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.