The River Landing

A Clear Message

My wife Julie and I were tired of waiting for the world to open up, for fear to be gone, or at least not daily in our faces.  And so we drove an hour west across the Mississippi River, had lunch at a riverfront restaurant (served by a masked waitress), and then went hiking along Iowa’s Flint River.

 

Flint River at Starr's Cave Nature Preserve, Burlington, Iowa

 

        Few folks were on the trail.  Mainly just us; the clear, flowing water; and limestone cliffs exposed behind leafless trees. 

        A small group, though, soon approached, following behind an excited border collie mix.  “He’s not our dog,” a child yelled, when the loose, collarless dog bounded toward us.  We only smiled and continued down the path.

        On our return, there was the dog again, following two other people.  Suddenly, he picked up a stick, dropped it at my feet, and looked at me with a clear message: Well…come on, throw it!  And each time I threw the stick, he brought it back and heaved it at my feet.  He was a simple, pure joy.

        Then we heard the dog’s owner calling, “Peanut!”  And his body language slumped into a new message: The fun is over.  We sadly watched them walk away, Peanut now in a harness, his tail held low.  As for us, it was also time to return back to our own larger reality, and I finally noticed that no one on the trail wore a mask.  Days later, we still talked about Peanut.

Following the Gold

 

I don't care for walkin' down town
Crazy auto car gonna mow me down
Look at all the people like cows in a herd
Well I like...
Birds— From the song I Like Birds by The Eels (Mark O. Everett) as featured in the movie The Big Year

 

Clouds and cold canceled a late March day trip to our Quiver Lake cabin.  So I stayed inside, shifting among reading, playing the guitar, or looking out the window.  Despite the weather, maple trees were flowering and lawns were greening up.  So why was I thinking longingly of winter days?  Ducks.  It was nearly one month ago that I last saw Quiver Lake full of ducks.

          Driving up the bluff road on a weak February thaw, lower Quiver Lake was still mostly frozen.  Hundreds of snow geese in formation filled the skies, but without open water, I expected little activity further up the lake near the cabin.  Even so, it would be nice to be on the edge of the Illinois River valley's wildness for a while, away from town life in Macomb.

 

A mid-winter scene at the Quiver Lake cabin

 

          When I slowly pulled down the gravel drive to the cabin, I saw that upper Quiver Lake was all open water, and it was loaded with ducks!  Without delay, then, I climbed down the bluff to the beach, set up my spotting scope, and proceeded to check out each of the hundreds of waterfowl.  Canvasback, lesser Scaup, and ring-necked ducks were the most numerous of the seventeen species in view^a.  After a slow, careful scan of all the birds, I settled back for some behavior watching.  Ritualized courtship activities can be especially entertaining, where poses and body movements are quick; for example, throwing the head back, lowering the head and swimming a short distance, bobbing the head up and down.  Sometimes several males, all acting like fools, surround a lone female, who usually seems to find a gap in the crowd to skitter away, leaving the males behind dazed and confused.  While all of this is very impressive, each year I become overwhelmed all over again by the deep colors and intricate patterns on the plumage of the male birds.  My appreciation for the pure artistry of these birds is only equaled by admiration for their abilities to navigate accurately over hundreds or thousands of miles between overwintering and breeding grounds, surviving daily threats and challenges; and for each species as a whole, surviving numerous back and forth climate changes over thousands of years and massive landscape alterations over the last two hundred.

          As I was lost in the joy and awe of watching these birds, a whistling sound of constant cadence sounded from above, as a small group of common goldeneyes came in for a gentle landing near several other males.  These birds were on their way to the boreal forests of the northern Midwest and Canada to build nests in holes in trees close to wetlands, lakes, or rivers.  I think of the goldeneye as a winter duck, but seeing one always causes me to recall the north woods of Isle Royale in Lake Superior.

          In my mind’s eye, I see a summer trail along the edge of Tobin Harbor, a large inlet providing access to the island’s wilderness interior, protected from Superior’s sometimes violent weather:  I walk slowly and hope to blend into the shadows of the spruce-fir forest, on the lookout for moose, when I notice a female goldeneye attempting to keep a low profile along the shoreline rocks and overhanging vegetation; there are no young about, and I think she may have lost her entire brood to predation….

          That was a golden day, a long time ago, I reflected, nearly thirty-five years; and then I noticed a bald eagle standing on a frozen portion of Quiver Lake, using its hooked beak to tear apart a dead fish.  In hindsight, the North Country has taken on an almost mythical status, so rarely have I been able to return; but the Illinois River valley also has its golden moments.  All too soon, though, it was time to leave; home was about an hour away, with sundown and dinner with my wife Julie soon to follow.

 

From a canoe on Tobin Harbor at Isle Royale National Park, 1986
 

          When I returned to the cabin a week later, all the ice was gone, and there were no ducks in sight.  With wetlands opening up, especially further north, the migrating waterfowl were less likely to be concentrated, except at high quality sites such as the Emiquon Refuge and Nature Preserve, just across the river from Quiver Lake.  I saw pine siskins and purple finches foraging on a silver maple, which still hinted of the north woods.  And yet I could not help but feel that a portion of the migration’s succession of species might have already passed my area, undoubtedly while I had been preoccupied with indoor activities at home.

                                     *        *        *

            Over the last few days at home, I’ve been seeing an eastern towhee skulking around our bare burning bush and lilacs.  And any day now I expect to hear the first eastern phoebe of the year.  The spring migration is in full swing.  But it’s not just the birds I look forward to.  Because unlike when I was young and just starting to notice birds, I now can reflect upon little scenes or stories associated with each species:  where I first saw a species; birding companions sharing my enthusiasm; the uncertainties of a younger life now resolved.  I’ve noticed this more and more as the years have gone by.

^aCanvasback, lesser scaup, ring-necked duck, redhead duck, common merganser, common goldeneye, bufflehead, ruddy duck, northern pintail, mallard, wood duck, gadwall, American widgeon, swan (tundra or trumpeter), Canada goose, greater white-fronted goose, snow goose.