~ by Sumalee ~
You would think that neither of us would look forward to standing around in the rain peering through foggy, wet binocular, scope, or telephoto lenses at the crack of dawn, but this is indeed what we had been scheming to do at our first opportunity. It has been such a dry year for Oregon, and we've spent too much of it worrying about the drought and all that this signifies for the birds. Marshes had completely dried up in several locations around the state, and the brown, sunburnt refuge landscapes were only interrupted by green plots of irrigated farmland, the sprinklers profligate waste of water during hot noontimes a cruel reflection of human narcissism.
After a recent couple weeks of good rain, we decided to venture forth and see for ourselves if the rains had restored some of the marshes at our local refuge, Baskett Slough. After all, this was the very end of October, when ordinarily the marshes would be inundated and full of the cheerful noise of wintering waterfowl flying in to rest and digest for a little while. We didn't want to wait for an indeterminate break in the rains to have a look, and although I can't speak for V., a part of me wanted to immerse myself in the same weather that represented hope for the wildlife. As they would be happy churning about in the water as raindrops fell about them, I would be happy.
We breathed relief when we spotted some water in the largest of the marshes, enough water to instigate a small pond. When we reached our destination marsh, the sight of hundreds of geese and ducks filled us with glee. Unfortunately, the rains have proved insufficient at this time to restore the marsh, although a very large puddle, not quite a pond, served to accommodate the birds. Crowded as they were, with cackling geese cheek-to-cheek to dozens of mallards, some shovelers, a couple pairs of wood duck, a wigeon, two pintail, and some long-time no-see gadwall, the birds seemed not to complain.
Rain was gently falling when we arrived, but it eventually soaked through our clothing as daybreak appeared. The volume of geese- and duck-chatter steadily rose to a loud, raucous noise to which hundreds of onlooking red-winged blackbirds joined, and the birds showed restlessness. Were the birds hungry? We saw some isolated instances of dabbling, but mostly just rustling about.
One male mallard, ducking his head up-down up-down, was zipping after an even zippier female mallard. His courtship apparently pleased, and the lady duck permitted him to mate with her. Afterward, as is their wont, the female unperturbedly began grooming and the male, caught on V.'s camera, swaggered forth with "shiny eye" and a surfeited smile.
This brief shaggy wet outing encouraged us, despite the reality of the puddle-sized marsh. We're hoping that the birds will view the relative paucity of the wetlands as just an annoying delay in the redevelopment of the marshes. We're hoping that as soon as next week, our marshes, and more birds, will return.
Is this what the drinkers mean before they close the bar with a shout, "bottoms up?" Well, technically, close the marsh for the night.