Visited the wetland in mid-morning on a 43-degree day. Wind was nippy out of the north, and apparently kept the birds close to the ground and on the water. Weren't even many song birds flitting about in the cold wind.
I walked the Bald Eagle trail, which circles the main pond for more than 3-miles, inspired in part by the distinct trumpeting of what I thought were Sandhill Cranes off to the west. Couldn't get a visual confirmation of the cranes, but recognized the call from the way it echoed across the 1/2 mile of water and resonated as it hit the woods. I thought it odd the cranes which dwelt in Michigan would still be there until I considered that those I heard could have been moving through the area from the arctic to warmer climates for the winter.
The pond was definitely set up for a stop over, with hundreds of Canada Geese, and gulls on the water. Except for a few mating pairs and single stragglers scattered here and there, the ducks were gone. In early to late spring, there were several hundred on the water at that time of the day.
Checked for the Eagles, but saw no evidence.
Interestingly, while traversing the town of Belleville on my way home, Crosswinds Marsh, spotted a Bald Eagle cruising the shoreline of the lake as I neared the bridge. Doubt the other drivers caught at the light, many chatting on their cells, noticed the distinguished visitor.
I had to wonder if one of the Crosswinds eagles had ventured to another body of water in search of food.
Did come across some unexpected visitors, a couple of older pups scrounging in the weeds and muck at the edge of the water. They were obviously familiar with humans, as they didn't run when I approached, but stayed at their business. I hoped they were simply exploring the edge of their range from one of the nearby farms, as opposed to being abandoned in the marsh.
What caught my attention was an odd bird call, from what I thought was a mound of grass, until I realized there were two swans floating off shore not many yards from the dogs. As there seemed to be 40 or more swans on the pond when I usually spotted fewer than 10 on a summer day, I may have spotted some migrating tundra swans stopping by for a rest.
The day in nature was refreshing, not too polluted with humans, until the drive home in stop and go traffic.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Kensignton Metropark, October 13, 2010
Spent the afternoon wandering on the wooded side of the nature center.
Colors were rich and varied as the maples and oaks started showing the slowing of sap to their extremities.
Was a little disturbed along the deer run trail as the gravel used to make the path created too much noise for my desires. Was too much for the red and fox squirrels, who I could hear chirping and barking in trees along the path. Had a better time at quiet where the leaves began covering the path, muting the grinding of the cinders against each other beneath my feet.
Then, had to wonder whether the walk would be enjoyable if someone didn't forge a path ahead of time, even if paved with cinders.
Wondered about one person I passed, sitting on a bench at a trail intersection staring into space with a hand extended, until I saw a finch settle on the hand to feed.
Don't really know if this is an engagement with nature, as I believe any bird secure enough to approach the smell of a human to feed has been overly domesticated by the presence of humans.
But, then, to each his own.
Deer were under cover, perhaps because starting at 1 p.m. was long after many have tread the trails and startled the foragers back into the deeper cover.
Didn't appreciate running across some plastic wrap, foil, and tissues crumpled along the path. Didn't lend itself to "out in the wilderness alone" knowing there were still pigs around who tossed aside candy bar wrappers and their snotty tissues as they "enjoyed" nature.
Made sure I carried more out of the park and into the trash than I took with me (or worse left behind).
Birds seemed to be pretty active, but that may be because more of the cover they enjoy in deep spring and summer was on the ground.
Knew it was time to leave when I approached another trail, and found another standing statue still with hand extended waiting for birds to perch.
Cute, but I'd rather see them in their own activities instead of the human induced ones.
Colors were rich and varied as the maples and oaks started showing the slowing of sap to their extremities.
Was a little disturbed along the deer run trail as the gravel used to make the path created too much noise for my desires. Was too much for the red and fox squirrels, who I could hear chirping and barking in trees along the path. Had a better time at quiet where the leaves began covering the path, muting the grinding of the cinders against each other beneath my feet.
Then, had to wonder whether the walk would be enjoyable if someone didn't forge a path ahead of time, even if paved with cinders.
Wondered about one person I passed, sitting on a bench at a trail intersection staring into space with a hand extended, until I saw a finch settle on the hand to feed.
