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April 28, 2005  101 Spring Things I am sometimes at a loss about how to start a column and today is no exception. I’ve just returned from a walk at the 101 Mile Marsh; and writing about the experience doesn’t fully convey the marsh’s uniqueness, or capture a special springtime moment. Perhaps, a more capable writer could do justice to the experience; unfortunately you are stuck with me. Rather than write, I wish it were possible to carry the viewer’s perception with me through a unique landscape. Our minds and senses melded so that nothing was missed; not the cool north breeze, the clear blue sky, the scent of earth, or the voices of a thousand birds. If only it were possible to speak clearly in an infinite number of voices of nature. Using only one appreciative mind is like channeling a symphony through a cheap portable radio. Capturing an event on film would not help because it reveals nothing of air temperature, smell, or the ‘all around us’ feel of the awakening season of spring. While pondering the nature of nature I also wondered what it is about the landscape that goes to the very core of me, making me essentially a lover of what I was in the midst of. As I mentioned earlier, a cool breeze blew steadily from the north. The sky was completely blue. It is ideal walking weather; exertion in such conditions does not lead to uncomfortable overheating and everything looks sharper in the crisp air. Before stepping through the fence surrounding the marsh I pause and scan the surface of the water. Redheads, Buffleheads, Coots and Geese float on choppy blue water. A northerly path leads through short rushes on the east side of the marsh. There are no trees on this side of the pond and the sound of traffic is loud; nevertheless, sounds from the marsh start to transport the walker even at this early stage of a stroll. The machine-like insistency of a Marsh Wren’s song, ticking and buzzing, it sews and stitches the cool morning air. A voice made to be heard deep in tule rushes with waves crashing and noisy marsh birds calling, is certainly a match for passing semi-trailers. A few steps northward and an amazing scraggly wall provided by a few upstart aspens crowded along the fence, reduces the noise of traffic. Suddenly Yellow-rumped Warblers lift into the short red pines and have voices. Tree Swallows across the fence bubble songs reminiscent of trickling water. I roll under the bottom strand of barbed wire on the north fence then stand up and check to see that I still have my wallet and keys. I head into the cover of teetering, misty green aspens. This option is added to the walk once Swallows return. I could simply walk the perimeter inside the fence but at this time of year it is advantageous to be next to the trees for all the birds one might miss if they stayed in the open. Again I am amazed that the screen of trees blots out so much traffic noise. I hear Ruby-crowned Kinglets, the full song of White-crowned Sparrow and a Yellow-headed Blackbird behind me asking ‘funny- funny how?’ That’s the 101 marsh Yellow-head catch phrase. Next, I walked through the aspens heading west. The number of Tree Swallows attracted to this spot is astonishing, and the number of cavity nests that attract them are even more unbelievable. Not all of the 100 or so Aspen trees here have holes drilled in them, but it’s hard to find one that doesn’t. As if to show the copiousness of accommodations, Tree Swallow’s fluttered about each hole at my approach. Reaching the far west corner of the fence I was pleased to note there is no fence here at all; instead I stepped right out onto the famous gold rush trail. I am not given to thinking about the historic past of our area but this arterial route was once the road to riches during that frenetic time. Camping at the soggy 101 Mile point is referred to in some books on that era, and I assume it was done by those weary fortune hunters who couldn’t afford to stay in better accommodations in town. Seeing that I was on the west side of the fence I now followed the treeline. Ahead of me White-crowned Sparrows flushed and headed for the cover of brush piles. With binoculars I noted there are a number of Savannah Sparrows in the midst of the White-crowned Sparrows. I paused in the shade (not to cool off but to be less visible) and listened to a Brown Creeper. I heard the scuffling of a woodpecker on a downed pine. I was pleased to see the woodpecker was a male Three-toed Wodpecker with its yellow cap shining in the sunlight. A Purple Finch sang above me as I watched the industrious Woodpecker. I couldn’t locate the singing Brown Creeper but as I stepped into the open I hear an emphatic ‘izzit’ of the first Flycatcher of the year. I walked toward the sound and to my left another Flycatcher erupted with ‘izzit see-wee’. From that utterance I concluded that I was in the presence of a number of Dusky Flycatchers. The Flycatchers were back! I heard another Dusky as I made my way south. A Red-tailed Hawk circled overhead out of the tall aspens looking for all the world like the cover of Sibley’s Guide to Birds without the text. At the same time a Sandhill Crane took flight from a wet sedge meadow to the east where I would soon be walking. The staggered rapping of hidden Red-naped Sapsuckers came from within the forest depths. I re-crossed the gold rush road. As before, White-crowned Sparrows scurried for cover. A Northern Flicker made its presence known by bursts of intermittent tapping interspersed with its ‘wicka-wicka-wicka’ sound from whence they get their name. A dusty looking female Robin moved ahead of me nervously and I took the time to glass it as I would any other interesting bird. Soon I was back at the highway. I took another look at the pond’s surface and then pulled the pack and binoculars off my shoulder. As I climbed into the van I hoped that, with the tenacity of buttercup seeds, some of the mystique of the 101 Mile Marsh would forever cling to my psyche. In a memory spot deeper than the memory of a mind, in a place words have no place, that is the source of the magic of a spring marsh. I put on the left turn signal and pulled out onto the highway. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
