birding Archives ~ Rambling ranger

March 3, 2023

Alone Time

“I live in that solitude which is painful in youth, but delicious in the years of maturity. ” –Albert Einstein

I think I’ve had more alone time this winter than I’ve ever had, in any season, in my entire life.

I didn’t plan it that way. The people I am housesitting for said it would be okay if I had guests, and I put the invitation out there. At least half a dozen friends and family members expressed an interest. Ocean-front property on Orcas Island? Sure! Sounds like fun! But in one way or another, somehow all those plans fell through.

Alone time in the San Juan Islands — I’ve had lots of alone time on Orcas Island.

Even though I’ve been on Orcas Island for four months, I haven’t made new friends. I’ve put out a few feelers – introduced myself to neighbors, attended a few concerts and other town social events, entered an exhibition. Everyone has been nice, I’ve had some interesting conversations, but that’s as far as it goes.

Everyone has full lives. They have no reason to go out of their way to befriend a here today/gone tomorrow transient housesitter. It’s kind of a waste of their precious time, even if she does seem to be a nice lady! I get it.

I must admit I could have tried harder. Although I am outgoing and find it easy to talk to strangers in my work persona as a park ranger, in my personal life I’m kind of shy. I didn’t put myself in any situation that would take me out of my comfort zone. I didn’t get an outside job. I didn’t go to the bar.

The truth is, I haven’t tried harder to make new friends because I really have been enjoying my solitude!

Egret at Moss Landing, California — We need solitude for reflection and contemplation.

“Solitude is creativity’s best friend, and solitude is refreshment for our souls.” -Naomi Judd

Everyone needs alone time. Solitude sparks creativity. It can renew your soul. It allows time for daydreams and imagination, reflection and invention.

Carmel Beach, CA — There is freedom in solitude.

There is freedom in solitude. No one to tell you what you should be doing or where you should be going. Instead, it’s all up to you.

Death Valley National Park — Me and my shadow

Some activities require solitude. Reading, writing, and meditating come to mind. There are other activities where going solo brings immense rewards but at the price of much greater risk. For instance, as a park ranger, I often have to tell people that they should hike with others. It’s much safer. Yet I, and most rangers I know, revel in solitary treks. It’s very important to understand and acknowledge the risks of solitude and to be aware of the possible consequences of your actions when pursuing these kinds of activities solo.

Cape Disappointment State Park, Washington — Going solo can be risky.

“Solitude is not something you must hope for in the future. Rather, it is a deepening of the present, and unless you look for it in the present you will never find it. “ -Thomas Merton

For many people, it’s not easy to get that alone time we all need. The demands of work, family and friends can consume our lives. Solitude becomes a rare and precious event. If this sounds like you, it’s especially important to carve yourself out some alone time, even if you have to make a date with yourself and schedule it.

Sanderling alone time — Even if you usually run with the flock, you need to carve yourself out some alone time.

“If you’re lonely when you’re alone, you’re in bad company.” – Jean-Paul Sartre

There’s a big difference between solitude and loneliness. Solitude is the positive application of alone time. Loneliness and depression happen when you dwell on the negative aspects of being alone. Solitude has a purpose.

Mendocino beach sunset — Loneliness is the dark side of solitude.

“I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time.” – Henry David Thoreau

Some people need more solitude than others. They need their space. I’m in that category. So are many of my friends back home in McCarthy. A friend of mine once said, “McCarthy is where loners go to be social.”

Oystercatcher alone time — Some odd birds like me need extra alone time.

McCarthy is very social in the summer, but most residents deal with a lot of alone time in the winter. I find it interesting that two of my friends from McCarthy have also written about the pleasures of solitude this week. Jon Erdman of the Wrangell Mountains Center wrote a post about the effects of solitude. Kristen Link is a natural history artist and science illustrator. One of the prompts in her latest newsletter encourages other artists to draw what silence looks like. I don’t draw, but the following image is my answer to that prompt.

Long Beach, WA — This is what Silence looks like.

Perhaps that is why I feel okay about my season of solitude. It’s winter, a natural time to draw resources inward, to go quiet, and be dormant. The quiet time is necessary for future growth.

Moonstone Beach, Trinidad, CA — Alone time is necessary.

Spring will soon be here, a time for new growth, new connections, the ground prepared and spirit renewed by that season of dormancy. In April I will be traveling, embracing old friends and new experiences. I look forward to my spring travels, but I will also cherish this final month of alone time.

Thank you to Ann-Christine of Leya for this week’s Len-Artists Photo Challenge, Alone Time.

Goldstream Beach, Redwood National Park — It’s wonderful when your footsteps are the only ones on the beach.

