outdoors

Saturday was the opening day of pheasant season and the hills of northern Wyoming County provided an eventful hunt. Above is John Lawrence with a ringneck and Jake, one half of his Vizsla tandem.  

John pays attention to the body language of both dogs. Here he gives a heads-up -- the dogs are beginning to "act birdy," both are tensing up with shoulders low to the ground as they work the brush.

Jake and Caille are hidden by the brush, but John sees the tops of the goldenrod moving and listens to the bells on the dogs' collars. When those bells stop, chances are the dogs have "locked up" on a bird.

The dogs work well in tandem, and their efforts weren't limited to hillside meadows.

Caille working the headwater of a beaver swamp -- not your normal pheasant habitat -- yet Jake pounced a ringneck as it tried to flee through the swampy confines.

Jake's swamp rooster -- note the wet feathers.   

Here we've followed dogs into cover more suitable for grouse and woodcock, but Jake and Caille flushed two roosters in this location.

Jake and Caille working the edge of the beaver swamp

Even after John gave me a heads-up I was a little slow on the draw here. Couldn't get the camera out of my vest pocket in time to catch Caille doing a "stop, drop and roll" in that puddle.

Jake and Caille worked the cover well, flushing seven roosters in the process. Time to get a little loving for a job well done. 

A fitting end to a great outing!

The above photo of the Canadea bridge was taken by Amy Joyner. The bridge spans the Genesee River near one of her husband Jim's favored locales for fishing smallmouth bass. He's taken countless smallmouths from this stretch, including what may have been his largest bronzeback, a smallie weighing close to seven pounds. Winding back and forth between large gravel bars, rocky bottomed pools and a backdrop of rolling hills, this stretch of the Genesee was a favorite for Jim.

And Jim never fished the river alone. He was always accompanied by at least one, sometimes two, friends. For years, even if Amy remained at their cabin, he was always joined by his other favorite girl and faithful companion, Candy. If Jim was wading the river, the 14-year-old chocolate lab was right by his side. No doubt, she knew this stretch of the river as well as Jim. Now, after so many years of enjoying each other's company, the time all dog lovers dread has arrived.

Candy, may your eternity be filled with winding shallow streams, gravel bars and rolling hillsides.   

Dozens and dozens of people turned out to Go Art tonight for the release of Jim Nigro's first novel, "Tapestry: A Life Walk Among Friends."

When Nigro was at best about half way through signing copies of his book, he said his hand was getting tired. When I arrived, the line out the door was at least 20-people deep. When I left, it was still at least 20-people deep.

For more about the book and Jim, click here.

Jim Nigro didn't set out to be a writer. In fact, when he was a kid, he didn't even really like stringing words together.

But with his love of nature and a life path that put him in a position to try some new things, Nigro just sort of fell into telling stories about hunting, fishing and observing what he found around him out in the wild. As for writing, it turns out, he really loves it.

The Batavian's outdoor columnist, in fact, has just published his second book -- a novel called "Tapestry: A Life Walk Among Friends."

The story revolves around two friends growing up in a small town much like Batavia, starting in the 1950s and going through the 1970s.

Nigro said though it's fiction and most characters are at best composites, about 90 percent of events in the book are drawn from his experiences or those of friends.

"Anybody who grew up here in the '50s, '60s or '70s will recognize their hometown," Nigro said.

Nigro's love of nature began when he was a small child visiting his aunt and uncle's house on Old Creek Road.

"I was knee-deep in mother nature at a very early age," Nigro said.

That love of nature and the friendships that grow from enjoying the outdoors together is the backdrop for Nigro's story.

Regular readers are aware of Nigro's outdoor adventures, which has taken him to various parts of the United States, including Alaska and such exotic locales as the Bahamas and the Sea of Abaco.

Along the way, the 60-year-old Nigro said, he's made some good friends and like anyone in life, had some rough patches.

In 1968, Nigro was about to embark on a military career -- all he needed to do was sign the contract -- but one afternoon, just after he had bought a sausage at the St. Joe's Lawn Fete, Nigro spotted a young woman walking by. Nigro dropped the sandwich right in the trash and walked home. He told his mother he was abandoning his military plans and going back to school.

That young lady was Claudia. They married in 1971 and have been together ever since.

