Rain Softens the Landscape

Wednesday, November 15, 2017, 7 am   56 degrees

Despite the gentle rain, Fair Oaks chickens are on patrol again this morning.

When I first arrive, the rain feels more like a drizzle – drops sprinkle here and there in no special pattern. The air is fairly warm and the rain is a refreshing morning wake up. Even in rain, this bridge is a peaceful place to escape and watch the river move down in a smooth, elegance. The ripples, the shallow places in the river, change as the raindrops fall more evenly and increase in number.soft landscapes, morning, rain, Fair Oaks Bridge, American River, Fair Oaks, nature, outdoor writing,

A few people pass by. Raindrops are marking the bridge deck with huge spots. Water drips down in tiny streams from the Truss structure and the side rails.

Some people think rain makes for a dark and gloomy day. I see landscapes that are fresh, crisp, clean and bright.

Soft, consistent drumming is the heartbeat of rain. The sound of rain is a gentle lullaby. The mist softens the edges of the landscape and the trees. Through the mist, they resemble mirror images of themselves.

So much to observe and listen to out in the rain for those who choose to take the time – those who appreciate the gifts of our outdoor world.

Leaves change color from green to red, orange and gold. Yet, trees along the American River are always green and gold. I watch leaves gently fall into the river and see many others lining the bridge deck. I believe the sound when leaves hit the ground is so gentle, it is overrun by the drumming of the rain.

An Egret scavenges the riverbank. Finding nothing of interest, it flies away. A seagull flies in and I stand to watch its snowy white wings fly gracefully over the bridge.

Ducks flap wildly to rise and fly away. They leave a wake behind them, accentuated by the patterns of raindrops falling into the river. Rain increases and ducks of the river ignore the event as if there was no rain at all.

Puddles form in low spots of the bridge deck. More seagulls arrive, flying through the center of the river channel, flying in the opposite direction of ribbons of water flowing downstream created by the rain.

ducks, water, American River, Fair Oaks, Fair Oaks Bridge, rainOn this particular morning, the river belongs to those few waterfowl that call this place home. I am a guest who finds a sense of joy when I overhear their squabbles, their calls and their complaints.

 

 

Thanksgiving Outdoors

Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, November 23, 2017, 9 am 57 degrees

People of all ages enjoy a morning outdoors on Fair Oaks Bridge.

Families are out walking, joggers shake the bridge as they pass and I hear cyclists on the American River Parkway less than 100 yards away. The air is warm, with no breeze, yet filled with the calls of birds hidden in trees that hug the riverbanks. With heavy cloud cover, the sun barely shines through.

People climb the Fair Oaks Bluffs to enjoy the panoramic views, cross the bridge, stop to enjoy the river and see the wildlife at play and at work.

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Fair Oaks Bluffs feature steep cliffs and spectacular views

 

Seagulls call as they fly over the river, some landing in the water to call again. One bird song reminds me of a calliope with its high pitched whoop. Buffleheads skirt the water, leaving ripples as they rise out of the water and fly low across the river. Watching the river all year long, I only see these daring little ducks in fall and early winter. I presume they live somewhere else during other parts of the year.

Do birds know today is a holiday for people because we show up in larger numbers than other days?

This looks like one more workday for them in their ongoing search to find breakfast. A woman arrives on the boat launch ramp to throw seeds. Nearly 20 birds and waterfowl rush to get their share. Seagulls call out to each other. One gull lands in the river to nibble at a dead salmon floating slowly downriver.  A very busy day on the American River.

 

Dense Fog!

                  Thursday November 30, 2017,  720 am   39 degrees

Fog on Fair Oaks Bridge. Fog lays on the water. Fog hovers in the air. Fog hugs the riverbanks and hides the boat launch ramp.

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View of American River in fog from Fair Oaks Bridge

The sun is just now emerging on the horizon, seen as golden ball in the sky. Fog surrounds the trees, as a soft white light fills the background. A circle of light shines down through the trees as if it were a spotlight on stage. Long, thin trees stand erect in dense fog.

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Dense fog wraps trees along American River Parkway

I continue my walk to the boat launch ramp and see the bridge surrounded by dense fog and reflected shadows the water. My hands are chilled, feeling the cool, moist air against my skin. A few ducks swim to the boat ramp. One seagull swims alone. Even in the fog, these birds engage in their morning rituals – seeking crumbs, seeds, bugs or worms for breakfast.

All wildlife swim quietly through the fog as if they did not notice the dew settled everywhere.

