Twichy Birds


It’s early morning on the Treadwell ruins. Aki and I head over to the Glory Hole to check out the kingfishers. The forecasted heavy rain has yet to appear but clouds hang low over the channel. Eagles and gulls mew from the beach but we can’t see anything through the thick hardwood forest that has taken over the ruins.

Red “Xs” mark a dozen of the alder and cottonwoods that grow close to the old power plant building. While Aki sniffs for sign, I read a sign affixed to the largest of the marked trees. It lets the reader know that all the marked trees will soon be cut down to protect the ruin. “How odd,” I think that the city officials feel the need to notify people of the logging project. How strange, that they want to cut down the things that make this peaceful place even during a storm.


On the beach, I spot one of the kingfishers apparently asleep on a jagged-topped piling. The flooding tide has created a moot of channel water around him. The bird lets me reach the edge of its moat before flying off. I take as many pictures of it as I can before it flies off. A minute later the bird settles in another piling several hundred meters off away. I feel a little guilty for disturbing its sleep.


Down the beach, on top of the old mine’s ventilation shaft, a bald eagle squats. A surrounding murder of crows imprisons the eagle. Something startles the crows into the air after another eagle takes a roost on a nearby snag.



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