January 7, 2022

My Favorite Photos of 2021

I tried to keep it down to 12, but I couldn’t. Here is a baker’s dozen of my favorite photos of 2021.

It was really hard to cut it down to just a baker’s dozen. Reviewing the images I’ve captured over the last year, I realized that what I had were favorite photographic moments, not individual photos.

Alaska alpenglow in the Chugach Mountains — Purple Mountain’s Majesty, a favorite photographic moment.

You know, when you’re really in the zone, actively practicing the Art of Seeing? You might take a whole series of shots and not be able to choose one in the series as the best. That’s how I felt about a lot of these images.

I tried to disqualify images I’d already published in this blog (mostly!) So if you read my last few blog posts, you’ll find a few more favorites I wish I could include.

Alaska alpenglow Chugach Mountains — Knik Glacier

Despite all the darkness and cold, there are some things about winter in Alaska that are really special and that I miss when I’m not there, kind of a reward for those who tough it out. One is the aurora, of course. Another is the special pink sunset/twilight glow in the sky on certain cold, clear nights. Although I got lots of great alpenglow, I didn’t see as many pink light evenings as I have in past winters. But I did get it one evening when I photographed the Knik Glacier.

I went to Homer to see a few birds this spring. The migration was a bit disappointing, but I did get some wonderful eagle shots!

This is my favorite flower shot for 2021. I didn’t shoot nearly as many flowers as in years past, since I stayed in Alaska and didn’t follow the bloom. But I saw two brand new flowers I’d never noticed before in a few ponds along the McCarthy Road, White Water Lilies and Wild Calla.

Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, New Mexico — Sunrise on the Bosque

It was October. It was not yet prime time for birds at Bosque del Apache. Due to the drought, the ponds on the edge of the refuge that are usually the go-to spots for bird photographers trying to catch the spectacle of the Bosque were dry. I wasn’t expecting much. I only had one day to spare. But the Bosque is a magical place and doesn’t disappoint. Having fewer sources of water concentrated the birds that were there. I was surprised to realize that three of my favorite photos for the entire year were taken on that day.

Even though I published the sunrise photo in a prior post, I had to include it since it was probably my second-most favorite photo for the year. Also, I processed it a little differently this time and think it does a better job of capturing the feel of sunrise on the Bosque.

Vesper Sparrows — Every leaf on this tree is a bird.

As I slowly drove by, I realized that all those “dead leaves” on that tree were birds. Then they took off and I was swept up by a cloud of birds. The Bosque is bird heaven!

California Coastal National Monument — Sunset on the beach at San Simeon

This might be my favorite photo of 2021. Except it’s one of those photographic moments, one of a series… I like the vertical images I captured of this scene a lot, too! Both this image and the feature image were taken on the beach at San Simeon in California. The island the cormorants are roosting on is part of the California Coastal National Monument. It is usually just offshore except during a very low tide, like this one.

I absolutely fell in love with the manzanitas and madrones of southern Oregon in November and December. I can’t choose my very favorite madrone/manzanita photo. I have about 20 favorites. But they were my favorite thing to photograph all year. So here’s one I haven’t published.

Cathedral Hills, Oregon — Manzanita Bark

I couldn’t choose a favorite detail shot of that forest, either. I have about a dozen favorites of bark, lichens, mushrooms… But this is definitely one of those favorites.

Skyline Trail, Cathedral Hills, Oregon — What is it?

This is definitely my favorite abstract of the year, though. Can you guess what it is?

Williams, Oregon — Wishing you all a great 2022!

This final shot conveys my thoughts and hopes for 2022, that the light burns through the fog of the last couple of crazy years and brings us all many happy blessings. Welcome 2022!

Thank you to Tina Schell of Travels and Trifles for hosting this week’s Lens Artists Challenge, Favorite Photos of 2021.

November 25, 2021

Follow Your Bliss

Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge

It got to -40 in McCarthy last week, and almost 20 below in Palmer. It’s been C-O-L-D in Alaska.

Thankfully, I’m not there. I decided to make like a bird and migrate. I’ve spent enough winters in cold places. For me, Warmth = Bliss. I’m following my bliss this winter.

TrustedHousesitters has been quite helpful to me when it comes to following my bliss. They hook up people looking for a petsitter with folks like me. I can check out what life is like in other beautiful places for a week or a month, and the homeowners can rest easy knowing that their home and pets will be well taken care of during their absence. It’s a wonderful trade, a real win-win situation.

I spent the end of October taking care of a sweet dog and kitty in Magdalena, New Mexico. Magdalena is the kind of town that brings those old Western movies to life. Established in 1885, it was a cowtown and railhead, the end of the line for cattle drives from as far away as Arizona.