A quack breaks the silence from a distance, followed by the shrill call of birds. A Mallard arrives with a series of quacks. It swims and dives, swims and dives again, speaking of the experience in between dunks. A seagull lets out a desperate call to any creature who is listening.

 

 

 

 

 

Where is Breakfast?

Friday, December 1, 2017, 7 am   39 degrees

As we move closer to winter, morning temperatures are low enough each day to bring a heavy layer of fog into our neighborhoods and watch the mist as it rolls across the American River.

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Where do I search for breakfast today?

Yet, the boat launch ramp and the riverbanks are clear today. A single seagull circles the bridge and flies west. The salmon run is nearly over and soon all the seagulls will be leaving for the season.

I will miss the morning calls of seagulls and the joy of watching them circle slowly and gracefully over the American River.

My fingers are chilled from the breeze. I wear gloves and a heavy jacket to stay warm on this frigid morning! Ripples in the river trace where ducks swim through the center of the channel. Low laying fog rolls slowly along the river, moving underneath Fair Oaks Bridge. Fog continues to roll under the bridge as if they were billows of steam rising and falling in a huge simmering pot.

On one October day when visiting wildlife at the boat launch ramp, a fisherman who was preparing to drive away with his boat saw me walking towards him. He paused long enough to call out from inside his vehicle, “The best things in life are those that you do slowly.” I smiled back and thanked him. How else can we truly be “in the moment of experience”?

His words keep coming back to me during the past few weeks. Setting aside dancing and running, I cannot think of anything else I want to do in fast motion.  Pausing to observe morning wildlife rituals, their focused efforts to search for a meal, seeing how they relate to their own kind and other wildlife, and the waiting game to catch a single fish needs time and patience.

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Muscovy duck is uncommon at Fair Oaks Bridge. Native to Mexico, Central and South America.

I am amazed to see resident ducks and Canada Geese come out from their evening hiding places to swim in the river, even in the coolest, wettest weather. They seem to talk less in colder temperatures. Today, as every morning, I hear a soft quack of at least one duck, swimming out in the unseen distance. One swims alone, dunking for breakfast and speaks to no one when it comes back up. (See video below) Fair Oaks Bridge rumbles as a dozen cyclists race across the bridge on their way uphill to Fair Oaks Village.

Two walkers stroll by and ask, “How is your journaling going?”  We have met several times on the bridge. Depending on the day, I meet the same walkers and the same cyclists. Walking down to the boat launch ramp, resident waterfowl come to greet me – especially if they think I might have a quick snack.

The Egret stands in its usual place on the north side of the river away from all other wildlife, to enjoy morning breakfast without company or interruption. When the Great Blue Heron shows up 10 yards downstream, the Egret flies away to escape the intruder. As the sun rises well above the horizon, the magic of morning at Fair Oaks Bridge lingers on for a few precious moments longer.

Who Left the Skull on the Boat Ramp?

Thursday December, 7, 2017   2 pm

The day is peaceful and quiet. I sit alone on the boat launch ramp with the seagull, the Canada Geese and ducks paddling around the river on this sparkling, clear and cloudless blue sky.

One very unhappy seagull calls out over and over again while standing one the end of the boat launch ramp. Fifteen ducks swim and fly in shortly after I appear on the boat ramp thinking I have food. I throw a mandarin orange segment on the ground that was quickly rejected by several ducks. Pigeons and seagulls arrive waiting for their handouts.

seagull, seagull calls, morning, Fair Oaks Bridge, American River, water, feedingWhile the ducks are busy scavenging the boat ramp, the seagull bends its head backward and screams out in frustration. I can only imagine the meaning of its calls, “Where is everyone? Where is the food? Why am I alone out here?” A few more gulls fly in to swim all looking for a meal.

Pigeons fly off the ramp and circle overhead before returning to boat ramp three separate times before they finally settle again. Ducks waddle down the ramp, returning to the river. The gulls make a quick exit, soaring through the air with wings extended to catch air currents. The lonely gull stays standing on the ramp, contemplating and calls out again. Two Canada Geese arrive and wander the boat ramp looking for something to eat.

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Of the many dead and discarded salmon I have seen floating in the river or left at the riverbank, this is the first salmon skull I have seen. Finding this on the boat ramp, I wonder what creatures feasted on this and how did it get here?

 

Memorial Bench~A Place for Reflection

Sunday, December 10, 2017,  820 am   37 degrees

In their customary morning ritual, chickens wake early to call from the trees where they hide and sleep at night. As morning temperature warms up, chickens fly down to patrol the streets and park.