After getting married, Jim got a chance to get a good-paying job in construction, so he wound up in that trade for about 20 years. Then he was offered a job -- through a connection of his father's -- at the Meadowlands, so he moved his family to New Jersey.

While Jim said he made some good friends there, it wasn't necessarily a good time.

"Ten years of staring at the New York City skyline, I grew to appreciate where I came from," Nigro said. "I was really homesick. I missed the little simple things like a ride from here to Elba or from here to Oakfield and all of those wide-open spaces."

The Nigros came home and Jim went to work at the Trojan factory and was there until it was sold to foreign investors and closed.

After that, Nigro decided to take advantage of a government program for retraining and returned to Genesee Community College to get a degree in commercial art.

After graduating, he had some scholarship offers, but not enough to pay for him to get a higher degree, so he had to go back to work and wound up in the landscape business, which he really enjoyed for about eight years.

Nigro started his writing career almost by accident. During his first year at Trojan, the Batavia Daily News was advertising for a part-time sportswriter and Jim applied. He didn't get the job because he didn't yet have a degree. The sports editor at the time figured maybe the job should go to somebody with a degree who didn't have a job.

A couple of years later, that editor was in JC Penney buying an engagement ring and Claudia mentioned that he knew her husband. They struck up a conversation and that led to Jim and the editor getting back in touch.

The editor wanted somebody to write a series of five outdoors articles.

That series became eight years of outdoors writing for the Daily. It also became fodder for Nigro's first book, "Dear Sam: Remembrances for My Grandson," a collection of true outdoor adventures and lessons Nigro wanted to share with his first grandson.

Ater the eight-year writing stint, Nigro and the Daily parted company and he came to really miss writing those columns. When The Batavian came along, Claudia contacted the online-only news site to see if there would be space for an outdoor column. Of course there would.

About this time, Jim decided that he really needed to write this novel, but he couldn't get it done while working full time. He and Claudia talked it over and decided they could get by if he quit his landscaping job to write.

"We decided to trust God," Nigro said, who with Claudia had by this time raised a son and a daughter (they now have four grandchildren).

And it's worked out fine, Jim said. And he got his book done.

Besides writing the book, Jim also drew many of the illustrations (there's also two photographs and one drawing by Claudia).

The book release party will be at 6:30 p.m., Thursday, at GoArt!, located at Seymour Place, 201 E. Main St., Batavia. The first copies of the book will be available and Jim will be there to sign personalized copies.

Boats are moored to their slips and the first tints of autumn are seen along the banks of Oak Orchard Creek. It was a great day to be outdoors. However, before we motored upstream, we began the morning on Lake Ontario.

John Lawrence, in back, Mike Ficarella in foreground, enjoying a balmy day. We're about two miles west of Point Breeze, off Lakeside Beach State Park.

That's the Somerset smokestack...... its actually located a short distance offshore, located around the point to the right and down the shoreline a few miles. Back in May I posted a photo of the smokestack as seen from Wheeler's horse farm on top of Molasses Hill in Wyoming County.

A gobi decided to make a meal of Mike's wobbling spoon.

A non-native species, this is a closeup of the gobi.

Out on the lake the wind began to pick up so John opted to motor up the creek.

John removing the weeds from his flatfish.

Heron scanning the creek while perched high in a tree.

Mute swan preening.

Turkey vulture swoops in for a closer look.

A bend in the river.

Another heron, this one doing its hunting closer to the water.

Soon it was time to head back downstream and lunch at the Black North Inn. Thanks John, for a great day!

Limited to working Saturdays, we began the construction of the cabin in late July. First we needed to make inroads through a tangle of dogwood thickets, sumac and wild grape vine until we reached what we felt was a suitable building site. Then we needed to make a clearing. Axes, chain saws, weedeaters and loppers were employed those first few outings. After that it was time to build the foundation, then cut logs - mostly maple but a few red pine - and haul them  to the work area. Most cutting was done within a hundred and fifty yards of the cabin, but when the tractor broke down, carrying them made it seem so much farther. The logs were then notched by hand and chinked with mortar. Above the logs rough cut cherry was used.

The cabin was completed a week ago, situated in the clearing from which the red maples and cottonwoods tower above the dog thicket. Deeper into the property, beyond the thickets, are the mature hardwoods, filled with hickory, oak and more maple. Directly north and east property are massive fields filled with either corn or soy beans and the whitetails who feed on them are here in prolific number. Some of my favorite waterfowling grounds are in close proximity as is the Alabama swamp.

