A blur, A Stir, A Hawk, Feathers in Flight

A blur, A hawk, Feathers in Flight

     I left the house about 4 today.  For a short hike.  Light snow was blowing under gray-skies of November.  It was melting on the road as fast as it fell.  I was overdressed and started to sweat and I was soon unzipping the 3 layers I had on.  A fleece shirt. A fleece vest.  A heavy coat.  What was I thinking to wear such heavy cloths. 
     Just over the ridge I stopped to check out the Red Tailed Hawk nest along the creek.  100 yards down the hill.   The nest was gone.  I was stunned.  The gales of November must have snapped off the tree, and tumbled the intricately constructed nest to the ground.  I peered down for a longer look and realized I made a mistake.  It was the old nest that had been toppled, which was in a snag.  A dead tree.   Last March the hawk pair built a new nest in a green tree, about 50 foot from the old one.  A smart move. Genetic imprinting perhaps; knowing to avoid homesteading on ancient branch wood.
     A Kestrel peered at me from a nearby power line.  I have seen that same Kestrel in this area dozens of time.  I like to think its the same hawk I have been seeing for a couple of years.  Maybe not.  Probably.  The sparrow hawk flew off, veering away from me, landing in a small spruce tree just down the hill.
     I continued down the road into the canyon and a movement caught my eye.  Just above the ridge line.  It was a pair of soaring hawks, about 1/4 mile from the nesting site.  Settlers hanging around the old farm?  Honyockers.  And a third.  Another hawk was flying just above the pair, but holding pattern in close proximity.  Red tails?  I looked again but didn't have my binoculars so it was impossible to tell.    Two of the hawks seemed to be flying quite close to each other, almost bumping tail fins.  Or just wings. 
     Farther up Rocky Canyon there was snowpack on the gravel.  Just a couple of inches.   Fresh and pure white.  At one bend in the road I had a good view of Cottonwood Creek.  I walked to the edge of the creek.  There was sky blue waters, tumbling over the rocks.  Not an unpleasant sound. 
     I had to get back home before dark and turned to retrace my path.  The light was rapidly waning.  The full moon was hidden in an oncoming storm, and its beams were of little use.    

Bull Snakes in the Bull Pines

     Early October.  I decided to find a quiet hiking trail on the Blacks Creek Road, and I picked out two trails on the map, but when I arrived at those locations, both parking lots were busy and abuzz with  motorcycles and all terrain vehicles (ATV's).  Dusty and noisy.  

     I wanted peace and quiet not flying dust and the racket, clamor and clatter of engines. The smell of oil and exhaust.  Scaring wildlife away for miles in every direction. 

     I continued on and down the road, heading farther back in the mountains, and found another trail head at a place called Corral Creek. A tributary of the Middle Fork of the Boise River.  A fork of the fork.  I parked my truck in an open area and readied my pack and filled my canteens.   

     There was a fence line that ran across the base of the canyon and the gate was down. Had been for some time.  That was the trail head.  There were recent cattle tracks, and no human footprints but there was a fresh set of tracks from an ATV. The sign at the gait stated "No Motorized Vehicles Allowed".   Obviously ignored. 

      The sky was halved.  A bright blue sky to the east and with low clouds scudding across the western skyline. Like flocks of cotton-puff sheep. The crickets were holding a big chirp and it was obvious they were enjoying the warm days of early fall. A Pow-Wow.  Fresh sunshine probably helped power this shindig. 

     I looked at the gate and it had obviously been on the ground for some time.  From the looks of it.  I thought about putting it back up.  Bridging the gap.  Closing the trap.  I decided to leave well enough alone.  

     I started up the trail which followed along the creek bottom and it was very sandy.  The brown, black and gray crystals of decomposed granite.   Bedrock remnants from the fringe of time.   It felt like I was walking on a bunch of pillows, which was easy on the feet but unstable. 

      The canyon bottom had the appearance of being the recipient of some large floods in the past 10 years.  A clear water creek about 6 foot wide coursed through this drainage, lined with water wallies or willows.  The willows appeared to have reestablished themselves in the past few years, in the fresh gravels of the deluge.   

      The trail left the creek bottom and contoured along the south side of the drainage.   The rushing stream gurgled and poured over rounded boulders keeping up a racket.  Natures symphony.  I stopped for a short rest and noticed the hillsides bore the sign of a large fire in the last 10 to 15 years.  I sat and listened to the waters and enjoyed the view.  There were widely scattered stands of mature Ponderosa Pine here and there. Old growth. Yellow bellies. Pumpkins.  Most of the trees killed in the fire had already fallen to the ground, obvious victims of epidemic wood rot. Waiting for the gales of November to topple them.The south side of the canyon was forested with pole size pine about 10 feet tall.  Lush and green. Progeny of the fire.

      
     The ATV tracks disappeared, a mile up the canyon.   It was obvious why the trespasser had retreated. The brush had gotten to thick and impenetrable. Fast growing shrubs are the hikers best friend and may they forever grow several feet a year and plug all access for motorized gas guzzlers, or just make their ride pure hell with branches constantly scrapping their arms and legs. Faces. Taking the paint off their gas tanks. Tearing off mirrors, gun cases, throttles and bottles. Goggles.  Revenge can be had.  In defense of ATV riders most are law abiding and follow the rules and its the minority that wrecks it for the rest.

     I heard a squirrel chirping and chattering somewhere across the canyon. A tree squirrel by the sounds of it. Somehow the squirrel is managing to eek out a survival.  With the lack of mature pines and fir trees in this area pine cones were certainly at a premium.  And pine nuts for fodder. 

     The canyon was quite beautiful and scenic, a great place to hike.  Then came the cattle.  And the cow pies or manure.  Piles and piles of it and you had to step carefully around it much of the time.  There were several angus cows that seemed quite afraid or me, and for some reason they decided they had to flee directly up the trail in front of me.  The terrain was open so it was quite irritating to have them running in front of me.  After a couple of hundred yards they finally veered off the trail to the south, and stood there looking at me.  Fearfully.  No reason to be afraid of this bipedal hominid.  At least at the moment.  Until I can find a  sharp piece of obsidian and attach it to a 4 foot dogwood stem.     A spear comes to mind.  The grass in the narrow valley had basically been chewed down to the nubbins by these bovines and they had overstayed their visit by a month or more.   To be even more perplexing the gate was open at the trail head which gave these cows a great deal of room to roam.  And make them very hard to keep track of and safe.
      I continued my hike up the trail without my hoofed escort.  The canyon narrowed and became more rocky and the creek flowed right next to the trail, with a narrow buffer of water wallies.   I jumped back when a bull snake shot across the trail in front of me, not slowing down for a minute.    I saw another object on the trail.  A long stick.  I looked at it.  It never moved.  It was another bullsnake.  Hissss hissss.  The sounds like a rattle but it was only a good impersonation.  But a beautiful snake.  A real mouse killer. 
     The day waned and I was running out of time so I headed back down the trail.  It was a great day to be out.   Corral Creek is a beautiful chunk of country, in any regard.  A place to be safeguarded and treasured.