With the temperatures as high as they have been, sightings of creek critters have been few and far between. I don't know if it was the sprinkling of rain we got, or the slightly lower humidity or the drop of a few degrees in the overnight temperature, but yesterday was one of the most astonishing days I've ever experienced in terms of wildlife watching.
After lunch, I took a stroll over to the bench by the creek, just like any
other day.When I turned to check out the log where turtles can usually be seen
basking, I was amazed to see a Great Blue Heron standing where the turtles
usually sit. I've seen herons and egrets here on numerous occasions, but never
in the middle of the day, and never for as long as this one stayed - it was
there for nearly an hour!
Hoping for more good luck, I ventured over to my dock just after sunset - I wasn't disappointed. There was a huge green frog sitting on the log at the bottom of the steps leading down from the dock, who seemed to be watching me rather than the other way around. The tide was on its way out, the water was still a couple of feet deep by the sycamore tree that supports the dock, and clearer than I have seen it in ages. The clarity of the water and my trusty heavy duty flash light (my son calls it a "sun gun") made it possible to see clear to the creek bed. There were shiners and top minnows and killifish. Suddenly, the water seemed to erupt like the hot springs at Yellowstone as something startled the fish and they took off in every direction. I figured it was a larger fish of some kind, but was pleasantly surprised to see that it was a small mouth bass - the biggest one I've ever seen in the creek. Then a huge eel went slithering along the rocks beneath the bass, causing a crayfish to scurry away. At that point, my light attracted about half a dozen large channel catfish - I see catfish almost every night, but only rarely this many at once - and the monster catfish made an appearance. He's gorgeous for a catfish, about 18 inches long, 5 inches across at the head, perfect barbs and very few marks from fishing lines.
As I sat down on the dock and turned my light off to give the creatures a break for a few minutes, I saw very large ripples in the water coming slowly towards me. I turned on the light and there was the largest of the beavers, looking back at me. Usually when I spot the beavers, they take off pretty quickly after slapping the water with their tails. This time, he moved very slowly, half
walking, half swimming towards the dam about 50 feet upstream. When I turned my light to find my way along the bank, I was thrilled to see two little brown
bats swooping towards the water. These were the first bats I've seen since last
summer! Bats are one of my favorite creek critters - not only are they amazing
to watch, they are miracles of engineering, AND one little brown bat can eat
more than 1000 mosquitoes a day! (FYI - they don't really try to fly towards
people and get tangled in your hair - if they come towards you, it's only
because they're aiming for a buggy snack flying near you.)
I got to the bench at the scenic overlook and turned off my light (but not
before I made the beaver mad and he slapped his tail at me). I could hear him
rustling around at the dam, making adjustments to a stick here, a rock there. I
noticed another set of ripples coming from upstream, and heard the beaver go
back into the water. I clicked on the light just in time to see the big beaver
swim up to a baby beaver, and guide him over to the dam. While beavers are able to swim the day they are born, they don't usually come out of the lodge for a few weeks or so. I took one more quick look before shutting off the light,
leaving the beavers in peace. I wish that I could have gotten a photo of the
two of them but it was too dark. The affectionate bond between them was so
obvious, reminding me that no matter how different our species may be, mammals are mammals when it comes to parenting.
With our natural, open spaces disappearing at an alarming rate, we should count ourselves lucky to still have the Pompeston Creek and its denizens. I urge everyone to take an hour or two to take a walk along the creek, or join me for a guided kayak or canoe trip, and see for yourself just what we "treehuggers" are trying so hard to protect.