While sitting around the campfire last Friday, I looked up into the night sky. Despite the fire's glow, the stars were incredible. To the north was Cassiopeia, the North star and, directly overhead, a spiral arm of the Milky Way. 

In a few weeks, a couple of long bows will be hanging from the cabin wall,  quivers filled with arrows, and a lake plain woodlot filled with adventure yet to come. But about ten p.m. last Friday evening I wasn't thinking so much about the upcoming hunting season. Sure, I'm looking forward to glimpsing antlers darting through the thickets, the cry of honkers and ducks on the wing, but  looking at the stars, that signature handiwork high overhead, I couldn't help thinking about what really  matters most - and Who is really in charge.

The sun had yet to rise and the 15-year-old angler was already at the water's edge. Standing on a large flat rock beneath a railroad trestle, he cast the surface plug far as he could downstream. The plug landed near the top of the pool. Then, instead of allowing the plug to remain motionless until all the ripples disappeared, the young fisherman began to reel in his line as soon as the lure hit the water. And rather than retrieve it slowly, alternately popping and twitching the plug, he reeled steadily, creating a tiny wake.

Within moments the young man noticed another wake, this one smaller, v-shaped and moving rapidly toward his incoming lure. While the wake may have been small, the fish about to intercept his surface plug was not. The water erupted and the young angler at once had his hands full, realizing he was into a mighty good fish. The fish on the end of his line was a jumbo smallmouth and it wasted no time tearing up the surface of that pool, jumping, somersaulting, bulldogging and ending the early morning calm. And just like that it was gone.

As the bewildered young angler stood with his mouth agape, a voice emanated from within a sleeping bag on the bank.

"Youdidn'tplayitlongenough." The voice belonged to Joe Mazzarella Sr. who could sometimes turn a sentence into a single word. That scenario took place 45 years ago this month on the banks of Oatka Creek where it flows near the Le Roy-Pavilion border. The young angler was yours truly. The action began the previous evening. What began as a simple overnight on the banks of the Oatka, turned into an introduction to smallmouths, aka the feisty bronzeback.

After setting up our camp, Joe Jr. and I helped his father with the crab scoop, seining soft shells from a thick weed bed. After nightfall crayfish began to emerge from their daytime lairs beneath rocks. By lantern light we could easily see them in the clear water, dozens of them on the creek bottom. Soon afterward the bullheads began to bite. Not long after that, a school of jumbo smallmouths invaded the pool.

Thus began my introduction into the world of the smallmouth bass, pound-for-pound one of the gamest fish that swims. Once the action slowed we crawled into our sleeping bags and fell asleep under the stars. My education continued just after dawn the next morning, when the aforementioned big smallmouth put on quite an aerial display before spitting the plug back in my direction. A few minutes later Mr. Mazzarella started a fire and I was able to temporarily forget losing the fish when the aroma of bacon and eggs filled the air.

I've lost numerous fish in my time, but none comes to mind like that Oatka smallmouth all those years ago. And too, whenever I think of that fighting smallmouth, wondering just how big it might have been, I can't help but think of Joe Mazzarella Sr.

A few years afterward, while working on the construction of the GCC Batavia campus, I saw "Joe Mazz" quite often. Whenever our paths crossed, he'd ask, "beenfishin?" or "doinanyhuntin?"

It was in the winter of '71 when Joe Sr. was heading to Silver Lake for a day of ice fishing. Weather conditions weren't good, but that wasn't about to stop him. En route to the lake, he happened upon an accident and, being the person he was, Joe Mazz stopped to help. A snow squall had enveloped the area and in near-whiteout conditions the driver of a truck failed to see Joe Sr. assisting at the scene.

That smallmouth was quite a fish and Joe Mazzarella Sr. was quite a guy.

Unlike winter steelheads, pursued throughout the Great Lakes feeder tributaries, the summer "steelies" have more room to maneuver. And unlike the king salmon, which slams your lure and runs directly away from the boat, the steelhead rainbow trout has multiple tricks up its sleeve. Once feeling the barbs, it may swim toward an unsuspecting angler, creating a slack line and the impression the fish has been lost. And sometimes it is. At other times they will quickly swim toward the surface, catapulting out of the water, twisting and tailwalking as only a member of the rainbow trout family can. Their fight is quite unlike the bulldogging king salmon which typically hooks itself while making its noted long and powerful run. Where the king salmon is a bulldog, the steelhead is an aerialist, an acrobat that requires you be quick on the draw, lowering and raising the tip of your fishing rod while rapidly reeling in line.

