I was traveling to my hometown of Vernal, Utah, to attend a funeral. My high school friend’s father had passed away the week before. He was not just an old buddy’s dad, he was a great man and was someone whom I also considered a friend. On the way to the service, I wanted to do a little birding, as it can be an escape into which I pour my sorrows. The memorial was at 6 PM, and the drive from my house was around 2.5 hours. I left home at noon, so I could have some time to decompress, and look at birds before saying goodbye.
Pelican Lake and Ouray National Wildlife Refuge are around 20 miles southwest of Vernal. These are places that I birded as a child. Both are only a short detour from my route to town. I have been closely tracking duck and shorebird movement for the last month, and these spots would give me a good chance to follow spring migration before the songbirds start showing up in a couple weeks. I turned off Highway 40 at around 2:30 PM, and drove through 10 miles of sandstone-studded desert before arriving at Pelican Lake.
It had been a few years since I had been there. The road follows the contours of the lake, but I was having a hard time finding places to pull over and actually watch birds. There are vast oil and gas fields that surround these public lands, so gargantuan, white, company trucks were tailgating me while I drove a bit below the speed limit, not wanting to miss a pullout. I was also trying to avoid slamming on my brakes while being followed so closely, so I flew past a quiet road that looked like it ran adjacent to the north shore. After traveling beyond the southern edge of water, with a line of white trucks behind me, I found a large area to pull over and turn around. I put on my blinker far in advance, and the trucks passed me, their tires growling in my direction as they crossed over the center rumble strips.
I turned around and got back to the road that I had seen on my first drive through. This route hugged the north shore of the lake, and on the other side, there were ample wetlands, so it made it seem as if I was driving a causeway. There was a large section where the water had eaten away the asphalt, and it was filled in with red dirt. This would be a perfect place to drive slowly, pull over, and do some birding.
At the west end of the dirt section of road, I looked north at a grassy puddle that had a lot of birds on it. There were 24 Marbled Godwit huddled together in a resting flock. This is a species of shorebird that I don’t see all that often. So far this spring, I have found multiple large groups of godwit, and I am certain that I’ve seen more individuals over the last month than I had previously seen combined throughout all my years of birding. Marbled Godwit are beautiful in their simplicity. Overall, they are a robust, mottled-brown shorebird, with cinnamon wings, and long upturned bills that are bicolored with orange at the base and a black tip. When I scanned the flock, I saw that there were five Willet that were actively feeding in the soggy grasses at the water’s edge. These were the first Willets that I had seen this year. A Blue-winged Teal drake flew in, and landed close to crowd I had my eyes on. Although I have seen Blue-winged Teal already this spring, they only pass through the state during migration. They are my favorite species of dabbling duck, so I was excited to see another. It was a spectacular collection of birds in a very small area.
I stayed at this spot and watched for a while. The godwit started jumping straight into the air, hovering for a brief moment, and landing in the same spot they took off from. When a bird lifted off the ground, it gave a raucous “rah rah rah” call. They did this one by one. I presumed that these birds were males that were showing off, looking for a mate, but that’s only a hypothesis. I didn’t have much experience with this species before this spring, so I was trying to learn through my observations.
It was good to be back home, doing something that I love, even though the reason for the trip had me in an overall somber mood. I was out, enjoying the world that sustains us all, and trying to honor someone’s memory in a way that I know how to.
I left Pelican Lake at 4 PM. I got to town a bit early, so I drove by the two houses I grew up in, and stopped for a burger at my favorite local spot. I drove over to the park where my sister used to play softball, and burned some time by slowly eating, and watching a distant game through the windshield of my car. I was doing my best to honor my memories.
While I was sitting in my idling vehicle, eating out of a grease-stained paper bag, an American Crow flew in and started to pick at a dead European Starling that it found in the grass. I’ve never photographed a crow, so I reached for my camera without first wiping my hands and smeared hamburger grease all over the body of the lens. Undeterred, I took some pictures while the crow decided that the starling wasn’t palatable after all.
After eating, it was time for me to head over to the funeral home to attend the memorial. I found a fry hidden in the bottom of the bag, and tried to throw it out to the crow. The bird wasn’t tame like I thought it would be. It got scared by me flinging something in its direction, and it flew off. I walked to a trash can, threw my garbage away, and then left the park.
When I arrived at the funeral home, there was a kettle of Turkey Vultures circling overhead. Fitting. I stood in the parking lot, and watched them teeter-totter in the thermal they were riding. The birds caught an updraft and spiraled higher. I imagined them carrying my friend’s memory into whatever future awaits us when we die. I bowed slightly to the birds, and walked toward the building.
I went inside to say goodbye to someone that was a large part of my teenage years. It seems like as I get older, I’m saying goodbye more often. The Vernal era of my life is being pared down in an accelerated fashion as I age. I am trying to remember, and honor my past, and those that have made my life so meaningful. With every death, I’ll have one less person to visit in my hometown. I’m also trying to make new memories there. Even when everyone is gone, I’ll always have the birds to come back to.
This was a nice tribute to your high school friend's father, who was also your friend. As I get older (66 now), my memories of growing up are tinged with nostalgia. I really do think my life was better in the 1960s and '70s.
I love the photo of the American crow. Maybe he was smart not to eat that fry you flung at him. Even though you meant well.
Or maybe he was just picky. We never know what is going on in the mind of a bird, but I sense it is a lot more than some people think. For me, bird brain is a compliment.