Field Journal
December 31, 2017
The sky was a uniform gray, the air still, the temperature hovering right around freezing. I packed up my gear, stashed my kayak on the top of my car, and headed for Big Flat. Out on the Pasco-Kahlotus Highway, a northern harrier soared low over the dry fields, the white patch on its rump proclaiming its species. Pigeons flew in circles around a dull gray grain silo. The roads were mostly dry and clear of snow, as the warm snap on the previous day had melted off most of the ice slick of freezing rain from the day before. The gravel road down to the Big Flat parking lot still had snow, but was not slick or dangerous.
I put my kayak in at the usual place, and began by paddling downstream. Many flocks of coots dotted the lake, through my binoculars I saw some mallards in the upstream direction. I would get to those ones later.
I rounded a bluff, and saw a big flock of mallards before me. This looked promising. I paddled closer. The mallards just sat there. That was unusual. I got closer still. They were not responding. They were not even moving. So I turned my kayak around, waved to the reeds where the hunters were obviously hiding, and left that spread of decoys behind.
Now heading back upstream, at the bay where I put in I flushed a small flock of pintails, too far away to get a shot. I cut close to the cliff side, navigating the shallow water between the scrubby bushes growing in the lake, and followed the curve to a slight concavity in the shore cliffs where some trees grew. I saw a mallard drake waddling up the shore to hide under cover of the trees and bushes. Putting the kayak ashore, I poked around under the trees, but could not find where the duck was hiding. I paused halfway up the cliff to eat a trail bar, then got back in my kayak to continue.
I flushed several more drakes or pairs of mallards. I got off a couple of shots, but did not hit anything. I passed the power lines, the tule fields, and entered the inlet. The dark, stubby bodies of flocks of coots dotted the water, swimming off as I approached, occasionally beating their wings to gain just enough lift that they could run across the surface of the water to depart with some speed. The far ends of the inlet were iced over. I did one circuit of the inlet, and the pushed up to the far end of Big Flat.
I crossed the lake to Fishhook park and cruised along the brush at Fishhook HMU hoping to get some ducks, although they all took to the sky long before any were in range. A red-tailed hawk took to the air from its perch in a tree, its bright orange tail showing. At the secret pond, there were quite a few ducks. I could have shot some buffleheads, but the sound of the shotgun would have spooked all the rest of the birds and buffleheads are so small they're barely worth the effort. I paddled around, trying to get close enough to something worthy of shooting, but to no avail. One mallard pair orbited the pond opposite me, before finally flying off after several circuits. I paddled back out to the lake, an immature bald eagle flew overhead, its drab brown plumage not yet showing the white had and tail of an adult.
One may spend all day in a kayak, but there are certain biological functions that must be taken care of. I stopped at the edge of a railway embankment, wedged the kayak on some rocks, and began to relive the pressure on my bladder. Unfortunately, the weight that had been pushing the kayak down onto the rocks was no longer holding it there. I glanced to the side to see my ride drifting off downstream. Without it, I would be stranded a long way from home. So I hurriedly zipped up and then waded out hip-deep into the freezing cold water to grab the boat. Hauling it ashore, I got in, legs and feet getting quite chilled. Fortunately, the splash guards I put over my legs also served to keep the water soaked into my pants and boots from evaporating and thus helped hold in some warmth.
I made my way down past the power station to the farthest reaches of the brush, and then cut back across the lake to the inlet. The eagle had perched on the tall tree at the entrance to the inlet where an eagle nest had been built.
At the inlet I managed to shoot a pair of ringnecked ducks. I only injured the ringneck female. As I paddled up to grab it and wring its neck, it began diving to escape me. I didn't want to spend a long time playing that game, so I finished it off with a blast from my shotgun. The results were a lot messier than I expected. The duck was only a few meters away, and it sort of ... disintegrated. Portions of a wing were floating on the water some five meters downrange. The bird's entire back was missing, and its insides blasted into hamburger. At least it would make cleaning it out easier. I put the chunky remains inside one of the garbage bags I was using to shield my legs from the paddle splashes. Maybe I could feed it to my monitor lizard. Well, I won't be trying that again.
The trip back to the bay by the parking lot and the jetty was fairly uneventful. Just a nice trip back downstream; the gray featureless clouds above keeping the sun's glare off the water, the lake's surface just a bit choppier than the smooth mirror it had been earlier. Large flocks of coots moved away from shore well in advance of my progress, alerting all the ducks of my approach.
At the bay, there was still plenty of time to go further downstream. I did so. A flicker darted off along the cliff side as I went by, propelled by the curious double-flap-and-glide of its wings. It cut up over the top of the cliff near some trees, followed shortly thereafter by an alarmed Eeeee! Eeeee! cry. A cooper's hawk then soared out over the cliff edge, clutching the body of a flicker in its talons.
In one of the bays, a small flock of mallards flushed, but as I approached, one drake had been left behind. I shot the drake, then went to the far downstream extent of Big Flat before turning around and going back. At the jetty, I got out, had to step in the water again, and pulled all my gear and my boat up to the path. I hurriedly put my kayak on its cart and headed back to my car, starting to shiver from the cold and my wet lower half. At the car, my gear was stashed and the boat lashed on the roof. Then I started the car up, turned the heater on full, and drove home.