Don't really know if this is an engagement with nature, as I believe any bird secure enough to approach the smell of a human to feed has been overly domesticated by the presence of humans.
But, then, to each his own.
Deer were under cover, perhaps because starting at 1 p.m. was long after many have tread the trails and startled the foragers back into the deeper cover.
Didn't appreciate running across some plastic wrap, foil, and tissues crumpled along the path. Didn't lend itself to "out in the wilderness alone" knowing there were still pigs around who tossed aside candy bar wrappers and their snotty tissues as they "enjoyed" nature.
Made sure I carried more out of the park and into the trash than I took with me (or worse left behind).
Birds seemed to be pretty active, but that may be because more of the cover they enjoy in deep spring and summer was on the ground.
Knew it was time to leave when I approached another trail, and found another standing statue still with hand extended waiting for birds to perch.
Cute, but I'd rather see them in their own activities instead of the human induced ones.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Crosswinds Marsh, May 20, 2010
It has been more than a month since I'd visited the Marsh, looking for my Eagles.
Checking the south end of the Marsh, I couldn't confirm that the horned owl remained on the abandoned eagle's nest. Part of the reason may have been Monday's checkup with the eye doctor, who could get me a new prescription for glasses, but couldn't sharpen the sight as I would have liked because cataracts were robbing me of lens area, and thus a sharp focus. Nothing was blocked, but the light gathering area and focus potential for the lens was diminished.
Another part was looking from the walkways to the north rather than journeying toward the outlet for the marsh and viewing the nest from the east, the area where both the photographer pointed out the nest and from where I spent a very cold April day focusing the spotting scope to make out the head.
I would have been satisfied with a "bump" above the nest, but nothing doing.
The Marsh was pretty deserted, two cars ahead of me in the parking lot, with the second a van where the family was just stirring to go for a walk.
I made my way to the over the water ramp, and began the walk swinging first south from the lot and then northward toward the inhabited eagle's nest. Looking at the tree line, I knew spotting the birds on the nest would be tough, since the spring leaves were now obscuring the branches and the nest site.
As I walked the pathway, I noted the waterfowl on the water, the usual Canada geese, and their new greenish goslings, swans, one with a couple of the "ugly ducklings" family, and a couple of egrets. No gulls, herons, or, amazingly, ducks.
In April on an extremely cold and windy day, the water was spotted in all directions with either ducks, wading herons, and what seemed like hundreds of gulls. The only movement now was the waves and an occasional jumping fish and now chimney swifts circling from around the screened house and out over the water in search of the insects which most likely enticed the fish to jump.
Checking the south end of the Marsh, I couldn't confirm that the horned owl remained on the abandoned eagle's nest. Part of the reason may have been Monday's checkup with the eye doctor, who could get me a new prescription for glasses, but couldn't sharpen the sight as I would have liked because cataracts were robbing me of lens area, and thus a sharp focus. Nothing was blocked, but the light gathering area and focus potential for the lens was diminished.
Another part was looking from the walkways to the north rather than journeying toward the outlet for the marsh and viewing the nest from the east, the area where both the photographer pointed out the nest and from where I spent a very cold April day focusing the spotting scope to make out the head.
I would have been satisfied with a "bump" above the nest, but nothing doing.
The Marsh was pretty deserted, two cars ahead of me in the parking lot, with the second a van where the family was just stirring to go for a walk.
I made my way to the over the water ramp, and began the walk swinging first south from the lot and then northward toward the inhabited eagle's nest. Looking at the tree line, I knew spotting the birds on the nest would be tough, since the spring leaves were now obscuring the branches and the nest site.
As I walked the pathway, I noted the waterfowl on the water, the usual Canada geese, and their new greenish goslings, swans, one with a couple of the "ugly ducklings" family, and a couple of egrets. No gulls, herons, or, amazingly, ducks.
In April on an extremely cold and windy day, the water was spotted in all directions with either ducks, wading herons, and what seemed like hundreds of gulls. The only movement now was the waves and an occasional jumping fish and now chimney swifts circling from around the screened house and out over the water in search of the insects which most likely enticed the fish to jump.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Crosswinds Marsh, April 12, 2010
Venturing to the marsh amid mind numbing news reports of Wall Street earning variability, Tea Party faux rallies, and the fragging of a commercial bus by American troops in Afghanistan, I was thankful I had dry weather, and a bright day.
