March 11, 2019
In the farmers field a bald eagle flies by low, it’s chest almost touching the muddy slough water. Off to our right a group of Canada Geese hunker down to the ground- a few of them chasing one other. long gangly necks outstretched with snapping bills, honking followed by bursts of sudden speed propelled forward with flapping wings. A striped barn cat nonchalantly crosses in front of us, slowly turning to face us before looking forward again. We’re on a back road for sure. There are White-tailed deer grazing in the fields- their large tails a striking contrast to their Black-tailed cousins. Ember pup has his head out the window, he loves to wildlife watch. I’m always mindful of allowing it from a respectful distance- from within the jeep where his excitement can be appropriately contained- for wildlife sake. We’ve returned to this spot many times before and we’re never let down- there is always something to see-for us nature lovers. The deer still have their thick winter coats on, a light gray coloration. I move forward at a crawl, watching a deer farther off leap over a fence- an incredible bound and spring up into the air. I know they do this, I’ve read about it many times before- but seeing it was really something else.
We turn the corner and continue forward. A few of the trees along the river have huge eagle nests tucked up in their highest branches. A small and boxy kingfisher, brilliant blue and white, is flying so fast it’s keeping up with the car. It stops on a dock pillar and looks further along the waterway, pushes off and drops down to swoop over the water, zooming upward to land on a fisherman’s dock. Along the shoreline the water is much lower than usual- lower than I’ve ever seen. There are dozens of species of waterfowl congregated together- all wading or walking through the goopy mud. American coots, Mallards, Cormorants, Mergansers, Wigeons, and many others. Among them are the crows- not standing in the mud but instead intentionally perched on logs and sticks protruding from the riverbed. The ducks around them cluck, quack, squawk and squeak- their numerous calls blending into a concert of sound. All the critters are in search of the fresh food trapped in the mud- revealed by the retreating water that generally provides safety and shelter. The great blue heron crouches low, its long skinny legs bent at odd angles- intensely searching for something to prey upon. Wandering, always wandering along the edge- taller than all those birds around them. The egrets pure white feather-coat stand out in a stark contrast to the dark landscape around them. Somehow, they remain white, even while surrounded by mud. Their huge form glides low to the ground before flying off to the next foraging ground. That’s the thing with birds- even when you feel you are a great distance away they always know you are there. Always ready to retreat. It’s a great way to stay alive- but darn hard for those who forgot their binoculars. The robins are out in full force too, their plump red breasts puffed out as they dart about on the ground looking for worms and other insects to pluck from their hidden homes.
After some time birdwatching, we arrive to the beach. I’ve been crouched on the ground for quite a while looking at the pebbles, feathers, lichen covered sticks, freshwater clams, and any other small items that strike me with curiosity. I’m suddenly very aware of the giant barge rolling directly behind me along the mighty Columbia. Where did that come from? I was so lost in nature- I didn’t even notice. I look back down again, continuing my investigation of the tiny world at my feet. Even now, almost 40 years after the eruption of Mount St. Helens, pumice rocks can still be found here- little bitty ones- launched from the spewing giant so many years ago. Porous, and speckled with hundreds of minute holes- providing buoyancy when tossed into water. I perform that test regularly, excited each time they float- immediate confirmation of correct identification.
We walk the full length of the beach barefoot along the moistened sand until we come to a “no trespassing” sign. I suppose that means our jaunt must end there. Turning around we slowly meander back, taking caution to avoid stepping on the hundreds of clam shells, many of which are opened and turned downward- halves still joined by a tiny sinew. We take a new path up the bluff to the dry sand, slipping my shoes back on we jog for a bit, allowing pup to get out his last zing of energy after his off-leash antics. Back at the car I empty my shoes, forming two decent size pyramids of sand on the concrete. This same sand, combined with our footprints/pawprints are the only evidence left behind- signifying our presence here today. That’s the way it should be, nature is delicate, and it needs all the help it can get.
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