Safety
Therese, Arctic GuideWe all find safety where we can. During this trip to the Arctic, when we went on shore, three guides and one husky dog preceded us. Together, they marked out a triangle-shaped piece of land where we were allowed to walk. Two stood with WWII era wooden rifles and binoculars scanning to the horizon. In this way, as we doddled about the beach or hiked a hill in the snow, we would be safe from an unexpected arrival from a polar bear.
Of course, we all want to see that polar bear, but not one walking toward us. So we were all grateful for the protection even if it seemed a bit restrictive. Even if all I wanted to do was walk into the horizon, bear or not.
Hooded Crow in Oslo
Black-headed GullThe black-headed gull I passed on the way to my hotel in Oslo looked spooked by its own shadow. So too was I as it was 9:30 at night—not a time when shadows lurk. But here in the north, the sun doesn’t look like it’s going to set anytime soon.
I arrived in Oslo this morning from the States. The first bird I saw (besides a pigeon—they don’t count) was a Hooded Crow. A few years ago a Hooded Crow—a decidedly European bird—appeared near a dumpster on Staten Island. There was enough excitement that I picked up and drove down to pay it a visit. Like many twitching events this one was a bit of a disappointment. The bird was mobbed by big lenses and crowds. The setting was potentially beautiful—the beach was right there—but overlooked in favor of focusing on the dumpster that the crow hoped might provide a meal. After I saw that one lone bird I wondered a lot about it. How had it arrived on our shores? Seems doubtful it flew. So perhaps it was trapped in a container ship and spent a week at sea. No wonder it had attached itself to the dumpster.
Snapping Turtle Tradition
We love traditions: Thanksgiving dinner, or that annual trip to the beach, or the first trip to the ice cream stand in summer. For me, the annual events that I look forward to are Christmas Bird Count, the salamander big night, and the week in early June when snapping turtles lay their eggs. All of my traditions involve preparation and excited anticipation.
I prepared for snapping turtle week by buying a fishing net. As I left Gander Mountain someone called to me: “butterflies?”—those would be some butterflies!
“Nope, Snapping turtles,” I called back, cheerful.
He rolled his eyes.
Baby Beaver
Horned GrebeI am an optimist. But on Tuesday morning as I launched my kayak onto the Hudson River at 7:30 in the morning I was not filled with my usual sense that just around the corner was the next glorious sight. I wouldn't say I was feeling pessimistic, but rather more grumpy. And I was grumpy because the height of migration has passed--it comes and goes so quickly it is excruciating. I decided that nothing special could come my way ("all the best birds are gone" I said to a friend, sounding like a twelve year old having a tantrum). Armed with this bad attitude, I stroked south under a bluing sky toward Magdalen Island and the entrance to the North Tivoli Bay.