A Little Big Day

Day 213: Well, I didn't break my record of 25 species, although if everyone in my crowd of "usuals" had shown up, I could have done. As it was, the three species of sparrow who were here on Friday failed to drop by, as did the Sapsucker and the Northern Flicker, both of whom are here almost every day. My grand total for 2023 was 21. Even odder was the fact that there were no Red-winged Blackbirds to chase away. Any other day, I'd have been shooing them off every fifteen minutes. There were no major surprises in my backyard Big Day unless you cound a few Barn Swallows who were the first I've seen this year. Temps near 90 kept bird activity to a minimum. In fact, there were long periods throughout the day when there were no birds anywhere in sight, and that in itself is worthy of remark. Still, I suppose many people would envy someone who can chalk up 21 species from the comfort of their chair at the window. It took me thirty years to reach this point.

Osprey, Pandion Haliaetus

Day 212: It is only appropriate that the subject matter of today's post should be a bird, but because it is Global Big Day and I'm in the midst of my own "backyard bird count," the Lake St. Clair Osprey will have to suffice. Lake St. Clair contains half a dozen or so small islands, the largest of which is probably close to an acre. Regardless of their size, most have a house or cabin on them. Having humans around has not deterred a family of Ospreys from nesting on one of them, for their nest is built at least 100' above lake level. It is a magnificent edifice of sticks, probably big enough for me to curl up in, stuck in the very tip-top of a Doug-fir. It's been there for as long as I've been visiting the lake, and sometimes I've been lucky enough to spot the chicks' heads when mom comes back from hunting with a gorge full of trout. I was not so fortunate this week, but I could hear the mewing of the younglings as the parent made repeated trips to feed them, and when she'd emptied her gullet, she would return to her perch in this ancient pine to survey the water. If a fish strayed too close to the surface, she would stoop on it with a great splash, sometimes missing her prey but for the most part, being successful with the grab. Soon, there will be more Ospreys in flight over Lake St. Clair.

Pond Slider

Day 211: Pond Sliders (Trachemys scripta) are an invasive species. Once sold in pet stores, many of them have been released into the wild by owners who became bored with turtle-keeping, and now they are proliferating in many lakes here in the Pacific Northwest. It's been several years since I spotted and identified my first one at Lake St. Clair, and I've watched the population grow. For that matter, I've watched the turtles themselves grow from palm-sized youngesters to foot-long behemoths like this long-clawed male. He was sunning himself on a floating log where I had seen three earlier in the day as I passed by two women kayaking together. They engaged me in conversation, and I mentioned the invasive nature of these turtles, and was shocked to hear one of the women respond, "I'm glad I rescued one I found a few weeks ago." This is the attitude of too many people when it comes to invasives. Plants are "pretty," turtles are "adorable." No thought is given to the damage they are doing to native populations and habitats, and regrettably, education appears to have no effect on the individuals who won't look beyond the visual appeal of cute varmints and showy weeds. Our short-sightedness will be our undoing for, as any turtle will attest, slow and steady wins the race.

Sundews Waking

Day 210: As I approached their log in my kayak, I was beginning to worry about my "kids." I could only see a few blushes of red in the moss and grass, and small ones at that. I wasn't thinking about the persistent cold weather which had carried winter into April until I got close enough to see that the Sundews' little sticky, insect-trapping paddles were still quite small, and in fact some of them were still tightly closed, looking rather like bean sprouts trapped in the moss. Then it occurred to me that they were only now emerging from their long winter's nap, having spent the cold season curled in on themselves to form a structure called a hibernaculum (plural, hibernacula). This is how they survive, husbanding their own warmth, minimizing exposure of delicate tissues to freezing temperatures. At this point, they're barely out of bed and haven't had their first cup of coffee. I have no doubt that the next time I visit, they'll be fully awake and possibly even flowering.

A Perfect Paddle

Day 209: It was an absolutely perfect day for a paddle on Yelm's Lake St. Clair, the first time I've been in the 'yak in two years. I spent about three hours on the water, covered a little over four miles, ate a cookie lunch in Pirate's Cove, saw five turtles, an Osprey and a Bald Eagle, and visited some old friends who will make an appearance in a subsequent post. A light breeze kept glare at a minimum, disturbing the surface of the water only slightly. Not too hot, not too cold...I think Goldilocks would have approved this day. But four miles was my limit, and I'm glad I didn't push for more even though I hated to leave. I'll be back. Those "old friends" I mentioned were only just waking up from hibernation.

Global Big Day

Day 208: You don't have to be as crazy about birding as the characters in the movie "Big Year," but being a little bit cracked on the subject helps. Basically, this project helps document bird species worldwide through the eBird website. For full details, go to https://ebird.org/news/global-big-day-2023. I do not submit my species records to them because you must give a location, and of course mine are all from my yard. If I should happen to spot an anhinga, I don't want Bostick showing up in my garden!

Checking my records, last year I tallied up 25, the last visitor of the day being a single Goldfinch, a species I had expected to see throughout the day. Over the next 10-14 days, several other notable blanks were filled in, but of course they didn't add to my count because they showed up late for the party. I made a master list last night, showing 52 possibilities, all of which I have seen from my living room window at some point in the last 30 years. Admittedly, the Snow Geese were in the pasture across the road, but since I didn't need to leave my property to observe them, they count as a "yard sighting." Temperatures in the upper 80s may swing the tally either way. Can I beat last year's count? Given the current number, I think I'll be lucky to hit 20.

Back In The Saddle

Day 207: Last year at this time, I was suffering. There was no question about going out in the kayak. I couldn't even lift a cup of coffee out of the microwave. Given that I'd already had a major rebuild of my right shoulder, I wasn't keen on repeating the experience, and in any event, I just don't go to the doctor if I can possibly avoid doing so. During this same time frame, my botany partner had a knee replaced. He was very pleased with the relief he got using a recirculating cold-water pack and suggested that I might try putting ice on my shoulder. I purchased a specially-shaped ice pack for the purpose and for several months, was icing the shoulder six or seven times each day. It seemed to be improving, and gradually, I tapered off the treatment. In hindsight, I realize that I had apparently dislocated it when I raised up under a kitchen counter. The ice reduced the swelling, and in confirmation of my suspicion, one afternoon, there was a loud POP as it snapped back into place, and any lingering pain simply disappeared. At that point, kayak season was behind me without a single outing, not even to visit the sundews, and I swore 2023 was not going to be a repeat. The 'yak rack is on the car, and if the weather cooperates later this week, I'm going for a paddle!