The fish I'm holding in the photo I caught while fishing with Batavian Bob Scinta. I really enjoy Bob's fishing philosophy - leave Batavia at 9 a.m., stop for breakfast and then hit Lake Ontario's late afternoon feed. He put us on a lot of fish that day, all but one were king salmon in the 25 lb. class. The lone exception was the steelhead, and that's the one I remember best.

Strong, fast swimmers and noted for their leaping ability, there is something to be said for a fish which launches itself totally out of the water, the sunlight reflecting off its silvery flanks, allowing an angler a brief glimpse of what might have been before crashing back onto the surface and leaving behind a slack line.    

Was it yesterdays rain which brought out the first of our rose of Sharon blooms this morning - or the heat from the previous five days?

Mid to late summer bloomers, rose of Sharon provide color after many flowers have long since faded.

This young Norway spruce, laden with dew, enjoys the soft light of early morning.

This is "Meany" the red squirrel. I mentioned him a few months back - he's the little guy who harrasses all the gray squirrels. Though much smaller than its cousin, the red squirrel displays the feistiness of a weasel when dealing with the grays.

A young catbird situates itself between the trunks of an aged hickory.

A soiled beak may be an indication the catbird was feeding in the leafy debris between the tree trunks. All things considered - plants and animals - everything is no doubt refreshed after yesterdays soaker!

After my last post John Roach asked is we could show the Hawaiian sling. That's me straddling the gunnel, eyeballing the breakers in the distance before slipping over the side. In my right hand is the sling, already loaded and showing the stainless steel shaft w/barbed tip. The handle and tubing loop are at bottom half of the spear. Those waves are crashing against Man 'O War Cay's outermost coral reef, nearly two miles offshore. Just beyond the reef the ocean bottom drops off sharply, sinking to abysmal depth. Once past the breakers its a long way to the next spit of dry land, the Canary Islands off the African coast.

Bahamian law prohibits the use of mechanized spears and scuba gear. Only free diving - mask, fins, snorkel - is allowed. And the choice of spears is limited to slings and pole spears. As I mentioned to John in a previous comment, the sling takes some getting used to, and, depending on your quarry, there's a certain degree of stealth involved. Lobsters, found in cracks, crevices, fissures on the bottom and hidden in the coral, are easier to approach than fish. I used to tell my son-in-law, Jeff, that when hunting lobsters you can pretty much swim right up on them and get off a shot or two before they retreat. Fish on the other hand are warier and react much quicker, particularly dog snappers and black grouper. My advice to Jeff when hunting fish with the sling was "act like a tourist," swim slowly, pretend you're not interested and then take your shot. It's worked well so far.   

My son-in-law, Jeff Bartz, grew up in Stafford and is the youth pastor at Grace Baptist Church in Batavia. An avid outdoorsman he became a good shot with a bow and arrow rather quickly. As a result, I had little doubt he would master a Hawaiian sling. But never for a moment, not in my wildest dreams did I think he would become so proficient so fast. When we started out as dive companions I was his instructor, showing him how to use mask, fins, snorkel and how to use a "sling." Two years later I was relegated to fish retriever, swimming to the bottom to collect fish he'd speared. And I didn't mind one bit, knowing there would be fresh fish on the dining table. But spearing fish on coral reefs a mile or more offshore can be a bit hairy at times as fresh kills often meant predatory species came cruising.

This barracuda provided plenty of thrills - from the moment Jeff speared it until we put it in the boat. After cartwheeling all over the place, the "cuda" died on the bottom in thirty plus feet of water. A few minuters later I hit a nice sized margate that took off into the coral maze with my spear. We were treading water when Jeff said, "There's a shark." Now short of breath I asked "Where?" "Right there" he said, motioning below us. I peered into the water and sure enough, maybe twelve or fifteen feet below us, a gray reef shark came swimming toward the coral, its tail sweeping back and forth, its head swinging from side to side. Anything but oblivious to our presence, the shark paid us no mind and was probably homing in on the wounded margate. 

  Our spearfishing expeditions lasted long enough to gather the evening dinner. We made sure there was plenty of time for family recreational diving. In photo above one of my grandson's has spotted something.

