March 2015: Chevy
Pond, Douglas County
Don’t
bother looking for ‘Chevy Pond’ on any map.
Chevy Pond is the name assigned to this dab of marsh by a local
birder. It lies across the road from a
large, old log pond, Ford’s Pond.
I start out
chilled – car windows down. Our car is
parked at an uncomfortable slope on the edge of Chevy Pond. Breakfast crumbs in my lap. At least I have hot coffee in my mug.
O.K. Now for the magical part. Sitting here is well worth a crooked
back. It is early morning. This low marshy spot is a fog pocket. Mist rises off dark water and swirls between
last years tall cattail fronds and joins the fog hanging low over this
valley. The fog sucks the color from the
cattails, the water, the green aquatic vegetation –everything. Everything except the flashy red and yellow
of a male red-winged blackbird’s epaulets.
Dale and I
have come five times in the past couple of weeks. At first most of the males were still in
flocks and those that sang out from the cattails had a simple song, “Danka
Schoen.” We haven’t heard that song
today, only the more traditional, “Kleeeeee.”
A guttural “Quoink” comes from within the
cattails. Ah ha! Virginia rails are here too, but I doubt
we’ll see one. Out in the dab of open
water I see four coot, a pair of mallards, and a pair of secretive pied-billed
grebes slip from one sheltered spot to another.
Magic time
is when the sun rises high enough to rise above the pond’s far embankment and
starts to burn off the morning fog.
Above me the fog thins and blue sky struggles to take over. Color comes back to the
ponds. Cattails have a golden glow in
the early light, spots of green show spring is coming, and the redwings become
even blacker.
“Kal leeee.” A string
of white breath floats out in the morning fog.
Black sporty male redwings sing out from cattails near and far. Half a dozen are marking out their
territories. I don’t think many of the
females have arrived, although one does fly in with a mouthful of soggy
grasses. She looks like a dark,
overgrown sparrow, all streaky and brown.
She drops down into a tangle of cattails and soon I see one frond after
another vibrating. I wish I could
actually see her as she pulls and tucks and weaves, making her nest.
A raven swoops in, probably hoping to rob a nest, but it is
too early in the spring from him to find anything. He is escorted out of the area by an irate
redwing.
I love sitting here for an hour or two, during the prime
time of the morning. Dale photographs
and I sketch. Eventually the sun
wins. Fog dissipates. The redwing’s ardor dies down and food
becomes their main interest. Time for us
to move on.