I arrive back at Fair Oaks Bridge after a bike ride on the American River Parkway. I rode to the San Juan Rapids one mile or more downstream to the west. I stop to enjoy the view at my farthest destination for the day. No wildlife here, no people, cyclists pass.
Rivers are complicated. They provide so many benefits and serve so many needs. By regulating flow levels, the river can meet the needs for healthy habitats and retain water quality for all.
Duck dunks its head in the water scavenging for food.
As I arrive at the bridge, I continue to see cyclists pass. One carries a small dog tucked inside her sweatshirt. Others walk dogs, large and small. Many people walk on the bridge and very few pause for even a moment to look to one side or the other. I marvel each morning at the scenic panorama and mysteries of the natural world I am part of.
This feeling of wonder and joy appears lost on many others. Visitors who pause to watch and those hold cameras are on the bridge to be observers. I engage in conversation about when they come and what they see and learn more about the river and its history.
Enjoying the serenity of the morning on Fair Oaks Bridge, I am very conscious of the time and place – on this anniversary day of the disaster that rocked the country to its core.
I arrive at Fair Oaks Bridge with the morning light still in shadows. I hear a single chicken boast his wake up call. A cool breeze blows. The air feels crisp, even at 72 degrees. The sun is emerging. A scattered orange glow of excitement for the new day spreads across the sky.
As tired as I sometimes feel waking up in the morning, the cool air, the scenic views from Fair Oaks Bridge always wake me up. I wake to the sound of enduring and hidden chickens, sight of radiant orange sunrises, and the touch of gentle breezes.
A lone fisherman waits on the river. A second one prepares to launch. Three Canada Geese fly silently high over the bridge heading west. Many walkers are out early this morning. A third boater arrives and launches. A lone chicken continues its solo. A full chorus of birds sing unseen in the distance when the chicken pauses its song.
I see something emerge from the water – a salmon, a otter, a duck, a beaver? Movement is too sudden to get a good look. With the glow of sunrise faded away, deep gray shadows hide morning clouds stretched like spun sugar.Read more
It is barely dawn and cloudy. Will there be a sunrise today? A strong, cool wind blows and street lights still aglow.
Chickens hidden in trees for their night’s rest are calling out this morning in rapid succession. Today, instead of wearing shorts, sandals and a t-shirt, I wear jeans. Two cyclists pass with headlights flashing as the night passes and morning emerges. Three cars pass me on the street. The Hot Yoga studio lot is completely filled and double stack parked. As I approach the bridge, the sky is still cloudy gray.
One lone chicken hides in bushes on Bridge Street and calls out good morning to no one. It continues to call out most of my morning on Fair Oaks Bridge and I wonder who else is listening?
Haven’t checked for spider webs on the bridge for several visits. I find a huge web without its spider.
Four fishermen sit on the east side of Fair Oaks Bridge waiting. Another fisherman backs down the ramp. I see a flock of Canada Geese fly over in complete silence, flapping wildly.
Two photographers set up their cameras on tripods to capture the sunrise and the wildlife of the river. All I can see are boats sitting quietly. The chicken is still calling and waiting for someone or something to respond. Ducks have yet to emerge from a night’s sleep. The day brightens. There is no sun anywhere. Pigeons coo from a distance unseen. The chicken is still crowing.
I am watching the river and see a Great Blue Heron fly in – first of the season. It blends with the colors of the river and I can barely see it from the bridge.
I walk down to the boat launch ramp and the Heron stands watching the river in a frozen pose. Then it flies off, chortling, to the opposite (north) shore and lands on the riverbank.
Ducks swim. I brought no food. I need to bring something next time. Mallards swim peacefully. They search for breakfast, clean their wings and watch the river.
As fishermen continue to float by, any traces of early sunrise are gone. Cloudy, gray skies cover the sun.
A soft orange glow peeks behind clouds. Cool, moist air leaves dew on my windshield. I wear jeans and need two layers of shirts for the first time. Clouds stretch the eastern sky in wisps as the sun casts a pale glow behind them.
Fair Oaks Bridge is a Truss Bridge completed in 1909. As many as 40 pigeons rest here each morning.
One lone boater sits near the end of the river. Three boats sit a few yards away from Fair Oaks Bridge engaged in conversation. This morning I see more boats on the river than waterfowl.
Ducks greet the morning with their persistent quacks. Pigeons sit in their usual spot. Other birds join them.
I see the Great Blue Heron return to the boat launch ramp this morning. My second sighting. It stands on the boat launch ramp watching the river, rises up with a chortle and flies to the opposite riverbank. A few minutes later, it returns to the south side of the river, this time landing at the water’s edge a few yards from the bridge and walks the edge until I can no longer see it. I suspect this arrival at 630 will become a morning ritual for the season. I wonder what the Great Blue Heron will find to eat this morning?