The cattle drives are over, but Magdalena is proud of its rich history and happy to share it with visitors. This sleepy little town is chock full of art galleries and coffee shops. It’s a fun place to spend a Saturday afternoon, strolling along the sidewalks and checking out all the wonderful creations on display.

Ruins of Kelly, NM — Not much left of Kelly

I love ghost towns. One way I follow my bliss is by exploring these glimpses of the past whenever I get the chance. Magdalena is surrounded by ghost towns and near-ghost towns. That old Western movie vibe you feel here? The ghost towns are a big part of that. You get a taste of the Old West as you walk their dusty streets.

Just a few miles from Magdalena is Kelly. It was once a thriving mining community, with a population of over 3,000 people. All that’s left now are foundations, a few walls, and a headframe at the mine. There is only one building left standing in town, the Catholic church.

church in Kelly, NM — …except the church

Another ghost town near Magdalena is Riley. Originally known as Santa Rita, the town changed its name to get a post office, since there was already another Santa Rita in the Territory. Riley was a farming community and died during the Dust Bowl in the 1930s when its water table dropped precipitously. The church is still standing here, too. New Mexico is like that.

Rio Salado — Lack of water is what killed Riley.

Water is key in the New Mexico desert. I spent most of my time in Magdalena sitting on the porch enjoying the birdlife attracted by a tiny pool on the property.

While in New Mexico, I pursued another passion, following my bliss by birdwatching at Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge. Due to the ongoing drought, things were a little different at the Bosque this fall. The shallow ponds that are usually the big draw for photographers who want those images of thousands of Snow Geese and Sandhill Cranes were dry. The Refuge was only flooding those fields that were planted with food for the birds. But there were still many incredible opportunities to observe and photograph dozens of different species. Sunrise at the Bosque is a magical, holy experience and I am thankful that I was able to visit this year.

I’m on another housesit now, a farm in southern Oregon. There’s a lot of birdlife here, too. I found it rather serendipitous that I am here for Thanksgiving, and a flock of 23 wild turkeys has been hanging out on the property off and on all week. Guess they know I have no intention of shooting them for Turkey Day!

Watching them though, I can totally understand why the Founding Fathers did not take Ben Franklin’s advice and make this bird our national symbol. Turkeys are really homely birds. Bald heads covered with red bumps, wrinkly and scrawny necks, not necessarily a good look for a national symbol!

However, I’m enjoying the peace and serenity of country living this Thanksgiving. I’m thankful to be warm and counting my blessings. It’s a good life. That’s my advice for this Thanksgiving weekend – Count your blessings. And remember to follow your bliss – whenever you can and wherever it leads you!

Thanks to Lindy LeCoq for this week’s Lens-Artists Photography Challenge, “Follow Your Bliss”.

April 23, 2021

Migration

Not all birds leave Alaska in the winter. Some birds are tough and hardy and stick it out. Some just endure the winter, others adapt. Their very physiology changes to help them contend with the cold a little better.

Spruce Grouse — Some birds stick it out all year long.

I wanted to be like them and adapt when I stayed up here this year. I wanted to adapt but I found that I just endured. I’m more like most birds.

Most birds have decided that the best way to deal with winter is to avoid it. They migrate. I like that lifestyle. I can relate. So I am delighted that it is finally migration time.

It’s migration time in Alaska, and we’re all very excited to see our old friends coming back. Swans are everywhere, with reports coming in from friends in Anchorage, Fairbanks and McCarthy. Sandhill cranes are in Fairbanks, although our local Palmer flock hasn’t shown up quite yet. Any day now, though. Maybe when I go out to shoot the sunset this evening they will have arrived. One can hope!

Sandhill Cranes — Maybe they’ll show up today!

Here in Palmer a huge mixed flock of Snow Geese and Canadian Geese was spotted in a farmer’s field, flushed by a passing eagle. The birds are flying north, more every day. Ducks are landing in ponds the minute the ice melts. It’s a birdwatcher’s dream all over Alaska, but there is one place in particular that will surely transport you to birder nirvana.

That place is Cordova. The fishing village of Cordova is the gateway to the vast and pristine Copper River Delta, one of the greatest wetland ecosystems in North America. Ninety percent of the birds migrating along the Pacific Flyway stop here, in the largest wetlands on the entire route. It’s a staging area, spring break for the birds traveling to their summer homes in Alaska from their winter abodes in places as far away as the tip of South America.

Moss Landing — Spring break for migrating birds!