Clouds dust the sky in the same way powdered sugar falls on cookies through a strainer. The bridge deck and rails are heavy with moisture. No spider webs today. A beautiful morning. River is still. Runners, walkers with dogs and cyclists pass by. Everyone dresses in hats, gloves and jackets. Each breath comes out as small clouds forming in front of their faces.

I hear the whistle of a different bird this morning and it reminds me of a circus calliope playing a tune.  A seagull calls from a distance. Pigeons circle the bridge in their daily morning dance.

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photo courtesy of Wikipedia

Diving ducks are out searching for breakfast. I watch a Goldeneye dive underwater and disappear four times in rapid succession. It stays underwater 30 seconds before rising back to the surface again.

Several weeks have passed since I last saw turtles sunbathing on their favorite branch at the riverbank. That branch is slowly sinking into the American River.

Arriving at the boat launch ramp, a dozen ducks fly in all at once and approach me thinking I have food. Ducks slowly waddle up the ramp, shaking their tails from left to right. Pigeons arrive. Everyone is frustrated because I brought no food. Pigeons rise up in unison and fly toward Fair Oaks Bridge and circle twice. They settle back down on the ramp, but not for long. Pigeons are collectively so “nervous,” they repeat this morning ritual every time they sense slight movement or a sound. Meanwhile, a seagull out of sight continues its wailing.

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Memorial bench facing Fair Oaks Bluffs provides a place to sit and watch activities along the American River

I notice a newly installed memorial bench at top of the boat launch ramp – one of many benches along the American River Parkway to celebrate the life of a treasured friend or family member. The ground beneath it is fresh and smooth.

I wonder who was this person and what was their relationship to this place?

Walking farther east on the American River Parkway to a wide and shallow place, I watch salmon as they swim upstream through the current. They rise above the water just long enough to see the gray and white colors of their badly deteriorated bodies. Within ten minutes I see five salmon swishing and splashing through the shallow waters. Their short lives (three to four years) and several month journey from the Pacific Ocean is coming to an end.

A group of salmon circle near the surface of the water. Only their fins and top edge of their bodies are visible. Salmon splash and stir up whirlpools in three separate places. Not a single seagull is waiting here to grab a meal. Some will stop here to spawn. Others will search for another shallow area along the river. Many more will swim another mile until their passage is blocked by huge gates (called a weir) at the Nimbus Fish Hatchery. Salmon will spawn along the riverbanks here or climb the fish ladder into the hatchery.

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Turkey Vulture stands guard over his salmon

Turkey vultures search a small nearby island for remains of a dead salmon. The vulture pictured guards his salmon and chases another away from the catch.

With flapping wings and a snap of its head, the competing vulture withdraws and leaves to find food somewhere else.

When I return to the boat launch ramp a cyclist has arrived with a bag filled with food for the ducks. The pounce on it and the feeding frenzy begins. I watch two ducks struggle to bite off large chunks of bread. The lone seagull stands at the end of the boat ramp feeling left out. When most of the food is eaten, ducks quack all their way down the boat ramp and swim away. Pigeons are today’s clean up crew, snatching any tiny leftover bites.

Walking for Food

Monday, December 18, 2017,   840 am   42 degrees

I arrive long after the brilliant orange glow of sunrise has faded from the sky. No chickens are up yet to call their good morning songs. So many birds I hear, yet do not see. The bird singing the calliope tune, others chirp and hiccup.

seagull, salmon, morning, Fair Oaks Bridge, wildlife calls, Fair Oaks Bluffs, Fair Oaks Village, wildlife, writing, Winter mornings are quiet here. Seagulls stand on the boat launch ramp and call out to others that can hear. I watch several seagulls fly a few feet over my head as they cross the bridge in wide, sweeping circles.

As I hear the calls of seagulls, I wonder if they are asking, when will it be time to leave the river? Or, is there salmon left to eat here?

There is no clue here of the hustle, bustle activities of days before Christmas here. The parking lot behind the boat launch ramp filled with pick up trucks and other vehicles to tow fishing boats is near empty. The sound of a distant quack carries in the gentle breeze. Resident Mallards prepare to mate to produce spring ducklings. I see pairs of ducks bob their heads in unison each time I come signaling their interest in mating. Goldeneyes reside at this spot on the American River during fall and winter.

pigeons, seagulls, American River, wildlife calls, Fair Oaks Bridge, Fair Oaks, Fair Oaks Bluffs, mornings, river, wildlife, rituals, breakfast, feeding, I see an Egret fly in and land on the riverbank at the foot of Fair Oaks Bluffs. Egret sightings are rare these days of winter. Their search for food takes them away from this part of the river.

Pigeons walk the deck of Fair Oaks Bridge searching for crumbs or seeds or remains of a sandwich, cookies and other food left behind.