The sky was a uniform gray, the air still, the temperature hovering right around freezing. I packed up my gear, stashed my kayak on the top of my car, and headed for Big Flat. Out on the Pasco-Kahlotus Highway, a northern harrier soared low over the dry fields, the white patch on its rump proclaiming its species. Pigeons flew in circles around a dull gray grain silo. The roads were mostly dry and clear of snow, as the warm snap on the previous day had melted off most of the ice slick of freezing rain from the day before. The gravel road down to the Big Flat parking lot still had snow, but was not slick or dangerous.
I put my kayak in at the usual place, and began by paddling downstream. Many flocks of coots dotted the lake, through my binoculars I saw some mallards in the upstream direction. I would get to those ones later.
I rounded a bluff, and saw a big flock of mallards before me. This looked promising. I paddled closer. The mallards just sat there. That was unusual. I got closer still. They were not responding. They were not even moving. So I turned my kayak around, waved to the reeds where the hunters were obviously hiding, and left that spread of decoys behind.
Now heading back upstream, at the bay where I put in I flushed a small flock of pintails, too far away to get a shot. I cut close to the cliff side, navigating the shallow water between the scrubby bushes growing in the lake, and followed the curve to a slight concavity in the shore cliffs where some trees grew. I saw a mallard drake waddling up the shore to hide under cover of the trees and bushes. Putting the kayak ashore, I poked around under the trees, but could not find where the duck was hiding. I paused halfway up the cliff to eat a trail bar, then got back in my kayak to continue.
I flushed several more drakes or pairs of mallards. I got off a couple of shots, but did not hit anything. I passed the power lines, the tule fields, and entered the inlet. The dark, stubby bodies of flocks of coots dotted the water, swimming off as I approached, occasionally beating their wings to gain just enough lift that they could run across the surface of the water to depart with some speed. The far ends of the inlet were iced over. I did one circuit of the inlet, and the pushed up to the far end of Big Flat.
I crossed the lake to Fishhook park and cruised along the brush at Fishhook HMU hoping to get some ducks, although they all took to the sky long before any were in range. A red-tailed hawk took to the air from its perch in a tree, its bright orange tail showing. At the secret pond, there were quite a few ducks. I could have shot some buffleheads, but the sound of the shotgun would have spooked all the rest of the birds and buffleheads are so small they're barely worth the effort. I paddled around, trying to get close enough to something worthy of shooting, but to no avail. One mallard pair orbited the pond opposite me, before finally flying off after several circuits. I paddled back out to the lake, an immature bald eagle flew overhead, its drab brown plumage not yet showing the white had and tail of an adult.
One may spend all day in a kayak, but there are certain biological functions that must be taken care of. I stopped at the edge of a railway embankment, wedged the kayak on some rocks, and began to relive the pressure on my bladder. Unfortunately, the weight that had been pushing the kayak down onto the rocks was no longer holding it there. I glanced to the side to see my ride drifting off downstream. Without it, I would be stranded a long way from home. So I hurriedly zipped up and then waded out hip-deep into the freezing cold water to grab the boat. Hauling it ashore, I got in, legs and feet getting quite chilled. Fortunately, the splash guards I put over my legs also served to keep the water soaked into my pants and boots from evaporating and thus helped hold in some warmth.
I made my way down past the power station to the farthest reaches of the brush, and then cut back across the lake to the inlet. The eagle had perched on the tall tree at the entrance to the inlet where an eagle nest had been built.
At the inlet I managed to shoot a pair of ringnecked ducks. I only injured the ringneck female. As I paddled up to grab it and wring its neck, it began diving to escape me. I didn't want to spend a long time playing that game, so I finished it off with a blast from my shotgun. The results were a lot messier than I expected. The duck was only a few meters away, and it sort of ... disintegrated. Portions of a wing were floating on the water some five meters downrange. The bird's entire back was missing, and its insides blasted into hamburger. At least it would make cleaning it out easier. I put the chunky remains inside one of the garbage bags I was using to shield my legs from the paddle splashes. Maybe I could feed it to my monitor lizard. Well, I won't be trying that again.
The trip back to the bay by the parking lot and the jetty was fairly uneventful. Just a nice trip back downstream; the gray featureless clouds above keeping the sun's glare off the water, the lake's surface just a bit choppier than the smooth mirror it had been earlier. Large flocks of coots moved away from shore well in advance of my progress, alerting all the ducks of my approach.
At the bay, there was still plenty of time to go further downstream. I did so. A flicker darted off along the cliff side as I went by, propelled by the curious double-flap-and-glide of its wings. It cut up over the top of the cliff near some trees, followed shortly thereafter by an alarmed Eeeee! Eeeee! cry. A cooper's hawk then soared out over the cliff edge, clutching the body of a flicker in its talons.
In one of the bays, a small flock of mallards flushed, but as I approached, one drake had been left behind. I shot the drake, then went to the far downstream extent of Big Flat before turning around and going back. At the jetty, I got out, had to step in the water again, and pulled all my gear and my boat up to the path. I hurriedly put my kayak on its cart and headed back to my car, starting to shiver from the cold and my wet lower half. At the car, my gear was stashed and the boat lashed on the roof. Then I started the car up, turned the heater on full, and drove home.