The population of Aleutian cackling geese have exploded over the past many years, and our area has become a favorite stopping place for them during spring migration. They fatten up on tender young pasture grasses, which annoys cattle ranchers. But there is some sort of understanding now, which most likely includes compensation for the pasturage lost. A favored sleeping ground is the Humboldt Bay Wildlife Refuge south of Eureka. On one weekend in March, the gates to the refuge are opened at 6AM so that the public can view the impressive morning fly-off more or less up-close.
A mob of us, growing in size much more slowly than the geese, assembled at Holly and Harvey's at 5:15, and headed out at half-past. By the time we arrived at the refuge, the main parking lot was nearly full, and the overflow are promised to follow soon after.
This is the second year that I have gone, and what a difference in weather! Last year was cloudy and threatening rain. This year we had mostly clear skies and a bit of frost. I think that last year we were also operating on DST, so arrived with plenty of dark to spare. This time, the sky rapidly grew lighter as we walked along the path to prime viewing locations.
In no strict order: Pia, Holly, Kristin, John and Michael. Joe's wee green wellies can be seen behind Michael.
There were others in our crew that morning: Harvey, Tony, Eileen and Ken. Sadly, there were some infirmities which kept them from tramping all the way out into the squishy wetlands. But they reported being able to see the show well enough.
As the light grew, there were a few small "warm up" flights that can lull the uninitiated into a sense of disappointment. I know I was feeling let down last year, until the Big Wave arose.
The following videos were taken on my point-and-shoot digital camera, hence the poor image quality. The first video shows the biggest wave of geese.
More of the big wave, with "potty talk" from the crew.
I was following some tundra swans when a mob of geese took off. Sadly, the "amazing sound" I mention wasn't well captured. Just as the geese take off, their wings make a sound that, en masse, sounds like a jet engine.
In this week's North Coast Journal, Holly had a haiku published. This seems to be a good spot to put it so I can remember:
Pause
Eleven swans
following geese northward
white on gray skies
Aleutian geese, seen through Kristin's spotting scope. This is a trick that another birding friend and wildlife artist, Gary Bloomfield, told us about at last year's fly-off.
In the middle ground is a crowd of Aleutian geese, along with godwits, willets, shovelers, pintails and other water birds.
The water was like glass. I was regretting not taking Karin up on her offer of a digital SLR for my birthday.
Some day I will go out there for some plein air painting. Honest.
The Bird Nerds: Kristin, Pia, Laura and Holly. On our way back for our post-fly-off brunch.
I painted this in Stock's class a couple of weeks ago. We've been working on figurative painting of various types, and on this day we pulled out the mirrors. Not bad for a first ever (since high school) self portrait.
In no strict order: Pia, Holly, Kristin, John and Michael. Joe's wee green wellies can be seen behind Michael.
Aleutian geese, seen through Kristin's spotting scope. This is a trick that another birding friend and wildlife artist, Gary Bloomfield, told us about at last year's fly-off.
In the middle ground is a crowd of Aleutian geese, along with godwits, willets, shovelers, pintails and other water birds.
The water was like glass. I was regretting not taking Karin up on her offer of a digital SLR for my birthday.
I finally got a decent photo of the crocuses that have begun to bloom. They weren't very cooperative on Bloom Day.
A couple of weeks ago I was working to expand a planting bed so that I could move the hazel tree. I'd originally planted it far too close to the house after reading that they grew to only 6 or 8 feet high. That should have been in excess of 8 feet in radius. The job of digging up the hazel was the worst of it. I was working in close quarters, and trying to avoid puncturing our gas line. After a couple of days of digging and hacking roots, and pulling a back muscle, I got the blessed thing loose. Here's hoping it survives my efforts.
Some ipheons and grape hyacinth on the kitchen windowsill.
Daffodils, leucojum and paperwhites.
My swarm queen Isolde appeared to do well, so she remained on her throne. The second Minnesota queen found a home with another beek. Unfortunately, it appears that Isolde didn't mate all that well, and her colony is the weakest. It's not pitiful, but her hive's population is about 60 or 70% of the other three. Unless her numbers improve this spring, I think that another coup is in order when queens are again available.
For three weeks in the fall, I was off in New Zealand, missing some prime varroa mite control time. When I returned and inspected hives, I found that mite populations were building. I dusted with powdered sugar for many weeks, and seemed to get the mites under control. But after giving the bees (and mites) another break of a few weeks, I found that the mites were still going strong. Since mid-January, the weather has not been very good for opening hives, and I am nervous for my girls. There have been many dead brood on the landing boards, probably killed by mites feeding off them.
Even with their mite woes, I see a lot of bees flying about whenever there is a break in the weather. Often they are out when I think that they'd be snuggled up in the hive. There are a lot of plump pollen baskets coming in. On my most recent inspections, I saw a fair bit of new nectar in storage. So there's still hope for my girls.
