Capturing Spring

At the beginning of May, as spring was starting to explode here in coastal British Columbia and the mood lightened with each opening blossom, I decided that after such a winter of angst and disruption it was high time to turn my attention fully to the natural world and go live there and try to record some of that, both in image and memory. So (once again) I went into total news blackout, grabbed my camera and each day went out to see what was what. There was a lot.

I didn’t have to go far. Our garden transformed from late winter resting and early spring bulbs to a vibrant jungle by the end of the month. Each day there was something new, a new shoot, a new bloom and a patch of garden could change from morning to night. By the end of the month, there is now blooming honeysuckle, peony, iris, lupin, valerian, poppy, aquilegia, lily of the valley, sage, chive, rosemary and more. By tomorrow, something else will open up.

Further afield, as it were, I’d walk past the farmer’s field, where I’d been watching 7 lambs, born in February.

One day I stood and watched for a long time as the lambs played a game. One little lamb would take off at full speed, running from one side of the field to the other, round one of the trees and head back to where it started from, jump up on a concrete platform, then leap down off the other side. All the other little lambs would follow so there would be seven little lambs running back and forth across the field as fast as they could, sometimes bumping into each other. But they weren’t just running. Little lambs leap. They run some steps and then they jump vertically, all feet off the ground, and then keep running. It was a riot.

I was reminded of the time in New Zealand when we went on a visit to a sheep farm and had a demonstration of the sheep dogs in action, herding the sheep up and down the field, to precise directions from the farmer. These little lambs I was watching this day were herding themselves! They were hilarious.

Queenstown NZ Sheep Herding 2016

The lambs weren’t the only members of the herd of assorted animals in this field worthy of a portrait:

A little further down the trail, there’s a pond worth checking out for frogs this time of year. Instead I came across another family:

The forest at the end of our road is a noisy place these days, now that the songbirds have returned and it’s canoodling season. In winter I often notice and remark on the silence of the forest, the almost total lack of bird song, other than that from the ravens flying above. They’re never silent.

In spring, when there are so many birds in the forest and the owls are also very active if they have owlets in the nest, I sometimes find the owls just from the noise of other birds or squirrels. This happened three times in a week this month, when I noticed the sounds of stressed out birds above, quite high in the canopy. They were yelling and swooping and clearly extremely pissed off. I checked it out with my trusty binoculars (my walking necklace) and sure enough, there was Owl, pretending to take a nap, obviously much too close to someone else’s nest. The interesting thing about it is that there were a number of different species of birds who had come flying in from wherever to help harass the owl. As well as yelling loudly, some were flying back and forth, close in front of him/her, and some were even dive bombing. The owl completely ignored them.

On May 26th the total eclipse of full moon was visible from where we are. I didn’t get much sleep that night as the eclipse started at around 1:30 a.m and ended around 4:30. I dozed, waking up every half hour or so to sit up and look out the window.

Accompanying this full moon were the lowest tides I have seen on our beach:

And here’s what I found on the beach that day:

An eagle feather. In pristine condition, it must have just lost it (I wonder how). I take this as a gift and a reminder to always look, always see, always notice. This is a beautiful world.

Old Friend

As I walked into the forest I thought about what a long time it had been since I saw Owl. This fall has been all about dodging cougars (Predator and Prey), making portraits of fungi and occasionally finding Pileated Woodpeckers that are much easier to locate given the racket they make.

Walking along the path, I knew Owl was there. Somewhere. This 50 acres of forest is its home and I always have the sense that it is there somewhere around me. Because it is. Whether these human eyes can focus on it through all the visual chaos that is the forest is quite another thing. I vowed that I would walk the forest every single day until I found it.

At that moment there it was, flying across the path directly in front of me, at eye level. I watched and followed for a long time as it hunted the forest floor. A thrill and a delight, as ever.

Owl has different roles in different cultural mythologies. In Navaho tradition the owl was a symbol of death and disaster, appearing in daylight as a warning. For me, finding the Barred Owl in the forest at the end of the road is a sign that all is right in my world.

Predator and Prey

A cougar was spotted in the woods at the end of the road.

When I heard the news I grabbed my binoculars and camera and headed in. Stepping through the entrance onto the forest pathway always feels like entering another world, a world of light and shadows. Usually welcoming, but this time, knowing a predator was close, it felt much different. A minor key. Spooky.

I walked along the path scanning the forest floor on either side, looking up to lower branches and, every few paces, swivelling around 360 degrees, looking behind me.

I wondered if this was the last stupid thing I was going to do in this life.

When I got to the Loop Trail, which is where the cougar had been spotted, I stepped in and stopped, looking around. I immediately spotted…

Prey!

The mother deer was standing still, looking in the direction of the creek bank along the trail. What was she looking at? Did she sense the predator in the midst? She spotted me, but her attention seemed to be elsewhere. I watched. After awhile she collected her little one and left the area, moving in that slow, steady, precise walk they have, through the meadow, over to another section of the forest. I also, er, turned tail, and left that trail.

On the other side of the meadow, on another trail, I spotted the deer again through the trees; this time their attention was on me. The mother was keeping the little one close by her side. Deer will freeze motionless for long periods of time when they see what could be a threat and it seemed like she was teaching the baby to do the same.

After a few minutes I walked away and left them. For one thing, I had no desire to watch a hunt – I’ll leave that to the Nat Geo Wild cameramen and second, I didn’t want them focusing their attention on me, who would do them no wrong, leaving them to watch out for what did matter. It was time to leave the forest.

Cougar sightings are rare in town but do happen. I’ve only seen one, and that was safely stuffed and mounted in a diorama at the Wildlife Recovery Centre. Bigger than I had imagined, with huge, powerful jaws.

No doubt the big cat has moved on by now (?), although there was another sighting a couple of days later, but I still look around and behind me on my forest walks.

This may not be the best time to be crawling around on the forest floor photographing the September fungi that has emerged.

Meanwhile, returning to the garden to find a cat predator of a different kind…