Diverse wildlife returning to the Fair Oaks Bridge is yet another sign of the changing season and expectation that salmon will be arriving soon.
Excitement builds on the American River waiting for the salmon to come. Now four boats line the river and three cluster around the bridge. Everyone sits and waits. Some stand in the water past their knees and watch for movements. Kayaks arrive and launch. A group of Mallards emerge from hiding to greet the passengers.
It amazes me that fishermen can rise long before dawn to launch their boats and sit or stand for hours on the river waiting for a tug on their fishing pole. I imagine that being at the river in this especially quiet place slows people down and willing to wait for nature’s time.
I wonder with all the rains and flooding and disruption of habitat, with the warming climate, will there be enough salmon to last a full season this year? Will there be enough to feed the wildlife, to supply the fisherman, and for all the other places and people hungry for salmon on their menu? I continue to wonder about the long-term survival of the salmon with so much other life depending on them.
Two Canada Geese fly swiftly overhead. I imagine they plan to travel long distances because they are so much higher in the sky than I usually see them. The sky is striped with jet streams left by distant unseen airplanes.
A cyclist passes me. He looks sideways and says, “Beautiful,” and races away.
A loud noise erupts from the Sunrise Blvd. bridge and 30 pigeons react with their own eruption of feathers flying immediately to the sky, circling the bridge and vanishing. I have yet to discover why pigeons are so nervous, or why they fly in circles only to land again moments later. I witness this event every time I visit the bridge, so it must be their morning ritual. In the afternoons, only a few pigeons sit on the bridge.
Morning meditation
Still the day is extraordinarily quiet. The river is very low. Canada Geese have been conspicuously absent from the river lately. Usually they are the late arrivals. For weeks, I have seen them fly overhead and very few land. They are usually feeding at Jim’s Bridge or farther west on the river
By 7:20 am, the sun has risen above the trees on the south shore and I feel its warmth as I walk off the bridge. On the north shore trees, I catch a shadow of the bridge and myself standing on it. I have a few moments to take one quick photo before the sun rises further and the shadow vanishes.
Some mornings hold more “magic” than others. Today is one of those magic mornings.
The air is laden with chill instead of heat. Dense morning clouds hold the bold, vibrant colors of sunrise at the break of dawn. For nearly an hour I watch the colors change as the sun emerges from the horizon. My view from the Fair Oaks Bridge is a full circle of color. The intense, burning oranges and grays in the east spread north and south, fading to white and pale blue in the western sky.
I imagine that walkers, cyclists and fishermen are the ones who seize this opportunity to enjoy this daily display of one of nature’s miracles. Do wildlife enjoy this morning spectacle?
My favorite mornings are those when I listen to a choir of chickens sing still hidden in the trees where they sleep. Without any visible conductor, they call out their good morning songs to one another in rapid succession. As dawn breaks and the day brightens, chickens patrol the park and village streets crowing loudly where ever they go. Some chickens are robust with loud strong “ERR, ERR, ERR, ERR!” The skinnier, smaller chickens sound hoarse. “Er…Er…Er…Er.” It is the smaller chickens that roam Bridge Street trees, plants and curbs scratching for breakfast and repeatedly calling out to no one for about 30 minutes after I arrive on any morning.
One this day, six bicyclists have crossed Fair Oaks Bridge shortly after I arrive. 630 am and the bridge is crowded with people! Morning temperatures are dropping into the 50s and 60s. I wear blue jeans, and a lightweight denim jacket and sneakers. A light breeze blows and I feel the air heavy with chill instead of the heat that roasted the air all summer long.
Three fishing boats are sitting in the river quietly waiting. I have seen one person catch a fish. The salmon are coming. Fisherman catch the early arrivals. Water level of the American River is the lowest I have seen it all year. Could this be because the salmon need the shallow water to spawn?
Pigeons take their stations on the overhead frame. Two of them perch on the outside edge of the bridge, watching the river. None stay for long. The slightest movement, the faintest sound, they fly up and away in an instant. A tiny bird greets me with “Ti Too! Ti Too!” from its place at the top of the bridge.
Where is the Great Blue Heron this morning? I may be too late to see its patrol from the boat launch ramp to the north side and back with a chortle to the south riverbank. Canada Geese are flying high overhead. I imagine they are flying a distance without stopping. Another boat arrives and backs down the ramp. Mallards are still sleeping.
My first time seeing a beaver swimming in the river!I walk to the north side of the bridge to follow it and and see two more! My two photographer friends are here this morning. They point out a man climbing down the near vertical slope of Fair Oaks Bluffs. Why? How? We have no idea.
Two more groups of Canada Geese fly over. Then 30 runners cross the bridge together out for an early morning sprint. The sun finally emerges over the clouds, but the sky remains a flat gray.