Nearly 5 million shorebirds depend on the Delta to rest and recharge. At high tide on the mudflats at Hartney Bay, endless flocks of sandpipers and dunlins perform an intricate aerial ballet. Look closer and you’ll find dozens of other species. Thirty-six different shorebird species, including the entire North American population of Western Sandpipers, inhabit the shoreline, in terrain varying from silty mudflats to rocky beaches.

And that’s just the beach. The marshes in the Delta are as fertile as the shoreline. Standing on the boardwalk at Alaganik Slough, an overwhelming cacophony of sound will greet you, the mating songs of a thousand birds reverberating through the twilight. The only thing louder than the trumpeting of the swans is the crazy braying of Dusky Canadian Geese. But the strange and eerie sound of a snipe performing its’ corkscrew skydive mating dance is the command performance in this incredible bird opera.

Immature eagle — Cordova has lots of eagles, too!

I was lucky enough to catch that show not once, but twice. But it’s been twenty years. I was hoping to make it back this spring, but Cordova is a bit off the beaten path.

Budget cuts to the Alaska Marine Highway have eliminated ferry service to Cordova outside of peak tourist season, so the only way in now is to fly. Cordova won’t be happening for me this year after all.

But I still want to take a birding trip to celebrate the transition from winter to summer. I need a spring break. I’m thinking about spending a few days at the end of another road, in the little town of Homer.

Homer doesn’t have as many birds as Cordova. Cordova is in a class by itself. But Homer has some great migrations passing through, too. And some of the birds are different. Homer is a lot farther west. I might even see a bird I’ve never seen before.

After that spring break, it will probably be time for me to take flight too, moving from the Matanuska Valley to the Wrangell Mountains and my home in McCarthy. I’ll wait for the snow and ice to melt, then follow those migrating birds, and greet them in the ponds along the way.

Trumpeter Swans — I’ll greet old friends at the ponds along the way.

It will be great to see all my old friends, both human and avian, both the tough hardy ones that stick it out through the long cold and the ones who migrate.

Pine Grosbeak — One of my tough hardy friends, who gets by with a little help from his friends my neighbors

Thank you, Tina, for this week’s Lens-Artist’s Photo Challenge, Taking Flight. It’s migration time. I’m so excited!

June 28, 2020

A Quiet Moment

I’d like to share a quiet moment I recently had on the McCarthy Road. I was chasing rainbows, looking for them, knowing the light was right. Trees blocked my first glimpse, but if I could make it to the pond before it faded…

I caught the tail end for just a few seconds before the shower came back and blocked the sun.

Rainbow on the McCarthy Road — Caught the last glimpse

Usually, this spot is all about the birds. It’s a favored Trumpeter Swan nesting place most years. But this year it’s the flowers.

I was hunting for orchids. They love that moist mossy patch of roadside. I hoped I’d get lucky and spot one or two. What I found was a whole hill just covered with them. (I wished I’d brought a better close-up lense.)

The Roundleaf Orchids were my favorites. I guess you might say the Roundleaf Orchid is a quiet flower. Like some people I know. Tiny belly flowers, easy to overlook, but if you really focus on them, a priceless treasure.

There were other flowers, too, over a dozen different varieties. Not big fields like a Mojave Desert superbloom, but scattered here and there through the grasses and the willows.

But I guess it wasn’t a quiet moment after all. A symphony of birdsong filled the air. It was more of a peaceful moment.

Wrangell-St. Elias National Park — Lupines

What was quiet was the road. I stopped for at least 20 minutes and not another car came by going either direction. On solstice weekend!

It reminded me of the old days, before the rest of the world discovered McCarthy, when it was never-never land.

Sparrow's Egg Orchids — The hillside was covered with orchids!

It’s pretty quiet in McCarthy so far this season. There are a few visitors, mostly fellow Alaskans, but no crowds. I like that. It’s the tiny silver lining in the increasingly black cloud of our present-day reality.

But this quiet moment definitely feels like the calm before the storm. Travel restrictions have been lifted. The 4th of July will bring a huge influx of visitors.

A Quiet Moment — Sparrow’s Egg and Roundleaf Orchids

Alaskan villages are haunted by the specter of the last epidemic, the 1918 flu epidemic. Alaska was one of the places hardest hit by that scourge. It completely wiped out entire villages. And it wasn’t the first wave that got ’em, it was the second.

The first wave hasn’t even hit here yet. It could happen again. We’re very far from medical care.

McCarthy, Alaska — Quiet days in McCarthy

But this is also a town with an economy based entirely on tourism. What is the balance between economic survival and the lives of others in your community? That is the question that our village, along with the rest of the nation, is wrestling with now. Even in a community as remote and close-knit as ours, neighbor is pitted against neighbor in this struggle between economic prosperity and keeping people safe.

