I lost at this pursuit game of the great blue heron a year ago. Well, it’s a game to me, probably not to the heron, who sees the photographer’s intrusion as a threat at worst, a nuisance at the least.
Last year on this flowage, which edges up to the roomy, pine-studded campground, I walked the shoreline at sunrise, stalking the heron, hoping it was somewhere near the weeds on its own stalk, that of fish. It wasn’t there, and I let down my guard, walking the weedy shoreline to where it met up with a dying weeping willow.
Before I knew it, before I could raise my camera, there was a raucous squawk above me, and a great blue heron dropped from the high branches, swooshing away from me in an awkward pumping of wings. It quickly put branches and distance between us; there was no photo to take.
Now, it’s another August, its first days bookmarked by sunrises and sunsets in a reddish haze. It makes for good photos, but not so good air quality. Canada’s wildfires, 500 and more miles away, are a visible lesson in how we are linked by natural events on this globe, including smoke riding the jet stream.
In the dew-soaked morning, as a burnt-orange sunrise from burnt forests slips through this campground’s tall white pines, a doe and her fawn feed on red clover in a field. They dash into the brush, wary of a walker. I see a heron along the shoreline. I take some photos from afar, then decide against an approach, leaving the heron to its morning routine as a light cover of fog lifts to meet the smokey haze.
Does wildfire smoke affect wildlife? Birds, for sure, say wildlife biologists. There’s the resident great blue heron on this flowage—a river widened by a dam—along with Canada geese. A pair of osprey hover above the water, their nest farther up the river. A cardinal tweets unseen from high in the pines, and a killdeer races along the mowed edge of the campground.
Birds, unlike mammals, direct air through their lungs to extract oxygen, exchanging most of the air in their lungs with every breath. It’s a highly-efficient way to breath, but also makes birds more susceptible to poor air quality.
Birds may decrease activity in the worst periods of smoke. Some will alter their migration. Up the road late yesterday, purple martins whirled above tall corn, picking off insects while flocking and feeding—fueling for migration to Brazil. Will they leave early, winging south, outflying the smoke?
Summer rolls on, as does the sunny morning. I look down, a spot of green at my feet catching my eye. It’s an acorn of the pin oak, which thrives in damp habitat; here, pin oaks grow out of the riverbank. The acorn is dull green with a brown flat cap appearing too small for the nut, as do all pin acorn caps.
What knocked the acorn from the tree so early, before it browned and ripened? A squirrel? Squirrels will snatch green acorns to hide them away. The squirrels can’t wait, impatient for autumn, as am I.
The trail follows the river’s steep bank. Above me rises a wall of sandstone, below me are glimpses of the river through trees and brush. I stop to peek at a smooth softshell turtle atop the end of a log in the water. Its tubular, pig-like snout pokes out from under its roundish smooth shell, about a foot across and covered with leather-like skin. The shell is as smooth as the flowage’s surface, both turtle and water glimmering in the morning sun.
Suddenly, there’s movement under the tip of the log as the turtle inches forward. I realize it’s the turtle’s feet rippling the water as they churn for momentum. The turtle slips off the log, its splash creating a swirl of sparkling dimples that inexplicably take on a purplish hue in the morning sunlight.
The smooth softshell, a turtle of the river, can stay submerged for more than an hour. I think of how easily it escaped the smoke, though unknowingly, I’m sure. Where do I go?
I take off walking toward the last spot I saw the heron, when the sun was inching above the trees, its rise pretty and peaceful, belying the raging source of its reddish hue. The heron is still there, but has moved up the shoreline. It sees me, and flies to that same bare willow where it startled me last year.
This time I approach slowly, focusing on the large bird’s silhouette among the scraggly branches. I get closer and closer, the photos get better and better. And then, just like last time, the heron squawks and swoons downward, away from me. It clears the branches and rises above the flowage, into the sepia-tinged fog and haze of another August morning.
Note: My book, “Soul of the Outdoors,” is available by contacting me at davegreschner@icloud.com or 715-651-1638. The book is also available through online book sellers, and at Wisconsin bookstores in Rice Lake (Old Bookshop), Eau Claire (Dotters), Menomonie (Dragon Tale), Hudson (Chapter2Books), Spooner (Northwinds), Three Lakes (Mind Chimes), Cable (Redbery Books),and Bayfield (Honest Dog), and in Duluth, Minn., at The Bookstore at Fitger’s.
