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The Brook that Never Freezes
I think they are going to be OK. It is all about spring seeps right now.
03-16-17
Tuesday’s blizzard was a blessing to this snowshoe enthusiast. The backyard trail is open, nicely packed and groomed.
The storm is allowing me to go backwards just as I was going forward enjoying the annual migration north of the American Woodcock.
Having seen as many as eleven birds to date there is no doubt their internal compasses are pointing north.
Woodcock require soft thawed ground in order for them to find their primary diet of earthworms. Looking across our current landscape as winter holds its grip it is very hard to find any open ground.
Tonight I stopped by the raccoon den tree. At its base there is a very defined trail where raccoons have been coming down to forage in the small woodlot we call our backyard.
The tree overlooks the brook that does not freeze. I stood a moment wondering about the migrating timberdoodles and their need for food when I saw a very familiar shape standing in the open water.
No way I thought. My brain was trying to fool my eyes. I needed a closer look.
As I broke trail down to the brook I swear I saw the shape move. As I approached a small woodcock took flight. In its twisting turning way it rose up and settled back down about twenty yards further up the brook.
I stood in awe at this creature’s survival ability. I thanked the Lord for allowing me the fleeting glace.
Not wanting to disturb it again I turned and followed the brook up to where I had seen two woodcock come to roost last week. Although I did not see any more flyers right at dusk from somewhere along the ribbon of open water came the unmistakable buzzy, nasal ‘peent’ of a male woodcock.
Blessed, best describes my adventures.
The Brook that Never Freezes
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Spring Seeps and the American Woodcock
03-17-17
This spring originates on our neighbor's property. Like our boundary spring it never freezes.
On my hike tonight just as my snowshoe touched the bridge a woodcock flushed.
In an instinctive instant, I shouldered my imaginary shotgun and mouthed two shots. Bang-Bang.
Thank you to my mentor who told me so many years ago that any time I flushed a game bird, in season or not, to raise that gun of air and follow through.
My muscle reaction in now involuntary. I wish I could teach my shot pattern the same.
This woodcock was much bigger than yesterday's. Live long my friends.