pendraggin (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} pendraggin) wrote,@ 2008-01-30 21:52:00 |
|
The seige of 150.294
Long Cove is a happening place. It's wet, it's mucky, it's downright ducky. Several of my radio-toting black ducks hang out there a lot. Until it gets cold enough for Long Cove to freeze over, in which case the birds search for something they can paddle in. Such was the case January 21. No water, no ducks. Except for one it seemed, at the very southern tip of the marsh. I was getting strong signals from frequency 150.294, called Dodger. I was puzzled why I couldn't see her from my lofty vantage point from the ridge. I donned my chest waders for some on-the-ground investigation.
Gawking bystander: You're going in there on your own?
Me: Sure. This is nothing.
Gawking bystander: They don't pay you enough.
Me: Probably not.
Among the iced-over pools, there doesn't seem to be much of a likely place for .294 to hang out... unless she's in the channel, the one place with flowing water. *sneak sneak sneak* Aha! ohwaittheresnothingthere. Just encouraging blips from my receiver and a wall of impenetrable fragmities on the other side of the water. I kill more time in the cove chasing the signal, but eventually have to go look for other birds.
Next day. 150.294 is apparently in the same place. I triangulate the signals and move on. And the next day. And the next. On one occasion I try approaching from the south, whacking through the fragmities a short distance before meeting the channel. I can see that an attempt to cross in my waders would result in a cold soaking. The bird has holed herself up in a castle of frag, complete with the moat. The siege continues.
Yesterday I brought my attack from the west. This is not a covert operation, as I crash through towering stalks of fragmities, inhaling the fluffy seeds of the invasive plant and dragging along my bulky antenna. This is no habitat for a duck. I come to the only logical conclusion: the transmitter has fallen off but the mortality switch is not operating (so it still sounds like a normal signal). Dammit. As I draw steadily closer, I silently bemoan the loss of another duck and that I have spent a week collecting data from a dropped collar or a dead duck. And I anticipate a pain in the arse search for the small black lump in the weedy mess.
A lone duck explodes from the ground a short distance ahead of me. An American Black Duck. With a telltale wire sticking up between her wings, as if she was a bizarre remote-control plaything. I freeze in shock. The invading force of Me has finally forced Dodger out of hiding. Her safe haven is a mere puddle, a tiny gap in the frag fortress. Glory be, the bird lives. For all I know I scared her enough that she'll fly to Massachusetts.
In all truth, this is hardly an epic tale. I was tramping in the marsh for thirty minutes or so. It just had an unexpected yet pleasant ending. Infinitely more annoying are the ones where I drive all over the place and fail to pick up any signal.
Today Long Cove thawed. 150.294, called Dodger, was easily spotted swimming happily with some feathered brethren. It's good to see her being social. We'll see where she turns up tomorrow.
Long Cove is a happening place. It's wet, it's mucky, it's downright ducky. Several of my radio-toting black ducks hang out there a lot. Until it gets cold enough for Long Cove to freeze over, in which case the birds search for something they can paddle in. Such was the case January 21. No water, no ducks. Except for one it seemed, at the very southern tip of the marsh. I was getting strong signals from frequency 150.294, called Dodger. I was puzzled why I couldn't see her from my lofty vantage point from the ridge. I donned my chest waders for some on-the-ground investigation.
Gawking bystander: You're going in there on your own?
Me: Sure. This is nothing.
Gawking bystander: They don't pay you enough.
Me: Probably not.
Among the iced-over pools, there doesn't seem to be much of a likely place for .294 to hang out... unless she's in the channel, the one place with flowing water. *sneak sneak sneak* Aha! ohwaittheresnothingthere. Just encouraging blips from my receiver and a wall of impenetrable fragmities on the other side of the water. I kill more time in the cove chasing the signal, but eventually have to go look for other birds.
Next day. 150.294 is apparently in the same place. I triangulate the signals and move on. And the next day. And the next. On one occasion I try approaching from the south, whacking through the fragmities a short distance before meeting the channel. I can see that an attempt to cross in my waders would result in a cold soaking. The bird has holed herself up in a castle of frag, complete with the moat. The siege continues.
Yesterday I brought my attack from the west. This is not a covert operation, as I crash through towering stalks of fragmities, inhaling the fluffy seeds of the invasive plant and dragging along my bulky antenna. This is no habitat for a duck. I come to the only logical conclusion: the transmitter has fallen off but the mortality switch is not operating (so it still sounds like a normal signal). Dammit. As I draw steadily closer, I silently bemoan the loss of another duck and that I have spent a week collecting data from a dropped collar or a dead duck. And I anticipate a pain in the arse search for the small black lump in the weedy mess.
A lone duck explodes from the ground a short distance ahead of me. An American Black Duck. With a telltale wire sticking up between her wings, as if she was a bizarre remote-control plaything. I freeze in shock. The invading force of Me has finally forced Dodger out of hiding. Her safe haven is a mere puddle, a tiny gap in the frag fortress. Glory be, the bird lives. For all I know I scared her enough that she'll fly to Massachusetts.
In all truth, this is hardly an epic tale. I was tramping in the marsh for thirty minutes or so. It just had an unexpected yet pleasant ending. Infinitely more annoying are the ones where I drive all over the place and fail to pick up any signal.
Today Long Cove thawed. 150.294, called Dodger, was easily spotted swimming happily with some feathered brethren. It's good to see her being social. We'll see where she turns up tomorrow.
