, but I’m not likely to turn the clock back 500 years for myself or anyone else.