As I walk off the bridge, I see my shadow moving through the trees on the north riverbank. This unexpected shadow play lasted about two minutes before the sun changed position and vanished.
Morning temperature rose to 66 degrees. Chickens are still calling “Good morning!”
Not a single chicken in sight when drive into Fair Oaks Village. Yet the morning symphony is as loud and as long as ever.
The songs of Fair Oaks Chickens are my favorite way to start the day – far better than a wake me up beverage!
Today is a cool morning! It is only 55 degrees. I wonder if the cool temperatures wake them earlier and inspire them to begin calling each other.
The brutal 100-degree days of summer are behind us. What a change from two weeks ago when morning temperature had not dropped below 72 degrees at 630 am. I wear a light jacket and jeans. For the first time, my hands feel chilled in the moist morning air.
Loosely scattered clouds define this morning’s sunrise. I missed yesterday’s fiery orange sunrise behind a dense cloud cover and hoped for a repeat. Not today. I watched yesterday’s sunrise from afar as the brilliant yellow ball emerged from the clouds a full 45 minutes after the first glow rose from the horizon.
Fair Oaks Bridge is one of few places where I can find joy when my days are filled with too much drama. I always hope others can find peace in sharing these morning walks on the bridge and the river’s edge.
A beautiful fall evening capping a warm, breezy day – a fragment of stronger winds of earlier today.
A year ago, this island was large enough to support fisherman docking their boats, bringing a folding chair and ice chest. Now there is barely enough island for Cormorants to stand on.
I stand on Fair Oaks Bridge wondering where the spider webs? I do not see a single one. On a bike ride earlier today, two Cormorants rested on an island in the middle of the river channel. From the bridge I see an Egret return to the riverbank. It huddles on the north side. Egrets and Great Blue Herons are almost always alone. I wonder why?
American River winds downstream. This is the narrow and shallow area of the river, offering the best viewing of salmon jumping upstream and others spawning in the shallow water.
A few ducks swim around the boat launch ramp – a favorite spot. They are always found in groups or at least in pairs. The ramp is where they are most likely to find a human visitor providing them an easy meal. I rarely see Mallards alone. Even the domestic white Pekin duck, likely released into the river by a family, joins the crowd.
Several Mallards speak, arguing loudly in duck speak language that I do not understand.
Pigeons repeat their circles near the bridge. Once, twice, three times before settle and quickly depart for another destination. All is quiet on American River today. One fishing boat sits. Clouds dot the other side and blanketing the west in overlapping strips of white. The eastern sky resembles an artist palette of pale blue, tinged with gray at the horizon, and pinks and white stretching across the sky.
I hear a splash in the water. What was it? I am not fast enough to see if it was a salmon, beaver or otter? Usually, salmons are the noisy ones. Otters and beavers surface and vanish with hardly a ripple. As I stand on the bridge, I hear a single chicken call. Its voice is loud enough for me to hear standing at least 50 yards away. People are walking dogs.
Six ducks fly under the bridge and I miss photographing their landing. I love watching ducks land on the river. Each time, they stretch out their legs and ski into the water with their webbed feet laid flat, creating a huge splash. Then before two seconds have passed, they fold their legs and wings, settling into the water. Then all is calm.
The pink sunset spreads across the horizon and I watch the blurred edges of dusk transform the landscape into dark shadows.
Chickens have emerged from their evening hiding places in Fair Oaks Village. They scurry through the parks, linger in the streets, calling out their version of “Good Morning,” At least a dozen are roaming through the park at this early hour.
Eight boats are lined up on the east side of the bridge. Some are 20-30 yards apart, stretched all the way around the bend in the river. A kayaker meanders slowly through the river as the fishermen are all managing their fishing lines.
In a cloudless sky, the sun radiates its yellow light and a huge white aura surrounds it. A dozen birds call sitting on the overhead structure of the bridge. Pigeons arrive to settle for their morning rest. No ducks yet.
Some days I see huge spider webs and other days – not one. I continue to be amazed at their miracles of geometry. I wonder how a spider weaves them so perfectly.
More than a dozen joggers approach and run off the bridge to the Village. A man sits on the bridge wearing a purple Lakers sweatshirt, wrapped in his sleeping bag. He is reading out loud to himself. A shopping cart alongside him is loaded with bulging black plastic trash bags.
More cyclists whizz past and more runners. A woman runs on to the bridge screaming at the fishermen on both sides, “I lost my cat. Let me know if you see it. There is a reward. Look for me on the Internet.”
I see the runners return walking back to the Village. They run five laps. One recognizes me. “I have seen you in the hiking group!” Yes. I have been there. Amazing, the range of people I meet regularly on the bridge.
Mornings are much cooler now, well into October. I am surprised it has not rained yet.
