Duck!
Oklahoma was the place to be. We tried one shorefront, but day admission would have cost us each a dollar, so we figured we would explore our other options. At the next stop the rate posted was the same, but there were no fences and we figured we might pilfer a peek at the water without being molested. After Bolt began to park on the side of the road conspicuously near the admission booth, Courtney pointed out a row of parking spaces right behind us. She was expeditiously nominated as LOL Director of Common Sense.
Walking through the waterside park, with its tall trees, we flushed Blue Jays, a couple of flickers, Yellow-rumped Warblers, Red-bellied Woodpeckers and meadowlarks. Their twittering was peaceful and our wandering bodies weary; when we reached the bank we all sat in the grass to gaze out upon the water.
There weren't many birds in sight; cormorants flew over regularly and occasionally a few gulls passed by higher in the air. A goose chased a cormorant low over the water. Killdeer cried mercilessly in the distance. The silence in between flowed over our ears in waves.
Presently two Ospreys swooped over and acted as if they would be dining with us; one dived once, and it didn't look like it caught anything. They must not have been hungry, but they were majestic. No wonder the ancient inhabitants of America wore feathers as a sign of warrior glory.
We spent some time there; but probably none of us could tell you how long. Presently we wandered to the other side of the small peninsula we occupied, where the sunlight piercingly reflected off the water to match its originator in the sky.
To the left were several irresistible items: a slide, a swingset, a merry-go-round, and a teeter-totter (also known in other regions as a seesaw). I, as LOL Executive Officer of Childlike Play, led my reluctant colleagues in what can only be called (alas!) a romp.
When we finished, it was time to mosey back, but driver and navigator still had not given up their scheme of finding this mysterious Loy Lake and, finding it oh too late on the map, embarked on a final search for this fabled aquatic landmark. After a roundabout, but not entirely futile itinerary, we found it.
Getting out of the car in the mellow evening of what had been an entirely perfect day climatically, we scanned the mostly-still water. David spotted something and chuckled. "You won't believe this."
It had to be a Pectoral Sandpiper. What else could it be?
I looked in the same direction and saw nothing. The light was beginning to give out.
David got out the scope, pointed it, and handed it off. And there in that darkish circle stood, on one foot....
...a duck. A Wood Duck. A beautifully painted, perfectly serene specimen of this elusive little bird I hadn't seen yet except on postage stamps. He stood there the whole time we watched, and then some, I am certain. Just what I was hoping to see today. Nothing like those geese....
Rattattattatt! A lady kingfisher wanted attention. Honkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonk! A gaggle of Canada Geese were in and out of the picture in a matter of seconds. What a splendid day.
We made it home. 67 species. 11 life birds. The rest is history.
Walking through the waterside park, with its tall trees, we flushed Blue Jays, a couple of flickers, Yellow-rumped Warblers, Red-bellied Woodpeckers and meadowlarks. Their twittering was peaceful and our wandering bodies weary; when we reached the bank we all sat in the grass to gaze out upon the water.
There weren't many birds in sight; cormorants flew over regularly and occasionally a few gulls passed by higher in the air. A goose chased a cormorant low over the water. Killdeer cried mercilessly in the distance. The silence in between flowed over our ears in waves.
Presently two Ospreys swooped over and acted as if they would be dining with us; one dived once, and it didn't look like it caught anything. They must not have been hungry, but they were majestic. No wonder the ancient inhabitants of America wore feathers as a sign of warrior glory.
We spent some time there; but probably none of us could tell you how long. Presently we wandered to the other side of the small peninsula we occupied, where the sunlight piercingly reflected off the water to match its originator in the sky.
To the left were several irresistible items: a slide, a swingset, a merry-go-round, and a teeter-totter (also known in other regions as a seesaw). I, as LOL Executive Officer of Childlike Play, led my reluctant colleagues in what can only be called (alas!) a romp.
When we finished, it was time to mosey back, but driver and navigator still had not given up their scheme of finding this mysterious Loy Lake and, finding it oh too late on the map, embarked on a final search for this fabled aquatic landmark. After a roundabout, but not entirely futile itinerary, we found it.
Getting out of the car in the mellow evening of what had been an entirely perfect day climatically, we scanned the mostly-still water. David spotted something and chuckled. "You won't believe this."
It had to be a Pectoral Sandpiper. What else could it be?
I looked in the same direction and saw nothing. The light was beginning to give out.
David got out the scope, pointed it, and handed it off. And there in that darkish circle stood, on one foot....
...a duck. A Wood Duck. A beautifully painted, perfectly serene specimen of this elusive little bird I hadn't seen yet except on postage stamps. He stood there the whole time we watched, and then some, I am certain. Just what I was hoping to see today. Nothing like those geese....
Rattattattatt! A lady kingfisher wanted attention. Honkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonk! A gaggle of Canada Geese were in and out of the picture in a matter of seconds. What a splendid day.
We made it home. 67 species. 11 life birds. The rest is history.
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