12 Oct
(Sat) Craig Randall’s wedding in
Minden today at the Carson Valley Inn. Told Craig [one of Bart Cranney’s
long-time packers and my friend] that I’d be there. ◦◦◦◦◦ On the drive north
from town I saw only two Swainson’s
hawks along Highway 395. Fifteen years ago on an October morning you could’ve
seen 30 or more sitting atop fence posts and telephone poles between town and
the Old Ranger Station (5 miles). They spend a month and more hereabouts fattening
up on mice and voles before pressing on to their breeding range down on the
pampas of Argentina. But the poor Swainson’s, alas, have been decimated by
habitat loss and pesticide poisoning. (Down there, they eat grass-hoppers.) A
really dramatic and sad decline. ◦◦◦◦◦ After I rode out yesterday my truck barely
started. Checked the maintenance log and found that my battery is 4½ years old so…time for a new one. (Which, happily, I was
able to buy in Gardnerville and not
Bridgeport. Nor did I have to find myself stranded out on some obscure dirt
road with a dead battery.) ◦◦◦◦◦ My very first “church wedding”…in a generic
chapel inside a Nevada casino. The
preacher was a large, roundish, balding guy who actually was most impressive-looking
in his black robes and red sash. It was an utterly normal, traditional ceremony
but quite sweet. We all prayed twice and clapped at the end. Congratulated the happy
bride, shook Craig’s hand and cut out not long thereafter. Didn’t even stay for
wedding cake (which, I later heard, they both
shmeared all over each other’s faces in turn…Gads!) ◦◦◦◦◦ On the drive
back, had an amazing encounter. Cruising along the steep hillsides above Topaz
Reservoir I spotted the usual small flock of white pelicans gathered on
mudflats at the south end. Then, passed a car parked in one of the turnouts with a woman standing beside it, gazing
skyward. I guessed she was watching a circling flight of pelicans so I looked
up through my windshield in that general direction just as a bald eagle flew over. ◦◦◦◦◦ Here’s the crazy part: I
slowed down to about 45, staring at the eagle when I could, and the big bird
stayed in the exact same place overhead (from my point of view, in a fixed spot
through the windshield) as I drove through those winding curves. It was trailing me! I could actually see its head cocked, looking straight
down on me. I glanced at my speedometer: 42 MPH. (An SUV was right on my tail,
its driver ticked-off that I was driving so slowly.) This went on for at least a
mile before the bird soared off over the lake to join its mate. It had been
maybe 200 feet overhead but we were looking each other right in the eye. A truly
magical meeting!
©2015 Tim Forsell 29
May 2015