Somehow, the irritations of "common news" from the manipulators could be lost when I exited my car to discover whether a horned owl really had migrated to the abandoned eagle's nest, and the moved eagles remained at their new abode.
Tipped off over the weekend by a fellow nature watcher that a Great Horned Owl had squatted on the abandoned nest, I decided that today was the day to check with my spotting scope.
After parking at the usual spot, I assembled the scope and set it up on a picnic table at the edge of the peninsula containing the parking lot, and spotted a bump above the nest.
Last winter, when I was searching for where the eagles had gone after it became obvious their nest was abandoned, a woman stopped me and noting the binoculars around my neck, reported "the eagle's on the nest" while pointing toward the abandoned abode. Knowing better, having seen the eagles building their new nest that past fall, I simply acknowledged her with what amounted to literate grunts that didn't commit me to revealing my knowledge, and ignored her advice.
Thinking back now, perhaps I should have taken some time to look, because the "bump" she saw and attributed to an eagle, was probably the owl squatting last fall.
As I looked through the scope, I heard some steps beside me, and looked up to find the guy who had been casting plugs into the water from the fishing dock walking by.
"Any luck?" I asked.
I received a treatise on fishing in the park, including counts of bass and pike he reported to have caught from the walkways I had noted were clearly marked with "no fishing" signs, and arms width representations of lengths . . . most of which would be record catches for the state if accurately portrayed.
While wondering at his dedication to the craft, another walked up, preceded by a little dog which raced to and fro in the weeds "looking for muskrats" according to the owner. "Had to toss him into the water," he chuckled. "He was too muddy to put into the truck."
The two ran off into tall fishing tales, as I packed my scope, figuring I'd move down where the second fisherman had come from to see if I'd get a better angle on the bump.
"Well, we have to get going," said the second, as I nodded and shouted, "good luck" while I walked south.
Along the horse trail, I set up, and found the bump, and focused on the two ears -- a great horned owl!
Satisfied that I'd confirmed the discovery reported by the nature lover the weekend past, I packed my scope and walked back to the car, intending on re-rigging for a walk south.
Standing in the parking lot, a half hour after the "have to get going" remark were the same two fishermen, chatting while the formerly muddy dog ranged about them looking for make some mayhem with nature.
I walked by them with my binoculars around my neck to search for evidence the "real" eagles remained on the "real" eagle's nest.
The twiggy bulge appeared in the trees, and after some focus, I found a white head atop a black body sitting on the mass.
The eagle had landed.
Continuing on to check the nest from the east side, I encountered what turned out to be a grandfather and his grand son walking along the path. As I passed, he cursed, "Look at what they did!" and pointed toward a soda can floating in the water. "Look at the worm tubs," he said, pointing into the water at a plastic container floating in the weeds.
"They're pigs," I said. "They don't care about the park."
"I do," he said, opening his vest and showing me a couple of cans and some crushed paper in his pocket.
"Can't clean up for all of them."
Grateful at finding another nature lover who cared about undoing the damage others had done, I told him the secret of the "new" eagle's nest, figuring the youngster may be able to spot the birds along with him.
When I spotted the nest as I walked south, I shouted back to him, "You can spot it from here," while I pointed in the direction of the nest. He shouted thanks, and we separated as the youngster twaddled in the weeds, and I moved out to my next viewing location.
What started as a day of gloom and doom, dupes, thieves and murders dominating the news, ended with some gradual appreciation of the world around me, and those I encountered.
Each had their own reason for being in the open areas, but none had an agenda leading to control, greed or death.
In all it was a good day.
Somehow, the irritations of "common news" from the manipulators could be lost when I exited my car to discover whether a horned owl really had migrated to the abandoned eagle's nest, and the moved eagles remained at their new abode.
Tipped off over the weekend by a fellow nature watcher that a Great Horned Owl had squatted on the abandoned nest, I decided that today was the day to check with my spotting scope.
After parking at the usual spot, I assembled the scope and set it up on a picnic table at the edge of the peninsula containing the parking lot, and spotted a bump above the nest.
