Mammoth's Four Day Adventure, Part 3

                                                                         The Wind went on from west to east
                                                                         All movement in the forest ceased.
                                                                         But shrill and harsh, across the marsh,
                                                                         It's whistling voices were released.
                                                                                                          --J. R. R. Tolkien
Saturday morning--
Gorgeous. Not so gooseful, but sunny, warm and windless. Just the sort of morning that calls for a little walk--

Over to the bird blind. This was a peculiar little building they'd created next to a clearing in the middle of thick bushes. In the clearing
 they had water and various bird feeders, attracting English Sparrows, Bewick's wrens, possibly Carolina wrens, and a whole bunch of noisy little seed-eating birds I couldn't possibly identify.  So I didn't try--but it was fun to watch them quarrel. And hop around. Or stride around like long-legged soldiers.

I had assumed a bird blind next to a lake was going to be overlooking the water--silly me. There was a great egret out there, but we didn't see him during our walk.



But I did have a bird-watching moment--outside the bird blind, on a low branch in a scrubby oak tree, sat a mockingbird-sized, gray and white bird with a heavy black mask. He sat still as no mockingbird of my experience ever could. So at last, I have my Loggerhead Shrike. (again, not my picture. Wish I'd taken one)

Funny thing about me--as much as I love bird-watching, I don't feel like a card-carrying bird watcher. I might go to a place hoping to see a bird, but I don't go to a place to see a bird. (So far)  There's a whole lot more to the outdoors than marking off specimens on a list--imagine it! What if I went to the Grand Canyon in May and all I had to bring back was a bird book with the Hermit Thrush checked off, based on a quick sighting out the car window?

I'd be devastated! Because the Hermit Thrush has the most beautiful birdsong in the world and they do sing in the Grand Canyon in May...and I've not had a chance to stop and stand and hear it and hear it over again until it echoed in my ear.

And there's watching them fight and forage and feed--that can be a blast. They're funny, often silly, sometimes majestic and other times clever. But seeing all that takes time to stop and stare. And sometimes...sometimes just hiking in the woods making up french phrases to describe the wood thrush calls, when suddenly you're overtaken by a little spotted warbler going tea-cher, tea-cher, tea-cher, tea-CHER!

Our walk back was easier than the one out and then it was time for fishing! With a little interval of lunch and dog walking mixed in. My little dog Zack couldn't seem to get the idea that you don't want to get too close to these things:







But so far as I know, he didn't pick up any pricks. He acquired a sad collection of sand burrs instead.

Fishing was pleasant--hadn't gone in over a year--although I don't know for sure that either of us got any bites. I used a minnow-shaped lure for a while and it came back with its tail missing, but that could have been abrasion on the lake bottom. It was very shallow in our stream inlet to the lake, so shallow that coots were foraging all around the edges. They fed so avidly that I assumed they were going for fish or small invertebrates, but the book says they were just dabbling up delicious plant roots. Plenty of mallards, too, and one time I caught a glimpse of something I didn't recognize but he didn't hang around long enough to be admired.







What did hang around, off and on all day, was an osprey. Magnificent!

A little troupe of yellow-rumped warblers visited, and up on the hill we were inundated by cedar waxwings for a bit. Pretty much all of the other birds I chased around were able to elude me in the woods. Or the weeds at the edge of the stream. One really bugs me--at one point while walking Zack I saw a sparrow-sized bird dart into the weeds at the water's edge never to emerge. could that have been the elusive Lakeside Weed-Whacking Bird?



Finally, on our third night, we got a campfire! Not a large one, just an "Indian fire" (white man builds big fire; sits far away. Indian builds small fire; sits close) Still, a little too cold to have the little dog Zack sitting outside in his cage. When left alone in the RV, he yaps. Irritatingly. Continually. Eventually I realized I could wrap him in a big towel and bring him outside to sit in my lap. Very cozy--he made an excellent lap warmer. His head made it a little challenging to shell and eat my peanuts, but I managed.