The Four-Day Weekend, Part 2

Saturday and Sunday happened in usual fashion, except that I did go see Angels and Demons on Saturday afternoon. It was a very suspenseful and high action movie that I enjoyed, but I always find the gratuitous killing of many law enforcement officers to be a disturbing thing. I worshipped and rested Sunday, and then…

That’s right, I finally made it back out in the kayak! And it was such a beautiful day for it. This was Monday, Memorial Day. I’m in the QCC Q700X, and Debra is in the LL Bean Calypso.

Kayaks are great vehicles for getting up close to whatever’s growing along the shore.

Being in a small boat on a river with dark edges is a perfect blending of relaxation with adventure. These places make me breathe easier.

And this trip was our first chance to kayak in the rain together.

In all my time on this river, I’ve never seen other paddlers unless they were in my group. So it was a pleasure to encounter canoeists and kayakers throughout our trip this time out. The combination of holiday plus the lilies in bloom upstream at Landsford Canal State Park brought the paddlers to the river.

This channel, sliding through shade between two parallel islands is a favorite part of the Catawba for me.

Here is a closeup of a very small lily colony, located a mile or two downstream from the state park. The large colony of them at Landsford Canal (see recent posting for photos) is reputedly the largest concentration of Rocky Shoals Spider Lilies in the world. Of course, while the phrase “in the world” is accurate, better perspective is given when one realizes that their entire range is limited to just three states — South Carolina, Georgia, and Alabama.

Back at the house, grilling happened, but rain made me relocate the cooking under the garage roof.

Giving thanks usually comes at the beginning of the meal. But sometimes it comes while cooking, or lighting the fire, or buying the pineapple, or discussing the menu, or riding home wet, or glancing around to see her on the water.

The Four-Day Weekend, Part 1

I picked up Debra at 3:55 AM on Friday morning, and we headed for Lugoff. Lex was waiting when we got there, and we started loading his car with all our equipment. We were on the road again before 5:00, heading to Florida. The three of us were taking our best shot to see the Greater Sandplover, a stray bird that normally lives in Asia and Africa. This individual is only the second ever recorded in North America, and we hoped it would still be there. Storms with gale-force winds and abundant rain earlier in the week had made finding the bird difficult for some other birders, and rainy, windy weather was still partly in the forecast.

At 10:15 we pulled into Hugenot Memorial Park and found a place to leave the car. (This is located east of Jacksonville, out on the coast of Duval County.) We grabbed our scopes, binoculars, raincoats, and started walking. Other birders were standing around a large group of mixed shorebirds, and we knew we were in the right spot. The bird had been cooperative all morning for those who were there earlier, so we had good hope. We didn’t have to wait. It was among several hundred plovers and sandpipers, but with a little pointing and scanning, we all picked it out and had leisurely, upclose scope views. That was nice. Here’s a picture of the scene (the Greater Sandplover is in this group, but too far for the camera to show detail):

We continued there for a few more hours, enjoying the bird and the people who came long distances to see it. One gentleman had just flown in from Rhode Island to see it; he liked watching the bird through the scope. As we stood there searching the birds for something different, a Red-necked Phalarope flew in, and we got great scope views of this normally pelagic species. That, also was a new one for me.

Lex

Debra

Lex and me

On the walk back to the car after noon, rain started, and wind pelted us with sand. We were gritty and soaked on the way to find something to eat. Not knowing the area, we solicited recommendations from the locals. Both people we asked said the Sandollar was the place to go. We did, and it was worth it. Debra tried the cashew-crusted curry grouper; Lex and I had grilled mahi with dill and caper sauce…all of it very good food!

I saw two guys come to the buffet line and recognized them as birders from Tampa who had shared part of the morning with us. I walked over to see what else they had found after we parted, and they told about finding Leach’s Storm-Petrels over the surf at Little Talbot State Park. That is another pelagic species not normally seen from land. So after finishing at the restaruant, we headed up A1A to Little Talbot.

I find it hard to take unblurred photos of armadillos; they’re deceptively quick.

If you are ever in the area, pay the small entrance fee and just drive through this unspoiled fragment of coastal Florida. It is a beautiful place. We parked and walked up onto one of the boardwalks so we could scan the ocean. After a little while I found dark slivers of movement cutting over the waves. As they came closer, even flying over the beach itself, we were able to get positive identification as Leach’s Storm-Petrels, my third new bird for the day. It has been a long time since I got three new birds in a single day east of Texas.

It was mid-afternoon, and we had seen what we came to see. So we drove back home. I only had two-and-a-half hours of sleep the previous night, but the adrenaline kept me going all day. We made the vehicle transfer back at Lex’s house, drove to Lancaster, dropped Debra off, transcribed my bird records, and I was in bed by 12:15. That was a great way to spend a Friday!

Let Me Share a Secret Family Recipe with You

Grill a bunch of stuff.

Chop it all up.

Serve it with chips.

Kitchen Project

I have been aware for some time that many of my herbs and spices are past their optimal potency. I received a set when I first moved out on my own after college. That was 1985, and I still had them, some untouched. Another set came in the form of a wedding gift in 1987. Others had accumulated over the years, from what source or unto what purpose, I have no clue. There were 40 different spices in my cabinet, and multiples of most of them. For example, I had three different bottles of dill — two weed and one seed…I never used any of them. There were four different oreganoes, three different nutmegs, three of parsley flakes, three of coriander, two of marjoram.

