Hey tweets, This weekend, Hans and Kristi de Grys inspired John and me to
get outta Dodge and do something deep - i.e., bird. Unfortunately, Dodge
proved to have a death grip on our time. It had shackled us to our desks
with bands of steel, those bands being our need to actually earn a living so
we can eat. In other words, we both had crushing work deadlines that were
bearing down and had to be met with fortitude instead of our more usual
procrastination.

And so, it wasn't until midday on Saturday that we were free for fun.
Ordinarily, with so much time lost on the weekend, we would have elected to
make a sandwich, grab a drink and flop in front of the TV to watch other,
buffier people exert themselves. The Olympics were on, after all. But Hans
and Kristi said there were enticing birds awaiting us in the Okanogan. Thank
goodness, their post won the day and we set out for the far hills.

The weather got bad as we neared Rainy Pass, a place that had always puzzled
me as to why it was named such. No longer. The wind was whistling there, and
the rain came down. We pressed on. By the time we got to Mazama, all the
available motel rooms were taken. We tried everywhere and got nowhere.
Finally, we headed up to the forest service roads that Hans had mentioned.
To our surprise, the campgrounds were practically empty. So was our car
trunk, meaning that we had no camping equipment with us because we had
planned to spend the night luxuriating in a motel somewhere. Instead, we
slept in the car, something we haven't done since we were young and our
spines were flexible. As John said sometime during that interminable night,
"I can't find a single position where every part of my body is comfortable.
The best I can do is to minimize the number of body parts that are hurting."
I minimized my pain to the point where only my poor toes were complaining,
on account of the fact that I had to curl them up into little balls to make
them fit in the back seat. I was about the comment on this sad state of
affairs, but John beat me to it. He said, "Connie, I just want you to know
that on my headstone, I want you to write, 'He died of discomfort.'"

That made me laugh so hard that I had to search frantically for my shoes so
I could go outside and commune with nature in the bushes.

As compensation for our pain, though, we had the rare privilege of hearing a
BARRED OWL hoot all over his territory. In the morning, we awoke (if you can
call it that) very early. In no time, we were on our way, not having
anything whatsoever to pack up. We arrived at dawn at Roger Lake to find the
trees absolutely stuffed with woodpeckers. I've never heard so much tapping
and calling in my entire life. It seemed that almost every tree had its
partisan pecker whaling away. We got the best looks we've ever had at
stunning THREE-TOED WOODPECKERS, not to mention HAIRYs and FLICKERS. BOREAL
CHICKADEES hung like Xmas tree ornaments from all the branches.
YELLOW-RUMPED WARBLERS dashed from tree to tree in a bewildering display of
life. It was sublime.

After we'd had our fill of the woodpeckers, we headed over to Hart's Pass. I
don't know how many of you tweets have made the trek there, but to me, it's
the kind of trip that I need years to recover from. The road terrifies me.
It's way too easy for me to imagine skidding on the gravel and plunging
hundreds of feet down the cliffs. When I can bring myself to go, I travel
with my eyes shut and my hands clutching the door. My feet are busy tromping
on the nonexistent brake on the passenger side.

However, once in the parking lot and with my knees stiff again, I must admit
that the view is stunning. We were treated to the sight of a large, brown
bear in the valley, who spent hours hunting for berries. But the biggest
treat of all was the birds. We saw a little flock of ROSY-FINCHES feeding on
the brush along the trail leading up to the fire lookout. We saw a PRAIRIE
FALCON soar past, wings pulled in to handle the fierce wind. Best of all, we
saw an immature GOLDEN EAGLE glide by. We were up so high, we could look
DOWN on the eagle, a rare sight indeed. We watched him float by, leisurely
looking for prey, turning his golden head from side to side, spreading out
his feathered "fingers," and steering with his tail. That bird was master of
the wind and king of all he surveyed. He passed us going up a thermal,
rising effortlessly as though he was in an invisible elevator. Then he
exited the thermal and flew north into the wild valley edged with mountains.

When I see something as glorious as that, I feel the generosity of nature,
the fact that I can share in the wonder even if I can't fly myself. It made
the trip down (eyes shut, hands clutching, feet tromping) worth it.

FYI, the fire that roared through Hart's Pass has left behind a forest of
burned trees. We didn't see any woodpeckers here, but they must be around.
The habitat is bounteous, I would think. Hans is also correct about all the
dead and dying spruce along the forest service roads. Bad for the trees, but
gotta be heaven for the woodpeckers. Maybe we'll see a population explosion
of them. It goes to show that nature destroys and also creates; nothing is
wasted. I wish I could say the same for people. - Connie, Seattle

csidles at isomedia.com