  Turns out to be a sea biscuit. Only 8 years old at the time of photo, he's become quite adept in the water.

  Four year old Michael had no qualms about the ocean. 

But the little guy wasn't quite ready to take the plunge.

A school of striped grunts mingle with a lone tang and a blue parrot fish.

A "stoplight" parrot fish.

Spiny lobsters have no claws....still great eating.

Mutton snapper also provide excellent table fare.

This is a porcupine fish - covered with spines and not good eating!

Upside down porcupine fish!

Reg Sweeting grew up on Man 'O War Cay where he still resides. He works the stone crab and lobster boats in season. Here he's about to take a hatchet to a conch and release vacuum inside.

Having broken the seal he applies the knife....

and its conch fritters for dinner....

along with some grouper!

The Man 'O War cemetery. Jeff refers to this pic as "the hope of heaven in the Bahamas." 

Sunset over Marsh Harbour.

While local stream levels were a bit high last week and the water discolored due to recent rain, there were ample photo opportunitites along the creek banks.

A gosling cluster out for a swim....note the lone goose on the bank high to the right.

Here they're about to exit the creek.

.

Yellow flag wild iris blooms are numerous this time of year

while the blue flag is less prolific.

A fern glade extends to the creek bank

A decaying stump wearing Virginia creeper as a hat

Feeding time

Despite the roily water and overcast sky it was  a good day on the creek!

I never heard of a giant hogweed until one day a couple of years ago  I went for a walk in Corbett's Glen in Rochester.

There was this big leafy plant surrounded by yellow police caution tape and a hand-made sign explaining the dangers of hogweed.

It produces a sap that burns like acid. You don't want to get exposed to it.

The Democrat & Chronicle has a story today about a DEC eradication program that is running out of funding.  This year and next its running on federal stimulus money, but after that, local property owners will be on their own for learning how to properly remove the plant.

The info graphic at the end of the story is a map that includes Genesee County.  A similar, wider-area graphic, is on the DEC site, with a DEC article about hogweed. The maps show two areas of heavy infestation -- more than 400 plants -- in Genesee County. One is roughly in the Bethany area and the other in the Corfu/Darien area. There are another four sites with as many as 400 plants, and four sites being monitored.

And those are only the identified infestation areas. The DEC believes there are many more unidentified locations in the state.

From the DEC site, "Its sap, in combination with moisture and sunlight, can cause severe skin and eye irritation, painful blistering, permanent scarring and blindness. Contact between the skin and the sap of this plant occurs either through brushing against the bristles on the stem or breaking the stem or leaves."

As for plant distribution, "Giant hogweed grows in wet areas along streams and rivers, on waste ground, near houses, in vacant lots, and along railways and roads. It prefers moist soil and can quickly dominate ravines and stream banks."

Gulls -- I guess around here we don't call them seagulls -- on the falls of the Tonawanda Creek behind the County Courthouse.

Late this afternoon, Chris Hamel and his friend James Bonning were on the Tonawanda at the falls fishing.

We had a rare - if not unique - visitor behind the house late Thursday afternoon. It was a cormorant, a diving, fish-eating water bird, common to open water such as Lake Ontario or the waters along the Atlantic shoreline. This was the first time I've seen one on the Tonawanda.

Note the hooked bill, a big help in taking fish. The cormorant is an excellent diver, diving to depths from five to twenty-five feet for a minute or more.

The cormorant is a great fish-catcher, so good in fact, it is the bane of charter boat captains and fishermen on Lake Ontario's eastern basin.

The cormorants wings are not fully water proofed and here it spreads them to dry. 

This particular cormorant was a willing subject, not only staying put for several photos, but displaying as well.

The cormorant obviously had dining plans when it made its Tonawanda stop over. Whether it had any luck I couldn't say.      

Scott Hartman, the Oakfield man accidently shot by his father while turkey hunting, is out of the intensive care unit at Strong Memorial Hospital.

His condition is now listed as "satisfactory."

The 46-year-old Lockport Road resident was struck in the face by shotgun pellets Monday morning after his father apparently mistook him for a turkey.

Hartman was able call 9-1-1 and walk out of the woods on his own, but was listed in "guarded" condition at Strong for a couple of days following the accident.