Fire in the Sky

Friday, December 22, 2017, 645 am, 37 degrees

I arrive at dawn to catch the sunrise, dressing snugly in my hooded jacket, long pants, long socks and gloves. Today’s icy wind is just enough to keep frost off car windows and grass. Frost coats the bridge deck and I feel its slippery surface beneath my feet. One duck braves the cold for an early swim back and forth across the river.

Why is the sun bright yellow when looking at it in daylight; yet at sunrise and sunset, we see shades of orange from pale pastel to dark and fiery?

Every morning brings a new set of cloud formations and different ways to diffuse and reflect the sun’s brilliance. Today clouds are woven as if they were a heavy gray blanket hanging over the river. Patterns of light change and spread as the sun edges closer to the horizon, painting the sky at dawn with brilliant colored light a full 30-40 minutes before the sun shows itself.

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The colors of dawn emerge
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Fire in the sky

Lingering Fog and Frosty Mornings

Sunday, December 30, 2017, 715 am, 36 degrees

So cold this morning, the chickens are still sleeping in the Village. They have yet to utter a sound.

I hear no shouts good morning walking past the park and the trees that provide nighttime shelters for so many Village chickens. Three chickens scratch and complain searching for breakfast a few yards from the bridge entrance – their favorite hangout.

Fair Oaks Bridge, fog, morning,The bridge deck is covered with white, slippery frost. Clouds above me resemble spun sugar in shades of gray and soft white. As the wind blows, they stretch into thin wisps of white. Fog washes over the eastern section of the American River. As with other days, I watch as the mist rolls down the river channel and under the bridge. On this particular chilly morning, mist is still sitting on the river well beyond 9 am when I prepare to return home.

Visiting the American River at Fair Oaks Bridge is a gift to enjoy and share. The most impressive days of winter for me are the peaceful mornings listening to seagulls call and seeing them soar gracefully through the sky, following fiery orange sunrises, and watching the fog as it blankets the river and reflects golden sunlight through the trees.

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Fog blankets the eastern section of the American River at Fair Oaks Bridge and rolls slowly west. Boat launch ramp is on lower right side of photo.

Each day brings a new cloud formation, each day a new way the wind blows them apart to create a kaleidoscope of color at dawn to announce the new day. I love watching fog blow slowly down the river. I stand watching in amazement at the way fog bathes and nourishes the Fair Oaks Bluffs and the sun’s yellow light shining through the trees along the American River Parkway. When I walk to the boat launch ramp, I see how the fog surrounds the Fair Oaks Bridge and drifts slowly west beneath the deck.

Seeing Fair Oaks Bluffs shrouded in fog reminds me of “Brigadoon,”  that magical, mysterious place that emerges out of the fog once every few years.

I think of Peter Pan’s Neverland where fairies and other magic is commonplace. This is a place of peace where you can hear the distant call of seagull and see birds emerging slowly out of the fog. Two ducks swim in the center of the river. All others are still in hiding and come out much later when the temperature warms to 45 instead of 36 degrees. Many walkers are out this morning. First two, then two more, then two more all bundled up and enjoying the morning. A speeding cyclist passes by pedaling as quickly as possible.

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Egret flies through fog on the American River alongside Fair Oaks Bridge

An Egret flies in and lands in its preferred spot on the riverbank beneath the Fair Oaks Bluffs. Soon there are two flying together and move on further downriver. I always marvel at its graceful flight and sleek, straight body.

Most of the seagulls, ducks and the Canada Geese have moved on farther downriver where food is more plentiful. I see more than 50 seagulls on the riverbank at Jim’s Bridge crossing and farther downriver. Canada Geese roamed the shoreline at Rossmoor Bar, an overlook and rocky beach two miles from Fair Oaks Bridge, popular for rafters and picnics.

 

 

Sharing a Salmon

Sunday, December 30, 2017 830 am, 45 degrees

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How did this salmon get to the boat ramp?

My last stop is the boat launch ramp to check for morning wildlife activity. I find a partially eaten salmon lying at the end of the ramp. How did it get here? How long has it been here? Why did everyone wait until I arrive to eat it?

With plenty of meat left, the salmon captures the attention of two seagulls and two ducks. They take turns tearing at the salmon. Their strategies to tear apart the remains differ from gentle poking to serious ripping. In the end, they all get something to eat – except one seagull. The ducks eat first, then the seagull drags the salmon into the river while the other gull wails and complains.

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Enough to share with everyone
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The Muscovy duck works the hardest, spending five minutes pulling and scooping meat from the salmon underside.