Last winter, when I was searching for where the eagles had gone after it became obvious their nest was abandoned, a woman stopped me and noting the binoculars around my neck, reported "the eagle's on the nest" while pointing toward the abandoned abode. Knowing better, having seen the eagles building their new nest that past fall, I simply acknowledged her with what amounted to literate grunts that didn't commit me to revealing my knowledge, and ignored her advice.
Thinking back now, perhaps I should have taken some time to look, because the "bump" she saw and attributed to an eagle, was probably the owl squatting last fall.
As I looked through the scope, I heard some steps beside me, and looked up to find the guy who had been casting plugs into the water from the fishing dock walking by.
"Any luck?" I asked.
I received a treatise on fishing in the park, including counts of bass and pike he reported to have caught from the walkways I had noted were clearly marked with "no fishing" signs, and arms width representations of lengths . . . most of which would be record catches for the state if accurately portrayed.
While wondering at his dedication to the craft, another walked up, preceded by a little dog which raced to and fro in the weeds "looking for muskrats" according to the owner. "Had to toss him into the water," he chuckled. "He was too muddy to put into the truck."
The two ran off into tall fishing tales, as I packed my scope, figuring I'd move down where the second fisherman had come from to see if I'd get a better angle on the bump.
"Well, we have to get going," said the second, as I nodded and shouted, "good luck" while I walked south.
Along the horse trail, I set up, and found the bump, and focused on the two ears -- a great horned owl!
Satisfied that I'd confirmed the discovery reported by the nature lover the weekend past, I packed my scope and walked back to the car, intending on re-rigging for a walk south.
Standing in the parking lot, a half hour after the "have to get going" remark were the same two fishermen, chatting while the formerly muddy dog ranged about them looking for make some mayhem with nature.
I walked by them with my binoculars around my neck to search for evidence the "real" eagles remained on the "real" eagle's nest.
The twiggy bulge appeared in the trees, and after some focus, I found a white head atop a black body sitting on the mass.
The eagle had landed.
Continuing on to check the nest from the east side, I encountered what turned out to be a grandfather and his grand son walking along the path. As I passed, he cursed, "Look at what they did!" and pointed toward a soda can floating in the water. "Look at the worm tubs," he said, pointing into the water at a plastic container floating in the weeds.
"They're pigs," I said. "They don't care about the park."
"I do," he said, opening his vest and showing me a couple of cans and some crushed paper in his pocket.
"Can't clean up for all of them."
Grateful at finding another nature lover who cared about undoing the damage others had done, I told him the secret of the "new" eagle's nest, figuring the youngster may be able to spot the birds along with him.
When I spotted the nest as I walked south, I shouted back to him, "You can spot it from here," while I pointed in the direction of the nest. He shouted thanks, and we separated as the youngster twaddled in the weeds, and I moved out to my next viewing location.
What started as a day of gloom and doom, dupes, thieves and murders dominating the news, ended with some gradual appreciation of the world around me, and those I encountered.
Each had their own reason for being in the open areas, but none had an agenda leading to control, greed or death.
In all it was a good day.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Shiawassee National Wildlife Refuge March 23, 2010
Reviewing the weather in the morning, I decided that a road trip to a never visited wild life area was in order. The choice was this refuge at the confluence of the Shiawassee, Flint, Cast and Tittabawassee rivers in Saginaw County.
The 9,000 acre area, rich farmland land with large standing water and flood control dikes is a resting place for migrating birds. March being a good time to catch southern birds heading to northern reaches, I expected a broad range of unique birds.
Instead, what I found is 10,000 golf course scourges known as Canada geese. I'd never seen that many geese in one place, but I've seen plenty of Canada geese in parks, and ponds all over the Detroit metropolitan area.
Dotted among the masses were a few mallards, swans, and gulls, none identifiable as exotic.
But, the trip wasn't wasted (thought the energy to carry binoculars might have been). I found a long path along dikes leading to an observation point at the northern end of the range. More geese, ducks, swans and gulls.
From the dike I observed a muskrat in the water, and surprised a woodchuck near its lair.
It turned out to be a good spring day, well worth the nearly 100 mile trip.