Marjoram. What is that?

There was tumeric, thyme, and two different fennels. I even had a full bottle of tarragon, which I am convinced is poisonous to me. …poppy seed, caraway seed, mustard seed…

Sixty-nine bottles and boxes and jars of the stuff. The label of one bottle was completely worn off, and I couldn’t identify the contents. It smelled familiar. I kept it, not because I think I’ll use it, but because I need to identify it before I dispose of it. Yes, I said “need.” Leave me alone!

All which were twenty or more years old were automatically dumped, and any that smelled stale or weak followed. It felt good to clear the space, to divest myself of the unhelpful items. With that out of the way and the cabinet freshly reorganized, I was ready to set about the next project, which was spending the afternoon making my personal recipe of homemade chili. But I had to go to the grocery store first; I had no cumin.

Walking Through Early December

All this, and the company of friends, in South Carolina’s low country, anticipating Charleston food. It was a nice day.

I Run Out of Stuff to Write, Sometimes

…so I shoot basketball. This afternoon while waiting around I saw a chance to get sweaty. I grabbed the push broom and cleared the gravel and other debris from the concrete basketball court. And I played a game of Speed 100, thoroughly exhausting myself.

When I was done, I lay down on the parking lot to recover and see if I could make a sweat angel. It didn’t work.

Several cool things drifted across the September blue above where I lay: an American Goldfinch, a Common Nighthawk, a hawk too high to name without binoculars, one of the large yellow sulfurs, some dragonflies, and a feather.

Then I came inside, made the sandwich, poured a glass of milk, got cleaned up, and did some more waiting. Fridays can be good like that.

Friday — Layover

August 22, 2008 — BWCAW, Winchell Lake

I recall Friday’s breakfast as the only meal that got complaints, and I didn’t think it was all that bad, myself. Dehydrated instant huevos rancheros doesn’t arouse very high expectations, anyway, but the result drew strong reactions from a few, more for the appearance than the taste, I think. Listening to Jim describe its likeness nearly turned me against it, too.

So we hung around camp through the day. A pleasant breeze blew from the east, moving in the direction we would be paddling tomorrow. We fished, told more stories, installed a dining fly over the kitchen area — or as near it as the available trees would allow. We did the necessary camp chores: cooking, washing dishes, filtering water. But we did no gathering of wood. Dry conditions had caused the Forest Service to declare a ban on all burning, which would include enclosed campfires. A terrible forest fire in 2007 destroyed over 170,000 acres, and the folks there are understandably cautious during dry times. That fire began when a single campfire was allowed to go untended. Every day of our trip we saw the charred dead snags of forests that once beautified the hills and islands of these lakes, and some of it is evident in the background of my photographs.

The way that 2007 fire burned (the Ham Lake Fire, it is called) left some places untouched, and our present campsite was one of the fortunate areas of lush remaining evergreens. Before lunch I went on a solo walk back through the woods, exploring, looking for birds. Knowing it might be rough territory, I wore my rain pants and jacket for extra protection against abrasions. That was a good move, because the thick, thick coniferous understory through which I forced myself shredded the yellow rain pants; better the pants than my legs. Here are some photos in open spots:

The photo above shows a tiny waterfall where Winchell Lake spills across a natural barrier of rocks into a creek that feeds back into Gaskin Lake. Elevation difference between the two lakes is 31 feet. This was a fun discovery. The few birds I found on this walk were Yellow-rumped Warbler, Northern Waterthrush, Golden-crowned Kinglet, Blackburnian Warbler, Red-eyed Vireo, Black-capped Chickadee, and the most common bird of the trip, Red-breasted Nuthatch, which was heard and/or seen many times every day.

Indian pipes, one of the mysterious, delicate flowers whose plant has no chlorophyll.

Good conversation and enjoyment of the friendships was always going on. Mike did some card tricks. Greg studied my bird book. Brad and I played hacky-sack. At some point during the late afternoon, the wind changed directions and came toward us from the west. The barometer on my watch showed that the pressure was dropping. A weather event was beginning, and here is my journal for the day to offer its prelude:

“It’s a day good for lying in the tent listening to Blue Jays while the wind blows.”

“4:33 PM – I got a nap this afternoon — sort of. It was so windy that I woke up at every big gust that shook the tent and tarp. A swim this afternoon made me feel fresher and more alert.”

“8:57 PM – The wind is really blowing hard now. We’re all in our tents, and it’s fairly dramatic. I guess this is just part of the unexpectedness of camping. Some rain is falling again.”

“9:23 PM – The wind seems to have finally settled down mostly, but the waves on Winchell Lake continue to pound the shore very hard.”

And around 1:00 the next morning, I wrote this:

“I’m lying awake in a storm I do not understand. For about 6 hours the wind has pummelled this lake and our peninsula campsite. A few brief respites gave hope before midnight, but the persistence is baffling. I am not used to storms of this nature. I wonder what is going on. I’m thankful that there is no thunder and lightning, though.”

For Jim and myself, sleep was sparce that night.