We had a beaver morning! He was cruising around the little bay. We never saw his paddle tail--distance--but he was clearly too big to be a muskrat and had a definite definition between head and body. Plus he had noticeable ears--doesn't that rule out nutria?
I managed 40 minutes of good jogging: through the entry drive to the road, out to the end of the point, to the road again, to the point again, repeat. I didn't have to stop to pee and there wasn't the slightest twinge of pain or urgency. Yay; thank God and Greyhound she's gone.
Then we loaded up the boat and drove to the boat ramp we'd found the day before. We fished all day around the power line poles and bridge pilings. It was chilly in the shade but perfect in the sunshine. We saw few birds and fewer fish--I caught a pretty catfish, blue I think, and Ed a blue cat and a medium-sized white bass. (Could have been a hybrid striper? I think so.) Zack came along in his cage and wasn't especially thrilled with the adventure, but when I got tired of fishing and held him on my lap for awhile, he made a great blanket.
Eventually it was time to give up, so we headed back to the dock that wasn't a dock--it was just a thin, sheet-metal barrier at the edge of the bank alongside the boat ramp. To get onto land, you simply hopped over the metal and landed on the crumbling concrete.
Right. Correction: Ed simply hopped over the metal and landed on the concrete. I, in my fat-bound clumsiness, chose to move carefully. I stepped over the metal and placed my right foot firmly on the crumbling concrete. I bent my knees to throw my center of gravity forward and moved my left food into position. I was just starting to stand up from my crouch when a jerk pulled me back. The useless dangling loop on my life jacket had caught around the front light post on the boat. No way was I going to break that light!
I tried to pause, balance and work it loose, but all the extra lard I'm carrying on my backside caused me to fall backward. And hard. I had one hand on the boat, one elbow scraping a post, both legs folded over the metal barrier and nothing to grab hold of. Before I had a chance to figure out how to get up from the embarrassing--and painful--position, Ed walked up and gave me a hand.
The sun sets rapidly in February. We left before sundown but didn't get back until near dark, about seven o'clock. Leftovers for supper. Delicious leftovers.
Monday
We slept with the windows open and woke up to the mockingbird orchestra. If you're a bird listener, mockingbirds are killer--you can't help but try to figure out what birds it's imitating...and once you start, you're hooked. And wide-awake.
There were no beaver that morning but I saw a couple of very tiny duck-like birds in the creek--were they grebes? My guess would be 10-12 inches long. Then I saw three normal sized ducks out in the cove. How it the world do people tell these things apart? Grrrrr.
The morning was misty and a bit chilly--sixty-three. Not at all bad--for February--but the wind was supposed to pick up later in the day so we decided not to take the boat out. After doing my part to get ready to leave, I drove the truck over to the nearby wildlife management area we'd been passing every time we went out. From the road, it looked like there was a big pond that would surely be full of ducks. It turned out to be backwater from the river, which was high, and there were only two birds. Only two...very...big...birds. I noticed the first Bald Eagle right off, he was at the top of a tree on the other side of the water. I also noticed a very large nest at the top of a different tree. Walking out to see if I could possible figure out a certain little "pee-pee-pee" noise (bird or frog?), I suddenly realized that the nest tree had a second eagle, less obvious to see but also near the top.
So I hightailed it out of there. If they were nesting, then I had no business messing with their business. Good luck to you!
I was just thinking I should read up on Richland-Chambers lake so I could write a bit about it, but I won't. It would make the whole trip seem like a huge anticlimax. We saw only the tiniest fraction of the lake, although the sonar depth finder gave us some intriguing glimpses into the lake bottom and the masses of drowned timber. But we really didn't come to know the lake.
That's not to mean it wasn't a marvelous trip. It was like a little appetizer of retirement life--having nowhere in particular I have to go, no time in particular I have to be anywhere. Plenty of time to sit on my butt and contemplate...I can jog or walk or wander around birdwatching for hours. Or on a misty morning like that last one, I could sit in the Mammoth and read a book. It's like...freedom. Wow.
And so we returned. Not a memorable trip...but the last camping trip of my working career. It's time to move on.
I can't wait.
NOTES:
- If we ever decide to come here again, follow the advice of the lady at the RV park--call and book directly with them and skip Rover Pass.
When I'm retired, will I still be kind of bummed out at the end of a trip? I hope not--I hope I'll be excited at finally getting back to my garden with plenty of work to do out there, plus plenty of photographs to organize and piece into a travel story. This time the travel story was kind of boring--although not the trip, the trip was fine--and there aren't very many pictures. Next time...will we be going places? Yes!
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