I can barely make out
two ducks flying upriver
Showing posts with label duck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label duck. Show all posts
Monday, December 18, 2017
Tuesday, July 4, 2017
Posted with BlogsyFriday, March 10, 2017
Friday, February 24, 2017
Friday, November 25, 2016
Monday, December 7, 2015
December 7: Day at the beach
This morning I birded with my friend Derek at Reid State Park, which features two lovely, long, sandy beaches washed by sparkling surf. At one point in our ramble up the strand, a very loud ship's horn sounded. We later learned that this noise came from a new stealth destroyer that had just launched and was headed out to open ocean from the Kennebec River. Earlier, we had seen people standing on the Bath bridge looking down on Bath Ironworks, where the ship had been built, obviously waiting for the launch. Derek had commented then that it cost over $1 billion to build; hard to reconcile a toy of war with such a bright and peaceful winter's day.
morning beach walk
we scan for sea ducks
new destroyer slips out to sea
Friday, July 31, 2015
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Saturday, December 27, 2014
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Saturday, June 21, 2014
June 21: Solstice
We decided to celebrate the first day of summer by driving up to the town of Monson, which the Appalachian Trail passes through (and which is home to the excellent Spring Mountain BBQ). After lunch we hiked a few miles on the AT, to a small beaver pond and back. As we stood in the bog at pond's edge, dragonflies landing on our arms, we spent several minutes trying to figure out what bird was making a loud peeping sound. Turns out it was these ducklings:
We had flushed their mother and they wanted her back. When she returned, we were able to identify them as goldeneyes.
Goldeneye chicks--
those loud cries for their mother
need no translation.
Friday, March 28, 2014
March 28: Spring Snowy Owl
Birded Scarborough Marsh this morning. Despite the remnants of snow and a lingering chill, spring waterfowl--geese and ducks--are returning at last, courting and displaying on the rising waters of the spring marsh. And yet, two Snowy Owls linger during this season on the cusp...
And yet, Arctic owls linger
in melting snow.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Sunday, January 13, 2013
January 13: Wet enough for a duck
The view from inside looked bleak, foggy. As he stepped out the front door, my husband mused, "I wonder how wet it is out here." We had barely talken two steps on our walk into town for brunch when we both laughed. A drake Mallard stood there right in front of us, about to make his way across the street, hundreds of yards away from the river. On this day that felt more like mid-March than January, I guess it was wet enough for him to take a little stroll away from the water.
When we got to town, we had brunch at a restaurant on the waterfront. The inner harbor was brimming full, a just-past-new-moon high tide, the waters still and calm. Curtis Island in the outer harbor was muted by fog and looked farther away than it really was. As we ate, we watched a single coot meander among the empty floats and cocooned windjammers. A loon surfaced with a sea urchin in its bill. Along the public landing, the very air felt laden with moisture, our wet breath making clouds each time we exhaled.
Morning of mist, tides,
ducks pacing wet streets.
Our bodies contain oceans.
 |
| Why did the duck cross the road? |
When we got to town, we had brunch at a restaurant on the waterfront. The inner harbor was brimming full, a just-past-new-moon high tide, the waters still and calm. Curtis Island in the outer harbor was muted by fog and looked farther away than it really was. As we ate, we watched a single coot meander among the empty floats and cocooned windjammers. A loon surfaced with a sea urchin in its bill. Along the public landing, the very air felt laden with moisture, our wet breath making clouds each time we exhaled.
Morning of mist, tides,
ducks pacing wet streets.
Our bodies contain oceans.
Monday, January 9, 2012
January 8: Duck and Cover
My dad was very anxious to report to me an avian drama playing out at their house. Three bald eagles--two adults and one younger bird--were repeatedly diving at a little duck swimming around in the partially open water of the river in front of their house. One of the eagles would swoop down, and the duck would dive underwater to escape. It would stay under for a while, but when it finally popped up for air, another eagle would attack again. My dad theorized that they were trying to exhaust the duck to the point at which one of them could catch it. Its compatriots waited on the ice and in a tree, no doubt prepared to battle the hunter for the eventual prey. Diving underwater was the duck's only hope for survival, as out of water, it would have indeed become a sitting duck, an easy mark.
The tactic paid off. The eagles moved on for easier prey, and the duck lived to see another day.
Three eagles, one duck.
Sometimes the odds mean nothing:
lucky duck escaped.
The tactic paid off. The eagles moved on for easier prey, and the duck lived to see another day.
Three eagles, one duck.
Sometimes the odds mean nothing:
lucky duck escaped.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
January 10: Breakwater Walk
Two of my New Year's resolutions were to spend more time outdoors and to step up my exercise regime. I believe that when you put a resolution out there, you are given the means to fulfill it. So when my friend Brian called this morning to ask if I wanted to walk the Rockland Breakwater, I remembered those resolutions and had to agree, despite temperatures in the teens.
