Morro Bay Morning
Eleven months since the last entry here. I've written a few ecologs since then on my new personal website, stevenmarx.net , but posting pictures on Flickr is much less demanding, and without the pressure of assigning this job to students, I've lagged. Now Spring Quarter looms six weeks ahead, and after seven months of retirement from teaching, I'm trying to warm up at self-expression.
Yesterday morning, on an impulse, I drove to Morro Bay to spend a couple of hours kayaking during the winter bird festival. The day was warmer than last year, the Bay calmer, and the tide more friendly. Already high, at 9:00 when the rental opened, it provided me with two more hours of suction up the estuary before turning and leaving me stranded. Slight dabs with the paddle propelled me across the spreading silky surface.
A friend had told me she spotted 30 species on the Bay a few days earlier. Equipped with binoculars and camera to capture a grand wildlife display, I felt guilt for possibly disturbing creatures I knew were resting here to gather energy for their long migrations.How much to take of nature's bounty without creating harm? Sustainability in the abstract takes up much of my time, but I've done little to reduce my personal footprint. This has come home to me while reading a book about logging in British Columbia called The Golden Spruce sent from there by my old friend Peter that recalls my days of working in a pulp mill up there in order to be able to live up there close to the land. Another book another about the world's water shortage called When the Rivers Run Dry, lent to me by my neighbor Gary, gives me concern about watering to establish my new water-conserving native plants during this drought year.
I paddled past a sandbar far enough from the receding shoreline to keep the crowds of pelicans, herons and cormorants from flying away, but close enough to identify. As I rounded a clump of rapidly disappearing eelgrass, a grand panoply unfolded: thousands of birds lined up single file, all facing the low sun, motionless in pleasure and adoration.
Yesterday morning, on an impulse, I drove to Morro Bay to spend a couple of hours kayaking during the winter bird festival. The day was warmer than last year, the Bay calmer, and the tide more friendly. Already high, at 9:00 when the rental opened, it provided me with two more hours of suction up the estuary before turning and leaving me stranded. Slight dabs with the paddle propelled me across the spreading silky surface.A friend had told me she spotted 30 species on the Bay a few days earlier. Equipped with binoculars and camera to capture a grand wildlife display, I felt guilt for possibly disturbing creatures I knew were resting here to gather energy for their long migrations.How much to take of nature's bounty without creating harm? Sustainability in the abstract takes up much of my time, but I've done little to reduce my personal footprint. This has come home to me while reading a book about logging in British Columbia called The Golden Spruce sent from there by my old friend Peter that recalls my days of working in a pulp mill up there in order to be able to live up there close to the land. Another book another about the world's water shortage called When the Rivers Run Dry, lent to me by my neighbor Gary, gives me concern about watering to establish my new water-conserving native plants during this drought year.
I paddled past a sandbar far enough from the receding shoreline to keep the crowds of pelicans, herons and cormorants from flying away, but close enough to identify. As I rounded a clump of rapidly disappearing eelgrass, a grand panoply unfolded: thousands of birds lined up single file, all facing the low sun, motionless in pleasure and adoration.
posted by Steven Marx at 11:45 AM
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