My hopes of a pleasant Sunday’s birding have been washed away by a rotten deluge. Said deluge has also soggified my deckchair, diluted the nectar in my hummingbird feeder, and attracted a pair of wet, miserable crows to my balcony. All the food got eaten hours ago, but the crows are still here, roosting in the planters. I haven’t seen my song sparrow, the one with the wonky toes, all day. I’m a little worried about it. It’s usually here several times a day, rain or shine, crows or no crows. (Ha, ha; I nearly wrote “rain or shite,” right there. My, but I loathe this weather.)
Yesterday, the wind was blowing so hard the hummingbirds couldn’t land on the hanging feeder: they had to use the window-mounted one. That wind — it must’ve blown in the clouds. Nice job, wind; where are you now, to send this weather on its way?
On another note, my neighbourhood is host to a ridiculous number of plastic owls. I’ve counted six along Moberly Road (and I’ve never been all the way down the road! — there could be more!), one along Bucketwheel, two right next to each other near the trees with all the starlings, and one overlooking Leg In Boot Square. I don’t much mind the owls: the birds don’t mind them, either, so they don’t spoil my birding. But every so often, I spot one out of the corner of my eye, just this great bird-shaped mass…. I whirl to face it, all excitement, thinking I’ve inadvertently snuck up on something brilliant, and bam. Another bally fake owl.
I ought to be able to see an owl in Vancouver, but not without venturing as far as Stanley Park, at least; the heart of the city isn’t known for its owly hordes.
One bird I SHOULD be able to approach without leaving the neighbourhood is the hitherto-elusive double-crested cormorant. Mother says the perch I found wasn’t the perch she meant. There’s another just like it, on THIS side of the water, close enough to snap. I followed the directions she gave me (or I thought I did), but I couldn’t find it. Maybe I went the wrong way, or not far enough, or too far; maybe there was a boat in the way. I’m really a terrible birder. This is an awful hobby for the perpetually lost. Ah, well; when the sun comes out, my search shall continue. Stay tuned for cormorants (one hopes)!