A Welcome Return
Lakeside Park has always felt welcoming, and it was an unscheduled return on a dull, misty morning in September that saw me tracing my steps from a year ago. I wondered what would be different and what would be unchanged.
The black-crowned night heron's willow tree was uncustomarily empty. The long outstretched branch of the willow which reached out over the water had been a favoured roost, but it held nothing. Perhaps I'd catch sight of the beaver out amongst the lilypads, bobbing up and down as it dabbled in the shallows with its feet, searching for tasty roots. But again, there was nothing. The lake appeared eerily still.
And then my vision started to return. Through the mist, a familiar shape came into sharp relief. A grey silhouette dwarfed by the tall reeds on the far bank. It was tiptoeing its way along the length of a partly submerged branch. I had never observed the night heron hunting, but there it was. There was no light, no detail, just grain and layers in shades of grey.
My perception was returning. To my side, familiar deep ripples spread out over the glassy surface of the water. The undulating water preceded the beaver as it swam past and out into the lake.
I felt the urge to give chase, but not this morning. The beaver, I knew, would return just before it went to rest the day away.
The beaver submerged and resurfaced farther out. It appeared to be heading to an area on the left of the lake. I had observed the beaver in that location many times and from close quarters. This time though, for whatever reason, it changed track and headed in completely the opposite direction, where an unusual and uncomfortable liaison ensued.
The night heron appeared startled by the beaver's uninvited proximity. Unconcerned, the beaver happily plodged in the silt with its forefeet searching for a morning snack.
I was so engrossed in the happenings that I completely lost touch with my surroundings. A great blue heron was hunting on the edge of the reeds to my left, a popular spot for catching catfish.
It was still too dark for any detail, just lots of grain, but colours were starting to show through.
To my right, the beaver had returned from its close encounter with the night heron and was gracious enough to come as close to me as it had the night heron. At last, some fine detail.
The sun finally touched the far bank just as the great blue heron found a new location to fish.
With my lens zoomed in on the great blue heron, a movement in the background brought another hunter into focus. A strange-looking creature when seen with its crest raised.
A green heron. A shy and elusive bird hidden amongst a jumble of twigs and branches.
As it hopped from branch to branch, the long green reeds that unfortunately blurred the foreground of my images were the only thing that fortunately kept my presence hidden.
Walkers and joggers could be heard up above on the path. My morning was all but over.
Time for me to take my leave of Lakeside Park, but it had been a very welcome return.
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