14 Jun
(Sat) Rained most of the night;
gentle but steady. Still raining in the morning and on into the gray day. A
“new bird” for Piute Meadows: when I went out to pee, a great blue heron was
beside the pond just below the cabin. It flew off with ponderous wing-strides
but later was back, over on the riverbank opposite my bathing hole; it saw me
on the porch and became very wary. Got the binoculars and watched for awhile.
The big bird went into stalk mode, all furtive & intent, and then speared a
tree frog. I saw this through 8X magnification and got to see that tiny
amphibian, snatched from its peaceful world, struggling at the tip of a
daggerlike bill before being abruptly and irrevocably swallowed, ulp! I beheld the sum total of one
unique life—felt its desire to live…its
ending up as a measly bite for the giant predator. ◦◦◦◦◦ So many times I’ve
witnessed similar, utterly common scenes and they’re always a bit shocking
since they reveal so clearly the cyclic nature of life and death. All of us—all
living things!—are continually made, then eaten and recycled. ◦◦◦◦◦ Waited for
rain to stop. I’d be in the cabin “futzing around” (Doc-ism) and be ready to
leave, then hear renewed pounding on the roof, look out window to see the pond
all roiled. Then it’d stop. I’d go outside to check…many cycles of this. ◦◦◦◦◦
Finally decided to just go. A half-mile below the cabin, two large lodgepoles had fallen across the trail. I’d already
loaded my pack with 3’ saw, wedges, doublebit axe, 2# singlejack, WD-40,
gloves…. ”The kit.” It was raining lightly as I meandered across the meadow,
avoiding bog-holes but feet wet instantly. Tattered clouds sifting through pines
on the mountainsides, very lovely. I stood in the middle of the meadow looking
and then heard a peculiar rustling overhead. It was a smallish flock of white pelicans, heading north—a mere hundred
feet overhead—in two broad “V”s. They’d have been virtually invisible except
for those large, black wing-patches. Aside from the sound of their great wings
beating the air they were silent except for weird, low-pitched grunts that had
a questioning quality. To a bird, the flock looked at me with curiosity. ◦◦◦◦◦
This was a truly moving sight because of their proximity, the wet weather; the
fact that I’ve never seen pelicans in the mountains (two new species in one
hour!) and because the 70 or 80 giants were plainly lost. Where they came from
and were headed, how they ended up in this
maze of glacial valleys and alpine ridges, I’ll never know. ◦◦◦◦◦ The
travelers were heading down-river. I was not at all ready for this show to be over and my silent prayer was
answered when a lone pelican left the group, wheeled, and started back
up-canyon. This one individual bent the group will and they all turned to
follow, so I got to see them pass right overhead again. In the ponderous
fashion of pelicans, they wheeled, circled; gradually climbed to regroup above
the head of the meadow in a glittering cloud (the “glittering” a result of
black wing-patches dis- and re-appearing as they turned…). I watched through my
binoculars and figured they were gonna settle down on the meadow but they
seemed indecisive; I could sense the group-mind thinking, We’re tired! Hungry! Looks like a good place to rest but there’s still
hours of daylight. Where are we? But finally the flock was pulled down to
Earth and I watched their protracted descent. At the last they all spiraled
down in great circles and I could plainly see this captivating organism—sparkling
white-black-white and diffuse—coiling down out of the sky like some giant
vortex until the last member had settled out of sight. This ten minute drama was
one of the most magnificent shows I’ve seen put on by bird-kind (which is
saying something). Impossible to capture the mood and flavor and poignancy of
it in words. ◦◦◦◦◦ Walked down to my job. Took the bigger tree out with two
cuts but left the section in place ‘til I come back with the peavey—too big and
slimy to try moving. Still raining when I headed home. ◦◦◦◦◦ Wanted to check on the pelicans so only stopped by cabin
for a bite before walking up to “the quarry.” There they were: by the river, up
on the bank; the whole flock condensed into a brilliant white patch in the
green green grass. They were shoulder-to-shoulder, bills tucked in, already asleep.
Fifteen feet to the side, one loner crouched by itself. (Leader or loner or
pelican outcast?) I’d thought they might be trying to feed but, no; likely
exhausted. I watched for awhile but not one stirred. ◦◦◦◦◦ So, an odd day of
rain & cold in June, with crazy bird visitations. And, speaking further of
birds, flickers are nesting in the old ten-foot high snag below the cabin and
the adults plainly don’t like my intrusion.
15 Jun
(Sun) Cold but bright & sunny.
Wanted to keep an eye on the pilgrims. (Turns out I could see the white patch
between trees from the yard.) Went out a few times and their heads were still
down. After the sun was on them I saw heads up and bobbing but still they were
in a clump. ◦◦◦◦◦ Finally, when I checked they were gone—hadn’t been 20 minutes
since the last look but they’d vanished.
Sad was I; had so wanted to watch
their departure from atop the quarry. As it was, I felt compelled to visit
their bivouac just to learn what a bit of meadow looks like after being slept
on by a flock of very heavy birds. ◦◦◦◦◦ Found it after a bit of ambling and resultant
sodden feet. Grasses and forbs not noticeably trampled; no footprints in mud. (They’d
barely moved once settled in.) Sure enough, there were plenty of white
splotches—appropriately large—and scattered feathers. I gathered a handful. Why?
Dunno…just felt like I needed some memento. Mmmm….
©2014 Tim
Forsell 8
Jun 2014
No comments:
Post a Comment