Personally, I feel that the lives of my friends and neighbors are priceless, much more priceless than that beautiful roundleaf orchid. They’re worth taking a few precautions for, making a few sacrifices.

If you love McCarthy, maybe for this year’s Fourth of July you might consider giving us a pass and recreating closer to home. If you must come out, do your best to keep us safe. Avoid the crowds. Keep socially distant. Please, please wear a mask. It’s not about politics, it’s about being considerate to others and not passing on a deadly disease that you’re not aware you’re carrying. It’s about keeping all of us here for each other for just a little while longer. Take a quiet moment and think about our community, which like that orchid, is so beautiful but so very fragile.

Thank you, Patti of Pilotfish, for this Lens-Artists Photo Challenge. I’m a day late and a dollar short due to connectivity issues, but better late than never.

April 23, 2020

Morning – Lens-Artists Photo Challenge

Morning is the challenge Ann-Christine of To See a World In a Grain of Sand has offered us this week; either what our mornings are looking like now or a special morning we won’t forget.

I’m not a morning person. I have often said that I am actually, truly, allergic to morning. Getting up early can be painful for me. In my home in Alaska, sunrise can be anywhere from 2AM to 10AM, depending on the season, so waking at the crack of dawn to watch the sun rise has never been one of my morning rituals.

Mendocino County morning — Morning in the redwoods

I tend to get up and hit the computer first thing, business first, and focus on the fun later in the day. And my current mornings, sorry, are frankly not worth writing about. But there have been times when getting up early has rewarded me with priceless treasures and magical experiences.

As I look over the last 6 months or so, I remember a lot of very special mornings. Watching the sun rise over the desert. Seeing the mists dance through the redwood forest. Photographing early morning light on a Pacific Coast lighthouse.

But the mornings that stand out most in my memory are the ones spent in Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Preserve this past winter.

The Bosque is a birder’s paradise. I play at being a birder sometimes. But if I was a real birder, I’d get up early in the morning! Well, for the Bosque I made an exception and did just that.

Watching the sun rise and the snow geese take off from the ponds on the Bosque is quite an experience. It’s a ritual, like watching the sunset in Key West. It takes dedication. Not only do you have to get up at the crack of dawn, it is freakin’ COLD out there!!

You need patience. Sometimes it seems like not much is happening, and it gets colder and colder because you are standing still. But wait for it.

Morning in Bosque del Apache — Sandhill Cranes and Snow Geese

There will likely be a few geese already in the ponds when you arrive. The cranes have spent the night there, roosting in the shallow water as protection against predators like the coyote.

Then you hear it. A cacophony of honking, braying geese. You might see them in the distance as they fly from one pond to another. Or you might be suddenly overwhelmed, as hundreds of birds appear from seemingly nowhere, surrounding you as they join their kin in the waters before you. The din is terrific. One flock after another arrives.

Morning on Bosque del Apache — Northern Shoveler

A flush of pink begins to fill the sky. Although the cranes and snow geese are the stars of the show, you may begin to notice other birds – ducks, Shovelers and Pintails, swimming around in the foreground, and perhaps a gaggle of Canadian Geese behind those cranes.

If you look closer at the vast flocks of Snow Geese, you begin to discern a few differences. That one is much smaller – it must be a Ross’ Goose. See the dark one over there? It’s a White-Fronted Goose. The sun rises behind you, lighting up the sky. But it hasn’t reached the ponds yet. They are still in deep shade.

With the additional light, the cranes begin to get restless. They start walking, in groups. In shallow, frozen places, they slip and slide with a graceful gait. You might notice a group – peering, watching, intent, looking for a signal perhaps. They begin to take off randomly, two or three at a time. I found it hard to anticipate – which cranes will take flight next? But most of the birds are not ready to leave just yet.

They’re waiting for the sun. When the sunlight reaches the birds, they know it’s time to move to the fields for the day. On some mornings birds continue to leave in small groups, a crane here, a crane there, a dozen geese at a time.

Morning on Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge — Snow Geese

But other mornings are magic. If you’re lucky, you may see one of those rare spectacles of nature that people travel thousands of miles to observe, that National Geographic moment.

The anticipation builds. The constant background chatter of thousands of squabbling geese crescendoes. Then every goose on the pond takes off at once, exploding into the air. This is a sight you will remember forever.

Tag: birding

Alone Time

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My Favorite Photos of 2021

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Follow Your Bliss

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Migration

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A Quiet Moment

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Morning – Lens-Artists Photo Challenge

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