It's about a one-mile walk from the parking lot to the lighthouse at the end of the long jetty. As you walk out atop its giant granite blocks, which are fit together like pieces of a massive 3-D puzzle, you're basically walking on a stone bridge that ends in the middle of the outer harbor. Sea ducks, loons, gulls, and guillemots bob in the waves on either side of you. Depending on the weather and tides, waves sometimes crash against the seaward side of the wall to spray across the rocks (and you), or an unusually high tide may have creeped over the farthest end, leaving the lighthouse rising above the waves as if it were a little island unto itself. The ferries to Vinalhaven and North Haven go to and fro. In the summer, lobster boats check their traps within shouting distance, and sailboats breeze past. You're conscious of being exposed to the elements--people have died from being struck by lightning out there. And no matter what the season, there's always a penetrating wind that seems to carry the force of the entire Atlantic Ocean behind it.
This morning's walk out wasn't too bad. We were both dressed warmly enough and the wind was at our backs. Most of the rocky surface remained relatively ice-free, enabling us to pick our way with relative ease. Long-tailed ducks gobbled nearby, and a little guillemot in its winter white plumage posed for a photograph. We even hung out for awhile in the lee of the lighthouse, trying to absorb some sunlight and warmth before the walk back in the teeth of the wind.
The wind's teeth this morning were those of a shark. My body was warm enough, but because part of my face was exposed, every sinus in my head ached. My contacts blurred in the frigid blasts of the northwest wind. I would like to have better admired the beauty of the snow-covered Camden Hills in the distance behind the Samoset Resort, but I couldn't really see. At one point, a loon surfaced quite close but disappeared before I could point it out to photographer Brian. I kept mistaking buoys for ducks. But there's nothing for it but to keep on walking, and eventually we stepped down off the wall onto the beach. I think both of us were a little pleased with ourselves for enduring, though really, what choice did we have? And this was for fun, after all.
We walk on ocean,
on urchins, on ice-sprayed stones--
cold realm of the gulls.
It's about a one-mile walk from the parking lot to the lighthouse at the end of the long jetty. As you walk out atop its giant granite blocks, which are fit together like pieces of a massive 3-D puzzle, you're basically walking on a stone bridge that ends in the middle of the outer harbor. Sea ducks, loons, gulls, and guillemots bob in the waves on either side of you. Depending on the weather and tides, waves sometimes crash against the seaward side of the wall to spray across the rocks (and you), or an unusually high tide may have creeped over the farthest end, leaving the lighthouse rising above the waves as if it were a little island unto itself. The ferries to Vinalhaven and North Haven go to and fro. In the summer, lobster boats check their traps within shouting distance, and sailboats breeze past. You're conscious of being exposed to the elements--people have died from being struck by lightning out there. And no matter what the season, there's always a penetrating wind that seems to carry the force of the entire Atlantic Ocean behind it.
This morning's walk out wasn't too bad. We were both dressed warmly enough and the wind was at our backs. Most of the rocky surface remained relatively ice-free, enabling us to pick our way with relative ease. Long-tailed ducks gobbled nearby, and a little guillemot in its winter white plumage posed for a photograph. We even hung out for awhile in the lee of the lighthouse, trying to absorb some sunlight and warmth before the walk back in the teeth of the wind.
The wind's teeth this morning were those of a shark. My body was warm enough, but because part of my face was exposed, every sinus in my head ached. My contacts blurred in the frigid blasts of the northwest wind. I would like to have better admired the beauty of the snow-covered Camden Hills in the distance behind the Samoset Resort, but I couldn't really see. At one point, a loon surfaced quite close but disappeared before I could point it out to photographer Brian. I kept mistaking buoys for ducks. But there's nothing for it but to keep on walking, and eventually we stepped down off the wall onto the beach. I think both of us were a little pleased with ourselves for enduring, though really, what choice did we have? And this was for fun, after all.
We walk on ocean,
on urchins, on ice-sprayed stones--
cold realm of the gulls.
Friday, December 25, 2009
December 25: Christmas Ducks
A few times on Christmas, Mother Nature has given us the gift of an unusual wildlife sighting. One year, my dad and I saw a flock of Bohemian waxwings--one of my favorite birds--settle into a tree right outside my parents' house. Another year, we looked out to see an otter on the river ice, apparently eating a fish, eyed by a bald eagle in a nearby tree. This year, as I sat down to my computer after enjoying a lovely Christmas brunch with friends, I noticed three black ducks waddling up the snowy bank from the river, probably scoping out our yard for acorns. That in itself was kind of cool. Although we see ducks almost daily down in the river, they've never before visited our back yard. But then we noticed that a pair of wood ducks was also moving up the bank into our yard. The male wood duck has such exotic coloring and patterns that seeing one at any time seems like a gift. And here he was, mate in tow, hustling through our yard on Christmas Day. Wish they'd hung out long enough for a photo.
Now a squirrel's digging in a patch of dead leaves, but somehow that isn't as festive and exciting. Still, Merry Christmas, squirrel! I hope you and the ducks find a holiday treat under the snow and leaves back there.
Wood duck in my yard--
gaudy as a Christmas gift,
a gift worth sharing.
(Thanks to Wikimedia, here's a photo I would like to have taken of a male wood duck)
Now a squirrel's digging in a patch of dead leaves, but somehow that isn't as festive and exciting. Still, Merry Christmas, squirrel! I hope you and the ducks find a holiday treat under the snow and leaves back there.
Wood duck in my yard--
gaudy as a Christmas gift,
a gift worth sharing.
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