Usually it rains the weekend we decorate our home with outdoor Halloween decorations. I wear jeans, long sleeve shirts, long socks, and a jacket or sweatshirt on my morning visits. My hands are chilled. I have yet to put my gloves on. Mist covers my windshield and the moist air stays on. Despite the cold, people are out walking their dogs.
Jet streams cross the sky at sunrise
Standing on Fair Oaks Bridge, I see white jet streams crossing the sky leaving a pattern of stripes across a pale blue sky. Today, no visible trace of gray smoke, yet my head remains congested in response to the poor air quality from so many fires some 90 miles north.
This morning, as all mornings, the same small, skinny chicken calls out “I am awake” in chicken speak and scratches the dirt to find breakfast. I can hear it call all morning from the center of Fair Oaks Bridge.
Year after year, fishermen return to this site east of Fair Oaks Bridge to catch salmon coming upriver to spawn
Two young adults are huddled in a blanket are engaged in vibrant conversation as they point to photos in an album. They continue to review their photos all the time I stand on the bridge and do not see them looking at the water or the landscape. Fair Oaks Bridge and the American River underneath create a space for so many different activities. Watching the sunrise, sunset, fishing, running, walking, cycling, kayaks, nature observation, feeding wildlife and picking berries.
When I arrive a cluster of fishermen sit in boats on the American River as if they were holding conference. I wonder if these are same people out every day or if different ones show up. Unlike the woman I encountered last visit who screamed down to them waving a flier about her lost cat, I leave them alone to watch early morning action on the river.
Today I see my first seagull of the season landing near the boat launch ramp. I smell the faint scent of dead salmon in the air. As November draws closer, seagulls know food is plentiful here and they wait.
Two hungry turkey vultures fly overhead. My first spotting for this season. I saw a dozen of them along the American River last year. More signs the salmon have returned. The seagull takes flight and glides through the air toward the bridge, scanning the water. After circling twice, it vanishes. Far more food lies about half a mile upriver. I wonder if the seagulls will be there yet? I see dozens of seagulls waiting during my bike ride later in the day.
A group of seagulls sit upstream at a shallow and rocky part of the river – a prime location for salmon to spawn
A dozen pigeons approach and land on the bridge overhead Truss frame to rest a while. With the coming of salmon, I expect to see far more salmon jumping and splashing. So far, I see only a few in an hour of watching the river. A Cormorant arrives and flies under the bridge headed west. I follow its flight close to the riverbank and then lose sight as it blends into the distant landscape. Moments later, this elegant bird returns to circle the bridge.
I watch a seagull float gracefully over the bridge and land in the river near the boat launch ramp. Unlike ducks that splash down with wings spread and feet extended as if water skiing, seagulls land sitting down, wings tucked in without a ripple. When I hear the seagull call, I wonder is it calling for others to join? Where is the food? Or locate its flock?
Immediately after hearing the seagull, the lonely chicken calls from Bridge Street. Where else can you hear the call of a seagull and the rousing good morning from a chicken in the same place and time?
I leave the bridge knowing the cooler days of fall and the salmon are here. The wildlife of the American River in fall are ready and waiting.
Turkey vultures on the prowl for dead and decaying salmon
During an afternoon bicycle ride, I go directly to a narrow section of the American River shallow enough for salmon to spawn and ducks dive for tasty tidbits. No one there yet. The picnic area facing a small island is a favorite feeding zone for seagulls. Indeed, 60 of them are sitting in the water and waiting to eat.
Later in the season, 100 seagulls will be gathered here. Since mid-October is still early in the season, these gulls maybe the “early birds.”
The Nimbus Fish Hatchery opened the fish ladder and filled it with water. Two dozen large, red and decaying salmon swim at the top level delighting visitors of all ages. Fishing season ends October 31. Time is running out to make a catch.
The river canyon at the weir (barrier stopping salmon from swimming any farther up river.) is as steep as the Fair Oaks Bluffs. Yet, some still climb down to risk fishing on the cliff. They get a rude surprise when the Game Warden catches them where they don’t belong, and fishing in a prohibited area.
Top level of fish ladder, waiting to spawn
Fishermen continue to fish and catch salmon at the Jim’s Bridge, Fair Oaks Bridge and farther upstream. Yet, I see very little jumping out of the water yet. Will the salmon run be strong this year considering increasing challenges to their habitat?
My last stop riding home is Jim’s Bridge where Mallards love to hang out. I watch them dunk and dive for food.
Each duck paddles it webbed feet, sometimes doing a little dance to move around underwater dirt, then a straight vertical dive for about five seconds and comes up with something to nibble on.
At the hint of food somewhere else, ducks rise in unison, flap their wings as fast as they can possibly move and fly from one side of the river to the other. Could be people standing and throwing bread, or other ducks finding nibbles on the opposite shore, ducks rise up and fly in a great hurry to land with a splash on their webbed skis.
