We set out on a stunning late fall day to go fishing, heading west in search of a small lake that Don has not been to in 50+ years. He has childhood memories of catching bullheads, a local catfish and wanted to share the experience with me. As always, the deal is, you clean em, I cook em.
Tango looking dapper in his new coat.
We found the gravel road but were not sure what to do when it became a dead end. Oh, let’s drive up to that farmhouse and ask them. I hesitate and ask, Are you sure? Yeah, let’s go there. I drive the van slowly down the long driveway and Don the Socialite jumps out and knocks on the door. Petrified that we might get shot, I stay in the van, eager to let Don take the first bullet. A man steps out of the home and, within 60 seconds, after Don shares his childhood stories of fishing at the long-lost lake, the two men are best friends. I see them gesturing, laughing, hee-hawing in the way that only North Dakotans can do. If you are German and from southern ND, you are kin, at least in spirit. Since Don is still alive, Tango and I slide out of the van. A white and black Australian Shepherd, which is Tango’s breed, comes running over. Same tail stub wiggle, same energy, same look. They are instant kin as well, even though they growl a bit. Don and the man chit-chat a while longer, and he learns that the lake dried up for a short time years ago and the bullheads are gone. Has water again, though.
Long story short: the lake is just over there, drive between them two rows of hay bales, left at the shelter belt, then park, walk south a few yards, crawl under the barbed wire fence. We do exactly that, driving over the farmer’s land towards the lake. We park and head towards a barbed wire fence, each of us holding the bottom wire up while the other rolls through. Great day for a long walk around the lake. We tromp loudly, looking for animal winter hiding places in trees. I find a few feathers here and there. We hike over to the spillway and discover a huge, curved beaver dam, a work of art. Oh yeah, Don says. That guy told me all about the beavers, they are over in the shelter belt right now. Beavers are a nightmare on the prairie, where trees are scarce. Perhaps the farmer will trap them.
We walk further along the shoreline and see some delinquent Red-Winged Blackbirds. Their kin bask now in the southern sunshine; what the heck are they thinking staying here when the first blizzard can and will appear soon? I would fly south if I could! Get going guys, you will freeze up here.
Wing that I found, with feathers. Simply gigantic, as the pen shows.
We walk down the to water’s edge and discover an enormous White Pelican wing. The bone size and black-tipped flight feathers make ID easy. Who could take down a White Pelican, one of our largest birds? The mess reminds me of kill site near town, where last summer I found a small animal skull. Great Horned Owls roost not far away, above grain towers. Yet, White Pelicans are bigger than Great Horned Owls. Could an owl be the predator of another formidable predator bird? Hard to believe. When I get home I start surfing for information.
This piece was also left behind: probably the bone structure that the breasts rested on, like a turkey. Notice the wishbone to the right!
Yes, owls are one of the few White Pelican predators. Yes, they generally leave a mess behind, and here is why I find only larger bones at Great Horned Owl kill sites. The owl takes food back to its nest or roost before ingesting whole or in large chunks and later regurgitates pellets with bits of bone and other non-digestible matter. If body parts on the kill are too big to swallow, the owl rips them off. Therefore, heads and large wing structures often get left behind.
I gather up everything I can carry, eager to add these new bones to my prairie collection. Don carries my dried milkweed pods since my arms overflow with bones . Before heading home on this lovely day, we drive to a small-town park and prepare lunch. I open the rear van doors. Rustle, clang, dig, scrape, ding, ahhhhh, the bin with my one burner stove, pans, bowls. We heat up clam chowder, which I am certain is better than muddy catfish. We pretend that we caught the clams and made the chowder as we sopped it up with fresh-baked rolls. Oranges. Coffee/hot chocolate from the Thermos. Walk around the park, along the stream. Absorb the sunshine. Home. Not long after the sky clouds over and seems to taunt–-glad you enjoyed today, this might be the last time you wander around here without wearing your snow boots.
Well, I forgot to carry my camera or cell phone on the hike. I took the above few photos after I arrived home and sorted through my haul.
Wing span on White Pelican can be 12 feet!!!
Great Horned Owl carrying a mink, a common critter up here.