The 9,000 acre area, rich farmland land with large standing water and flood control dikes is a resting place for migrating birds. March being a good time to catch southern birds heading to northern reaches, I expected a broad range of unique birds.
Instead, what I found is 10,000 golf course scourges known as Canada geese. I'd never seen that many geese in one place, but I've seen plenty of Canada geese in parks, and ponds all over the Detroit metropolitan area.
Dotted among the masses were a few mallards, swans, and gulls, none identifiable as exotic.
But, the trip wasn't wasted (thought the energy to carry binoculars might have been). I found a long path along dikes leading to an observation point at the northern end of the range. More geese, ducks, swans and gulls.
From the dike I observed a muskrat in the water, and surprised a woodchuck near its lair.
It turned out to be a good spring day, well worth the nearly 100 mile trip.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Crosswinds Marsh, March 21, 2010
I took the time to visit the marsh early this Sunday morning, looking for my favorite Eagles.
I'd been concerned, because a person I encountered late in the fall had indicated that what I'd anticipated from discovering the Eagle nesting activity late fall 2008 had fallen from the tree over that winter.
Though expecting Eagles were better engineers, I was philosophical regarding their nests, believing even they could make a mistake regarding picking a tree capable of securing up to 3-tons of sticks and mud above the ground.
Realizing that the massive nest everyone pointed out remained in a decaying tree even though the Eagles had moved 15 months earlier, I wanted to reinforce my February discovery with another independent observation of the birds' locaiton.
The walk around the park, and discrete observation of the tree tops from the February observation rediscovered the location of the "bulge" which indicated a nest. Though not as massive as the nest atop a tree less substantial than the one which held the original nest, the "bulge" was obvious.
I wanted to target it from several angles to document its location for observation when foliage obscured its location.
Reasonably certain the bird had not moved, I first went to the dock below the parking area to scan the open water. One month after pinpointing the marsh's "royalty", I was curious whether "new birds" had shown up. Canada Geese, Trumpeter Swans, and Mallards swam on the water while Common Gulls, Herring Gulls (sometimes confused with Ospreys), and glaucous gulls circled overhead.
Nothing new, until the gulls began screeching and squawking in tones reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds."
I looked toward the parking lot, and found a well bundled aperation walking along its boundary tossing what appeared to be bread.
Squawks and screeches came from that area where the gulls soaring from overhead swooped in for a "kill."
I recited a well worn oath regarding God's son wondering why anyone would think that tossing unconsumed "human" food to a nature area did anything to enhance the lives of the birds who dwelled there.
Satisfied that the water below me didn't contain "new" discoveries for the season, I decided to walk across the causeways toward the eagle's nest.
As I emerged onto the last walk, I realized that the "bread whisperer" had located at the union of the causeways I had to traverse.
There was no way to avoid him unless he went toward the nest I wanted to observe or back to the parking lot behind his nexus with the rest of the walkway.
Deciding that the other in the park wasn't aware of what I was doing, I moved toward the nest location, and he approached me, leading an arthritic dog on a leash across the causeway while he tossed food from a bag.
The birds circles overhead as I passed him and said, "Hello."
Beyond our encounter, I found numerous gulls on the walkway hand rails, each rising in turn as I got within 20-feet of their perch.
Once I got past the "feces bombing" area created by the dislocated birds, I found my Eagle's nest, and a bird circling into the treetops beyond it.
"They" hadn't moved, and their dinner awaited them on the railings of the causeway I'd just passed.
I'd been concerned, because a person I encountered late in the fall had indicated that what I'd anticipated from discovering the Eagle nesting activity late fall 2008 had fallen from the tree over that winter.
Though expecting Eagles were better engineers, I was philosophical regarding their nests, believing even they could make a mistake regarding picking a tree capable of securing up to 3-tons of sticks and mud above the ground.
Realizing that the massive nest everyone pointed out remained in a decaying tree even though the Eagles had moved 15 months earlier, I wanted to reinforce my February discovery with another independent observation of the birds' locaiton.
The walk around the park, and discrete observation of the tree tops from the February observation rediscovered the location of the "bulge" which indicated a nest. Though not as massive as the nest atop a tree less substantial than the one which held the original nest, the "bulge" was obvious.
