Life On the Lake 

Dedicated to the Joys of Waterside Living

Flicker? Is that what we've got?

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A Northern Flicker, right? Looks a bit like a Mourning Dove, but not really. We've got a visitor that is keen on what we have in a metal-and-Plexiglas vertical feeder, but in order to get at the goodies inside he must cling to the underside of the feeder and ratchet his body around in a slow curve to get his curved beak into the slot. And this he does, but in a most ungainly fashion, hanging horizontally and looking like he is about to fall on his back

But he doesn't. When he is done feasting on what might be the black sunflower seeds, he departs for a while. Now, a lot of birds like sunflower seeds, especially the Stellar Jays, and I think the crows and even the wood ducks may eat them, though not so enthusiastically.

The flicker shows his patch of red upon arrival and departure. Otherwise it is buried or obscured by his other feathers. And it may be only the male that shows red--I don't know for certain. Seems like I read that somewhere. And maybe there are two flickers, one with red and one without, and they have separate arrival times.

If so, this is how we can tell the one from the other. For now the Mourning Doves--who were almost tame--have deserted us for other pastures. Or rather other feeders.

Saw them once, the pair, a quarter mile away, at somebody else's feeder. Not tame, no, but surely not secretive nor shy, either, as are teal and wood ducks.

"Loony tunes" in the night?

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Sometime you hear them first--somebody is getting raped. If half-asleep, it will sit you up in bed. But most often (and it does not happen often, here at the lake, only every couple of years) you see a pair of odd-looking ducks in dead-center of the lake. They are not hiding but trying to stay as far away as possible form you.

This year I thought they were a pair of male common mergansers. But they did not look just right to be those. And it was Norma who first surely identified them. "Loons!" she buzzed me on the intercom.

"You sure?" I asked, not liking to come in second in bird or duck identification. But I was pretty certain they were loons. True, I did not see the black-and-white mottled back pattern, almost as though they had been hand checkered, but "something in the way they moved," or rather drifted out in the lake, spelled out LOON. And when I put the tiny 7X Leitz binoculars on them, the ducks were unmistakable.

They rank high among the rare visitors to the lake. Once, and once only, a green-winged teal, which is not rare most places. Another time a green heron. (Van Gogh painted an unforgettable beauty.) And some other species that are not usual visitors and remarkable when they arrive, and stay a while.

This morning I have not sighted them, but then I haven't tried very hard, and intend to soon. Won't be hard if they are here because, as I said, they mysteriously  hold to the lake's center. Now, if I were a loon, I'd weave in and out of the copious cattails, like the shy wood ducks do.

But then I'm not a loon, and loons know best what is best.

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Lonely male wood duck at the feeder. His mate is off with their ducklings, but will rejoin him when the ducklings are grown

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A fairly good year for wood duck broods. Most years a pair will only have three or four, and raise to adulthood one or two. It is sad to watch this terrible attrition, and I wonder, each year, what happened to each small duckling, as they disappear from day to day, and week to week.

I don't think I really want to know what happened to each of them. Even though each of them made some critter a needed meal.

This year, however, we have one brood of eight, and by now they are almost as big as the hen. And another adult pair have had perhaps a second brood. Whatever, the ducklings are a third the size of the first brood. And there other hens with broods of a small size.

I usually curse the abundance of cattails and their proliferation, but I am now glad for them, for the woodies and mallards use them for cover, and it is where they take shelter from whatever threat (real or not) that nears them. Me, for instance: I walk out on my dock and the ducklings go scurrying off for cattail cover, their mother bringing up the rear and often protesting in that piping voice of hers. And now the ducklings imitate it.

"Sorry, guys," I mutter, not for the first time. "Hey, come back. I am no threat."

But they will never believe me, and perhaps that is why there are a goodly number of baby wood ducks this year.

And there is the prospect that Most of the ducklings will return from wherever (Southern California, I think) next spring, to breed and nest and raise broods of their own. And I suppose those ducks and ducklings will become frightened of  me and my Labs, in turn.

And so it goes.

Party, anyone? Sorry, we are exclusive

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Mid-summer evening, with party-goers on a custom-made raft at the South end of the lake. Caught in a last ray of sunlight, they make a happy sight. Notice all the tall evergreens. Seems like the sound of chainsaws riddle the air most afternoons, yet so many of the tall old second-growth trees remain.

A heartening sight. Not long ago a small, weathered sign washed up on our beach. It reads, "Cut no trees." A nice sentiment, it is hard to put into intelligent practice, yet remains a stern warning to all who glimpse it. It is presently sited on our shoreline, well out of eyeshot.

Not long ago I came up with a handy rule-of-thumb:  no one should be permitted to cut any evergreen tree that is older than he (or she) is.

Words to try to live by.

Thanks for the visit,
Robert C. Arnold, Editor