Lake Whitney Day 2

 







Breakfast!  (for dogs)

 

Finding out how our tin can operates in the rain!  The weather forecasters said it was going to rain in the wee hours, say around 4am, and of course they were wrong. It came a brisk shower at 8:00.  Luckily we'd already gotten outside and walked the dogs. Zack ate breakfast; Izzy just avoided hers; and we were sitting out watching the clouds over the lake...








when it came a sprinkle. Dogs went inside and sprinkle stopped, but after a few minutes it came down in buckets. Happy that the dogs were safely in Mommoth's massive belly, we sprinted for the door.


By the time we'd cooked and eaten breakfast, the storm was
gone!










Our world was washed clean and already starting to dry up. Out over the lake you could see it leaving...

And soon it was gone without a trace. Sadly, the wind whipped up again so we went back to my sheltered inlet to fish.


But not before I spent an chunk of time the battle of the wrens in the scrubby trees around the campsite. It appeared to be a Bewick's wren and Carolina wren having a squabble over territory. I never saw them both clearly, but I clearly saw them both. 


And also, an invisible bird visited intermittently and favored us with a beautiful, distinctive song. I never saw the bird, but the song was gripping. On the next day I finally had the good sense to record it on my phone.  It almost completely replicates the song of the Cassin's Sparrow, which is likely to be foudn in that area, so I'd call the bird "identified" on voice alone except for one thing. All fo the songs on record are followed by two low notes. Even the book descriptions mention them. But my stupid phone recording didn't catch them! 

It was noisy that day--windy, other birds around, and I was never very close to the bird that I couldn't ever see. So I don't know if my phone simply failed tocatch the final notes or if they just weren't there.  If such a thing ever happens again, I'm going to write down my human guess at the notes, rhythm and tone of the song to supplement the recording.

Nothing much happened the rest of the day. And that was kind of good. Actually, kind of great.  Sitting around the edge of the lake with a fishing rod propped up with rocks and a bell on the end. I kept my binocs handy but seldom got to use them. There were birds, of course, but they kepts up in the scrubby brush behind me. So I just sat.

A couple of times I thought of all I could have been doing--making notes on the computer, reading one of the four books I brought along, trimming dog fur or claws, cooking and eating lunch....

And I sat. When you stare across a lake, sometimes it becomes all you do. And when the sun starts to drop down, the ripples start to sparkle. Like frost on grass but you don't have to move to see the ever-changing picture--just stay very, very still.



A few years ago, when we shopped for entertainment centers, we noticed that the new trend was to place fake crystal fireplaces in various colors directly under the TV. The "flames" glowed like coals. It was pretty, I guess, but so very, very stupid. After the novelty of first purchase had worn off, who would ever look at the vapid fake blazes, when there was a loud, colorful, ever-changing picture just above?

But if they replaced the fake fireplace with a video of water on a rippling lake, who'd turn on the TV?

I don't think my dogs especially cared for the view. Or the rocks.














Or fishing in general. After poking around and getting wet, they found a slightly-less-uncomfortable spot at water's edge and tried to sleep.

Ed eventually caught a bass, bigger than mine!  It went back in the water, too. No catfish ever sniffed at our fake doughball bait or even the chunk of hot dog I tried. I think the sharp current kept moving our bait into inacessible holes in the rocky bottom, where no fish could find it.  I wish I'd tried a float.

That night we built a little fire and sat out lake, alternately watching the coals and the seagull feeding frenzy at the middle of the lake.  All day long I'd seen the same two gulls patrolling the lake--they'd float in the air against the wind but somehow manipulating the angle so that they never needed to flap. Away they'd go, vanishing in the south somewhere. And fifteen minutes later they'd be back, heading south again.

But that night there were dozens of them, all hitting the water in the same area and shrieking about it. It was too far for binoculars to make the details, but I couldn't help but smile at the excitement. A school of shad close to the surface?  Shrimp hatching? Springtime?