17 February 2014. Burlington Ontario. This winter is so complete that even the birds have gone. Not all of them of course, it just seems like it. I’m aware that there are ducks out on Lake Ontario, on fast-flowing rivers, around sewer outlets or anywhere there’s open water, and chickadees, nuthatches and other winter-hardy birds are still around; although not so many. Whether their friends and relatives have moved on or perished I just don’t know; I suppose when winter does finally hand over to spring we’ll get some idea of the damage done.
Today I ventured out to see if last year’s pair of Bald Eagles had reinstated their nest as Bald Eagles do from year to year. They were very successful in 2013 and we were pretty sure their two eggs must have been laid sometime around St. Valentine’s Day, that is to say right about now. So if they’re going to nest here again, well they’ll likely get started pretty soon. On this bright, not too cold, sunshine-filled day, hiking out to the site seemed like a good idea, but skiing there seemed like an even better idea. It’s a decade or more since I last cross-country skied and a four years ago, in a fit of ambition, I even bought new skis and boots to replace my early 1970s equipment, but my ambition exceeded my implementation and the new stuff has stayed unused until today. This is not a skiing blog, but I’ll just say that I was quite pleased to have only one minor mishap (on a slope) and that I managed to re-find the rhythmic stride that makes cross-country skiing so enjoyable, and besides it was a glorious sky-blue and snow-white day.
Well there was absolutely no sign of activity in or near the eagles’ nest. I could hear a woodpecker pounding away somewhere nearby but otherwise nothing. On my return home I swung by my two favourite Screech Owl trees and grabbed a couple of nice pictures. Then went down the harbour’s edge just in case there was a patch of open water with waterfowl; but where last year I saw Redheads, Trumpeter Swans and American Coots, today six young hockey players skated furiously, slapping the puck with sharp cracks. I swept my binoculars across the wide all-white expanse of the harbour hoping for a sentinel Bald Eagle but the only sign of life was a distant Coyote wandering around looking, like me, for ducks, or geese, or its case, anything to fill its belly.
So Screech Owls it is as Birds of the Day, not that I’m complaining, just a commentary on the complete winter. Here they are.
