There was a line of cars pulled over on the side of the road leading to the Wetlands this morning. It was the same spot where I had seen the fire two days ago, but there was no fire this morning, only several older gentlemen setting up cameras and tripods.
I slowed, hoping that their presence indicated a perfect photo-op. Had they spotted an eagle? A caracara? A nest of something?
But they didn't appear to be taking pictures of anything and so I continued on into the Wetlands.
For a minute, I was disappointed. The white pelicans that greeted me yesterday were gone. Only one lone pelican remained and I wondered if he had missed the message about where the others were meeting. It is very easy to project human feelings onto birds. I felt so sorry for this pelican as he swam over to a Great Egret and a Wood Stork. A Great Blue Heron swooped in, scaring away the egret and stork, leaving a wide-eyed but otherwise unfazed ibis and the white pelican, still searching for friends.
For some reason, I felt like I could breathe easier this morning. I didn't have the road rage that I have been experiencing almost daily with birders who stop their cars in the middle of the road and refuse to pull over to let me pass. I didn't feel the same sense of urgency that I had felt in the past, the need to get to the perfect spot for the perfect picture.
I took the long way around the Wetlands and found a Roseated Spoonbill in mid-flight. He had settled by the time I got my camera out, but the one thing I have learned about birds is that once they show their wings, they're likely to do so again soon.
And sure enough, like an angel, he lifted his bright pink wings as he scavenged for food in the water. And I was ready.
I spotted a female Hooded Merganser alone and not in the same pond I had seen her in before. She seemed unconcerned. I had seen this female before surrounded by two males. She may follow them, but they are always looking for her and she is, by far, the workhorse of the three in finding food.
It was on my way back to the entrance as I cut through one of the loops instead of taking a longer route that I was surprised to find my white pelicans, all sixty-seventy of them, still together (minus the one from the entrance) and still feeding together in unison, always with a cormorant or two mixed in. Others have seen and I can confirm that white pelicans are nasty fish thieves.
The key to finding a pelican with a fish is to either look for the one pelican trailing the cormorant or look for the pelican that has separated from the group and has something large and moving in its bill.
The one I saw today seemed to take time in swallowing his catch. I imagine the fish was like "get on with it, already."
As I left the Wetlands, I saw that the number of cars on the side of the road had increased. My window was rolled down and as a woman with binoculars walked past, I said to her, "What are we looking for?"
"A Smooth-billed Ani," she said. That was a new bird for me. I had never even heard of it. She hadn't either, but she explained that one had apparently been spotted in this field on Friday but that no one had seen it since.
That had apparently not stopped a dozen or so people from gathering there and waiting, maybe hours, for a bird that may never come back.
I was, in that moment, unexpectedly moved. I drove away with tears in my eyes.
A Smooth-billed Ani had become a Waiting-for-Godot moment for all these people. It had become their raison d'etre, their single purpose for that day. It had united strangers. It had created a communion among all who were gathered there, had connected people to this part of God's creation.
I thought back to the other day when I had gone to the beach to watch the sunrise and had been surprised by the number of people there to do that exact same thing, all of us silent and reverent and still.
I love being alone in nature. I prefer it.
But there is something special and different when I am joined by or when I join someone else on their journey.
I think back to Jesus saying in Matthew 18:20 that wherever two or three are gathered in his name, there he is.
I'm sure the people at the beach watching the sunrise and the people who pulled over to wait for a rare bird were not thinking about prayer or God or Jesus, and yet, without a doubt, He was there, for it was His creation that we had stopped to be a witness to.
I slowed, hoping that their presence indicated a perfect photo-op. Had they spotted an eagle? A caracara? A nest of something?
But they didn't appear to be taking pictures of anything and so I continued on into the Wetlands.
For a minute, I was disappointed. The white pelicans that greeted me yesterday were gone. Only one lone pelican remained and I wondered if he had missed the message about where the others were meeting. It is very easy to project human feelings onto birds. I felt so sorry for this pelican as he swam over to a Great Egret and a Wood Stork. A Great Blue Heron swooped in, scaring away the egret and stork, leaving a wide-eyed but otherwise unfazed ibis and the white pelican, still searching for friends.
For some reason, I felt like I could breathe easier this morning. I didn't have the road rage that I have been experiencing almost daily with birders who stop their cars in the middle of the road and refuse to pull over to let me pass. I didn't feel the same sense of urgency that I had felt in the past, the need to get to the perfect spot for the perfect picture.
I took the long way around the Wetlands and found a Roseated Spoonbill in mid-flight. He had settled by the time I got my camera out, but the one thing I have learned about birds is that once they show their wings, they're likely to do so again soon.
And sure enough, like an angel, he lifted his bright pink wings as he scavenged for food in the water. And I was ready.
I spotted a female Hooded Merganser alone and not in the same pond I had seen her in before. She seemed unconcerned. I had seen this female before surrounded by two males. She may follow them, but they are always looking for her and she is, by far, the workhorse of the three in finding food.
It was on my way back to the entrance as I cut through one of the loops instead of taking a longer route that I was surprised to find my white pelicans, all sixty-seventy of them, still together (minus the one from the entrance) and still feeding together in unison, always with a cormorant or two mixed in. Others have seen and I can confirm that white pelicans are nasty fish thieves.
The key to finding a pelican with a fish is to either look for the one pelican trailing the cormorant or look for the pelican that has separated from the group and has something large and moving in its bill.
The one I saw today seemed to take time in swallowing his catch. I imagine the fish was like "get on with it, already."
As I left the Wetlands, I saw that the number of cars on the side of the road had increased. My window was rolled down and as a woman with binoculars walked past, I said to her, "What are we looking for?"
"A Smooth-billed Ani," she said. That was a new bird for me. I had never even heard of it. She hadn't either, but she explained that one had apparently been spotted in this field on Friday but that no one had seen it since.
That had apparently not stopped a dozen or so people from gathering there and waiting, maybe hours, for a bird that may never come back.
I was, in that moment, unexpectedly moved. I drove away with tears in my eyes.
A Smooth-billed Ani had become a Waiting-for-Godot moment for all these people. It had become their raison d'etre, their single purpose for that day. It had united strangers. It had created a communion among all who were gathered there, had connected people to this part of God's creation.
I thought back to the other day when I had gone to the beach to watch the sunrise and had been surprised by the number of people there to do that exact same thing, all of us silent and reverent and still.
I love being alone in nature. I prefer it.
But there is something special and different when I am joined by or when I join someone else on their journey.
I think back to Jesus saying in Matthew 18:20 that wherever two or three are gathered in his name, there he is.
I'm sure the people at the beach watching the sunrise and the people who pulled over to wait for a rare bird were not thinking about prayer or God or Jesus, and yet, without a doubt, He was there, for it was His creation that we had stopped to be a witness to.
Comments
Post a Comment