Where the Wild Things Are

We had only a short spell of birding yesterday, as the boss was away all day with a friend, sharing carpentry and camaraderie, and generally having a good time.

We went out in the gathering evening, to hit the river in search of that elusive Greater White-fronted Goose. Thought I saw it, but nope, it was gone.

On the way home, we followed the loop that has netted us everything from that surprising Golden Eagle to Snow Buntings, Horned Larks, and the handsome little Merlin in recent weeks.

We were treated to a stunning sunset, the valley a clear bowl of light awash in gold as bright as treasure and as warming to the soul. The mountains and trees painted inky sketches against the sky, and it was good and calming indeed.

As we descended one hilly road we often traverse, a sound rang out. The boss thought it was the car coming up with yet another squeak or squawk.

I knew though that it was a bird. A bird I had never heard before. We turned around and went back to see if we could figure out what it was. I set up the little camera to record the sound.

All was quiet.

Then SHRIEK!! it came again.

And again, screaming like you never imagined. I knew it wasn't an owl. I study owl calls, even the ones we don't see or hear around here.

Not an owl.

The only thing it reminded me of was the male peacock, back when we had them. He used to scream whenever he saw me come out the back door, which tickled my fancy no end.

We sat there a long time, peering into the gloomy trees, seeing nothing, but hearing plenty.

Then suddenly something fluttered across the brush line. Too dark for me to see what it was, but Mr. X-ray vision laughed and said, "It's a pheasant."

Yep, after two YEARS of looking for pheasants we found two in just a few days.

The bridge gave us another show...