In the fall of 1962 Ron Grazioplena turned 14, making him old enough to hunt when accompanied by an adult. Back then, as it is now, the waterfowl season was split into two parts, the early and late season. Because his birthday occurred after the first split, Ron partook of the late season duck hunt. It wasn't until the following year - during the autumn of '63 - that he experienced his first goose hunt. 

Ron's entry into the world of the waterfowler took place in a different era, when hunters stood in line for days at the old permit station on Albion Road, hoping to draw one of the available blinds on the Oak Orchard Wildlife Management Area, where duck and goose hunters were limited to 15 shells and all hunting to cease at noon. But Ron and his buddies never had to stand in line. Rather than hunt the game management areas they scouted corn lots, winter wheat fields and the like. Gaining access courtesy of landowners was never a problem.

Ron's high school years at Notre Dame of Batavia limited his hunting to after school and weekends. In 1970 he graduated from St. Bernard College in Alabama with a degree in biology. Rather that apply for a job, he opted to spend the autumn outdoors and proceeded to hunt geese for 70 straight days. It was a regimen he adhered to for nearly two decades, spending every moment possible outdoors. In the process he accessed another form of education, one seldom found in a classroom.

Ron's hunting career began with the youthful anticipation of taking his first duck or goose, to seeking his first bag limit, to striving to take birds on every hunt. Before long he began to invest his time and money into purchasing the best equipment in order to help him attain his goals. Eventually, after years of waterfowling, the time came when he felt that taking his limit of ducks or geese was not nearly as important as the enjoyment of the hunt in all its different aspects. Said Ron, "The frosty chill that comes with first light, sunrise, the whistling of wings over the marsh and the beauty of the birds. Nature began to mean something."  

By 1991 Ron had reached a point where he pulled the trigger only on occassion, discovering he no longer wished to hunt the waterfowl he had enjoyed over the years. By now the family owned a 30 acre marsh and it was at this time when Ron decided he would do his part to help waterfowl thrive. Thus began the building and erecting of wood duck nesting boxes.  

While wood ducks readily took to the nesting boxes, so too did various predators help themselves to the contents of the boxes. One spring, while assisting Ron in the repair of the nesting boxes, we found several with raccoons sleeping inside. And these were boxes that had been placed in the middle of the marsh, far from shore. Still, it had not deterred the strong-swimming racoons. In addition to racoons, mink inhabit the marsh. While not a skilled climber like the raccoon, the mink is an aquatic predator which readily preys on  ducks and their eggs. Thats not too mention weasels, a hazard for shore nesters, then there are  were the winged predators: Great Horned Owls,Redtail  hawks and the like. 

 With so many predators having a taste for waterfowl, Ron developed a new type of nesting compartment, one made from plastic drums, both comfortable and roomy for nesting waterfowl. Made of hard plastic, the drums are secured to steel pipe, their width and and slick surface prevents raccoons and such from taking a firm grip and climbing up and in. In the above photo, the drum on the right has a goose sitting on a clutch of eggs.

"This style of nest has a bottom section which enables hen ducks to spend the night with their ducklings safely out of the water, yet out in the middle of the marsh and away from shore predators" said Ron. He refers to them as "duck motels."  

"Past experience has shown that mother ducks, particularly wood ducks, will utilize such a structure to protect their brood at night when they need to be out of the water and under their mother's wings for warmth and protection", he added.

Installing and maintaining the nests, as well as policing the marsh takes a lot of work. Here Matt Moscicki prepares to install nests. Additional help on the marsh includes Jeff Moscicki, Mary MacIntyre, Darla Luttrell and Ron's cousin and marsh owner, Kenny Grazioplene. 

This is Mary MacIntyre showing the location of active nests.

Mary removing debris from the spillway.

Here Matt prepares to set a pipe into the marsh bottom.

Here's Ron enjoying the fruits of their labor as depicted in the following photos. 

A pair of mallards dabbling

As the mallard on left comes up for air, note the water running off his head and down his bill.

The marsh is home to a variety of waterfowl. Sometimes the open water diving ducks show up, like this pair of buffleheads.

Buffleheads taking off. Both bufflehead photos courtesy of Mary MacIntyre.

Check out the pointed bill on this Red-breasted Merganser - he's a diving duck and a fish eater.

A winged predator with an ample wing span flies past...

While nesting waterfowl are protected.... thanks to Ron "Grazo" Grazioplena and his friends.