Bald Eagle Creek, Frozen / Gray Ghost of the Marsh

In which I have a damp but delightful afternoon adventure, am fully exonerated from blame by our car mechanic, and meet the elusive "Gray Ghost" of the winter marsh. . . !!!!!!

My husband had an appointment with his mechanic at 2 pm for a car repair on our Chevy Impala's parking brake, which unfortunately broke last week. Even more unfortunately, the problem occurred when *I* was driving it, so there was some question as to whether it was "the wife's fault" that the car had to go in for a repair. My husband ordered three different parts from NAPA online, and off to the mechanic we went.

It had been raining off and on, but there seemed to be a bit of a clearing which I thought (based on the weather radar map progression) might last 20 minutes to a half-hour. I had my umbrella with me, in case there was no break in the rain. 

But I was lucky. It cleared out a bit just in time; the rain abated as we left the house. It was very misty on Skytop - amazing, really, misty magic - but maybe not quite so much so in the valley, as my husband dropped me off at Soaring Eagle Wetland and headed for our mechanic's shop across the road.

It has been quite cold here of late, but I wasn't prepared for the conditions and the sights I would see there. The rain had slicked the top of the snow and ice and turned it into a slippery mess. You had to watch every step.

Bald Eagle Creek was entirely frozen over in most spots, still, but with a thin dark channel of water through the middle in other spots. I'm not sure I've ever seen it completely frozen before, so here's a shot of what it looked like. Shocking, I know! 

It was slick and icy and treacherous by the creek's edges, so I was not able to get any closer or more detailed views of the ice, much to this ice-lover's chagrin. (By the way, here's a very different view of this same creek in autumn.)

I walked along the creek and then strolled back through the wetland, and I eventually sat in one of the blinds that they've constructed there. You've actually seen the pretty little structure I sat in, in the extra photo of a prior blip.

I got out my camera and noodled around with it, just seeing what I could see from there, when I noticed a white shape flying low over the marsh. My first impression was that it was a raptor-type bird that was entirely white (from underneath, at least), and it seemed to have an owlish face. 

I did not expect to see anything owlish at that hour (about 2:50 pm), it was silent as death, and it did not swoop like owls do. Hmm. What could it be? It never got close enough to me for a great shot, but you can see one I took from a distance in the extras. 

I posted the photo on Facebook and my amazing blip-friend Debbi graciously helped me out with ID: this bird is the elusive male northern harrier, also known as the "Gray Ghost" of the marsh! Sighting them is uncommon, so what a treat it was for me to see it! Quite appropriately, they are sometimes referred to as "marsh hawks."

I snapped a few photos and wished for a much closer sighting, as the beautiful bird flew off into the distance and disappeared from view. Shortly after that, my husband showed up with the car in the wetlands parking lot, and I met him there and took him over to show him the frozen creek. As we walked the pathway, the bird showed up again, and gave us a quick bonus sighting that BOTH of us got to enjoy.

Just after that, the sky opened up, and it began to pour down rain. But oh no, it did not START as rain; it started as sleet, and there was lots of it! Suddenly, there was a flash of bright light that lit up the whole sky, and I had the crazy thought that a BOMB had detonated just above us, it was that bright. 

(If there IS a bomb, do you get to SEE the flash, or are you dead before the flash? I found myself wondering, but not in any kind of unhappy way; just curious.) And then a few seconds later came the peal of thunder. Just one flash of light. Just one peal of thunder. One each, per customer, I thought.

My yellow sunflower umbrella, though sunny and lovely, was not nearly enough protection under all that rain, and by the time we got back to the car, a bunch of stuff in the pockets of my daysack got soaked, but not my camera, which was on my shoulder. So we hopped in the car and headed for home.

I was hoping for a few shots of the amazing fog as we headed back up Skytop, and then to home. But I'd gotten a few droplets of rain on my camera lens while photographing a favorite sycamore tree along the creek. 

I got out a lens cleaner to wipe it off. Didn't work. So I blew on the damp lens. Wiped again. BIG MISTAKE. There was suddenly a sheen of greasy wetness over my lens that prevented any more shots, a situation I couldn't really rectify until I got home. (This is likely why you are looking at a frozen creek instead of the mist show!)

Oh, and I do have one more update on the car situation, in regard to: the wife's accountability. I am happy to report that the car emergency brake was successfully repaired, and that I was fully exonerated by the car mechanic! 

"It's not your wife's fault," the mechanic said. "She'll be glad to hear that," my husband replied. Turns out the brake line had been rusted and worn, and it would have broken soon, regardless of who was driving and what they did. So HA!!! 

The good news is that the repair was handled and I've got nothing to be guilty of, that I had a splendid (though damp) time along the frozen, icy creek, and that I enjoyed a marvelous and rare sighting of the Gray Ghost of the marsh! TRIPLE HOORAY FOR ME!!!

I've got a couple of songs to go along with this story. First, for my frozen creek, I've got Joni Mitchell, with River. Second, for my Gray Ghost of the marsh, a treasured sighting, I've got the Righteous Brothers, with Unchained Melody, from the movie Ghost. And for my absolute VINDICATION as the wife with nothing to be guilty of, here are Barbra Streisand and Barry Gibb, with Guilty.

More info about the Gray Ghost, aka the male northern harrier:
Wikipedia
Cornell Lab
St. Lucie Audubon Society
Audubon