Cooling off in the Crow

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Summer 2009 ~
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Not long after putting-in on the Crow River, I allowed my kayak to get hung-up in the rocks of some shallow rapids. Usually, I would push my hands into the water, stiffen my arms, and lift my boat across the obstruction until finding myself in a floatable depth. But this day, I decided to sit there for a moment, lodged in the rocks, and soak-up my surroundings for a moment.

The observation time paid off: Within a few moments, I noticed a small doe, perhaps 150 to 200 yards downstream. It occurred to me that the breeze was coming from her direction, covering my scent… and the noise of the rapids was covering the sound I may have made paddling toward her. So, I dismantled my paddle and tucked it into the kayak… and then quietly loosened myself from the rapids. Then, I ducked low in the boat and floated my way toward the doe. I put one hand into the water to act as my rudder, and used my other hand to start shooting photos.

This quiet approach allowed me to get within about ten or twelve feet of the deer, close enough to note that she had been injured… probably by an automobile. I say that because I could make out the grill marks on her left rib cage, and she had similar injuries near her left eye, as well as cuts on both her front and hind legs. (Click on any photo to enlarge.)

Obviously, after the trauma she had already been through, the doe did not consider me to be much of threat. She continued to cool her wounds and drink her fill from the waters of the Crow, allowing me to shoot a number of photos. Eventually, she started toward shore—in no particular hurry—and wandered up the riverbank.

Early on, I realized what a unique wildlife encounter I had been granted. But as if to put an exclamation point on this once-in-a-lifetime photography experience, the doe turned around one more time before heading into the woods… and winked at me. The only thing more amazing is that my lens caught that final glance.

The next time I am delayed by some kind of inconvenience or obstruction, I must remember to stop for a moment, and look around. This could be nature's way of getting me to see something I otherwise may have missed.

[The lead photo in this story was selected as the winner in the wildlife category of the 2009 Crow River photography contest, sponsored by the Joint Powers board of the Crow River Organization of Water (C.R.O.W.). This story was originally posted in January 2010 at CleanUpTheRiver.com.]
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© 2010 - 2011 Mike Anderson, St. Michael, MN. All rights reserved.

Brilliant colors and hidden beauty

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Late autumn, 2010 ~
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It would be easy, at first glance, to consider the male mallard the more brilliant of the pair. After all, the color of his feathers range from light whites to deep charcoal, blended in gradient shades all over his body and wings... with a crown of hunter green.

For all of his grand colors, though, the mallard hen offers her own contrasting beauty. Her colors are more modest, perhaps, but they allow her to blend in, rather than stand out. For the sake of survival, perhaps that makes hers the more brilliant palette.

The photograph below was taken during hunting season. At first glance, you might see only one duck swimming on this overcast day. But a second look will reveal that there are actually a pair of ducks in the picture. (Click on the image below, and see the hen swimming just inches in front of the drake.) So... with hunters or predators lurking nearby, is it the drake or the hen which makes the more brilliant use of color?
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© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

Lift off

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Summer, 2009 ~

They spook quite easily, so I was delighted to approach the Great Blue Heron without disturbing it. Paddle folded and my camera in hand, I drifted along the shore within just a few yards of the great fowl… until he moved toward lift-off.
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It is amazing how such a tremendous bird can lift itself from the shore with only a single flap of his wings… and move several feet in a manner that seems effortless.

I leaned back in my kayak, smiling, and reflecting on the fascinating sight I had just enjoyed.

Just then, the Heron circled around to do the same, flying immediately overhead before disappearing over the trees.

© 2009 - 2011 Mike Anderson, St. Michael, MN. All rights reserved.

Dancing in the sky

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Late winter, 2011 ~

The overcast sky was seamless, leaving no specific point of entry for the sun. But at the same time, the cloud cover was light, like a veil. The snow white sky was a perfect match for the linen of fresh snow that had fallen the night before.

As if nature had painted this canvas to serve as a stage for their grand entrance, a pair of Trumpeter Swans broke over the horizon, toward the point where I sat on the river’s edge. They flew like well-choreographed dancers, so well synchronized that I if my imagination was at work.

As if to provide an encore, the duo made a wide circle over the treetops. From my vantage point, it looked as if they were flying arm-in-arm. I'm glad my camera lens saw it the same way, or surely no one would believe it.
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© 2011 Mike Anderson, St. Michael, MN. All rights reserved.

A home on the St. Croix

Summer, 2007 ~

The collection of branches were too well organized to be placed there accidentally by the wind or water, so I paddled over for a closer look.  As the details came into view, it occurred to me that I had happened across a well-built development.  What seemed like a row of well-placed sticks was actually a beaver dam, held together by mud and tree limbs of various sizes.  It was holding back a considerable pond of water from rains that had fallen earlier in the week.  

In the background--and strategically placed in the shade--a home for these amazing engineers.   

© 2007 – 2011, Mike Anderson.  All rights reserved.

River of glass

Autumn 2007 ~

I had paddled my kayak across a wide expanse on the flooded St. Croix River. Pausing for a break on the other side, I had a moment to look back… where it seemed as if the path I had just taken was covered in glass.

Utterly quiet.  Totally pristine.  As if serenity herself had posed for my camera.


© 2007 - 2011 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

Staring into sunrise

Summer 2007 ~

The morning chill was my wake-up call; able to get dressed and grab my camera without waking Julie, I headed for the river. The sun was just rising, and I wanted to meet it.

There is an island on the St. Croix River near Interstate Park.  With rapids in the foreground and geese in the distance, it was the perfect place for a Great Blue Heron to join me… staring into sunrise.

(Click any image to enlarge it.)

© 2007 - 2011 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

Minnehaha Falls

Summer, 2011 ~

The water dropped over Minnehaha Falls with such power that clouds of vapor were forced upward; it was a heavy, hair-lifting breeze that you could actually see, because of the moisture it carried.

They call it a creek… but I think it much more powerful than that.

© 2011 Mike Anderson. All rights reserved.

Visit from a deer friend

Summer 2011 ~

Finding the time to get onto the river or into the woods has been difficult this year. So, Sunday afternoon, I was most pleased when something moving made me look up from my computer, and out the office window. Something had moved through the tall grass in the meadow. I grabbed my camera and went up to the deck to wait for the critter to surface. I didn’t wait long, as a doe came into the clearing near a tree, and lifted her head above the brush.

When you haven’t had time to go visit old friends, it is nice when they come to visit you.

© 2011 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

Reeds of red

Autumn, 2009 ~

Both the land and water are wonderful artists; when they collaborate, though, their works can be amazing.  This day, I came across a large patch of willow branches that had been bleached of their color by the receding water... and Mother Nature adds yet another fine work to her gallery.

© 2009 – 2011, Mike Anderson. All rights reserved.