Jumpy, opinionated, grouchy are all labels you could lay on the belted kingfisher. Visiting the ones that live above Treadwell’s collapsed glory hole is one of the highlights the old mining ruins. They usually bounce through the air above the glory hole, chittering at each other and the little dog and me. This morning there is only one bird and it is stationed just off shore on one of the fractured wharf piling. It huddles there in pouring rain, ignoring us. Has it lost it’s mate or is it just having some quiet time?