I wanted to target it from several angles to document its location for observation when foliage obscured its location.
Reasonably certain the bird had not moved, I first went to the dock below the parking area to scan the open water. One month after pinpointing the marsh's "royalty", I was curious whether "new birds" had shown up. Canada Geese, Trumpeter Swans, and Mallards swam on the water while Common Gulls, Herring Gulls (sometimes confused with Ospreys), and glaucous gulls circled overhead.
Nothing new, until the gulls began screeching and squawking in tones reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds."
I looked toward the parking lot, and found a well bundled aperation walking along its boundary tossing what appeared to be bread.
Squawks and screeches came from that area where the gulls soaring from overhead swooped in for a "kill."
I recited a well worn oath regarding God's son wondering why anyone would think that tossing unconsumed "human" food to a nature area did anything to enhance the lives of the birds who dwelled there.
Satisfied that the water below me didn't contain "new" discoveries for the season, I decided to walk across the causeways toward the eagle's nest.
As I emerged onto the last walk, I realized that the "bread whisperer" had located at the union of the causeways I had to traverse.
There was no way to avoid him unless he went toward the nest I wanted to observe or back to the parking lot behind his nexus with the rest of the walkway.
Deciding that the other in the park wasn't aware of what I was doing, I moved toward the nest location, and he approached me, leading an arthritic dog on a leash across the causeway while he tossed food from a bag.
The birds circles overhead as I passed him and said, "Hello."
Beyond our encounter, I found numerous gulls on the walkway hand rails, each rising in turn as I got within 20-feet of their perch.
Once I got past the "feces bombing" area created by the dislocated birds, I found my Eagle's nest, and a bird circling into the treetops beyond it.
"They" hadn't moved, and their dinner awaited them on the railings of the causeway I'd just passed.
Crosswinds Marsh, February 21, 2010
Visited the location in Wayne County under duress regarding the "local bald eagles."
It had been a long winter, full of climatic traps for these 61-year-old legs. I hadn't visited since the January thaw because I feared slipping, falling, and lying incapable of helping myself on the ice.
The boardwalks weren't the best, but I managed to tippy toe across the ice clogs, and go out into the marsh to look for my target.
The Eagles had moved.
Their nest had been empty for months, but it was unlikely they simply left. The original nest was well know, but the water, and the adjoining heap of trash, was too fruitful for an Eagle's demeanor to ignore.
Some careful observation of the more likely "private Eagle spots" (those which were more in tune with an Eagle's desires for secrecy than the nest that every visitor I encountered over the past years would point out) discovered the perching birds at water's edge, and eventually gliding to the "bump" in the trees which indicated a nesting site.
Good binoculars, and some active exploration found "the bulge" isolated across water and marsh, and eventually totally obscured by leaves next spring.
Surrounding that bulge using periodic observations from dry paths, I triangulated on the "eagle's nest" to the point where I could document it's location on my GPS receiver for future observation after foliage arrives.
Rest assured, the Eagles are in the Marsh. Rest assured, their location is only known to those who want to assure their continued privacy.
It had been a long winter, full of climatic traps for these 61-year-old legs. I hadn't visited since the January thaw because I feared slipping, falling, and lying incapable of helping myself on the ice.
The boardwalks weren't the best, but I managed to tippy toe across the ice clogs, and go out into the marsh to look for my target.
The Eagles had moved.
Their nest had been empty for months, but it was unlikely they simply left. The original nest was well know, but the water, and the adjoining heap of trash, was too fruitful for an Eagle's demeanor to ignore.
Some careful observation of the more likely "private Eagle spots" (those which were more in tune with an Eagle's desires for secrecy than the nest that every visitor I encountered over the past years would point out) discovered the perching birds at water's edge, and eventually gliding to the "bump" in the trees which indicated a nesting site.
Good binoculars, and some active exploration found "the bulge" isolated across water and marsh, and eventually totally obscured by leaves next spring.
Surrounding that bulge using periodic observations from dry paths, I triangulated on the "eagle's nest" to the point where I could document it's location on my GPS receiver for future observation after foliage arrives.
Rest assured, the Eagles are in the Marsh. Rest assured, their location is only known to those who want to assure their continued privacy.
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