The first fall bird
I put in at the bottom of the Harrison Portage where a lone pied billed grebe dives while I load my canoe. As I paddle downwind and up lake, a duck sized bird floats a 150 yards ahead. There are no buffleheads, the season when the bay is decorated by thousands of the most beautiful of waterfowl is not yet here. There are no geese at this time either, so change is in the game, fall is just here. The duck sized bird dives sleekly and elegantly in a manner that shows it can only be a grebe. Too small for the "western", it is probably a Clark's. It flies off as I near, wasting no effort gathering altitude and following a path as near perfectly straight as I have ever seen any bird fly, never more than 2 feet above the water until my eye can no longer resolve it against the steel gray water. This bird is fall. It is a recent arrival. At Potlatch Point, something dark and about the size of the palm of my hand watches me approach. It surfaces twice and...
