The End of the Day

     This afternoon my Blue Heron returned. He caught my eye as I was doing something on the sun porch. He stood in the shallows of low tide, just beyond the pier. I've learned that he fishes here during low tide. He was so close, I wondered if he knew that I wanted to see him.
     He is a study in patience. I watched him for a half hour or more, as he slowly waded across a wide expanse of tideland.
    He moves with his own rhythm and grace. His careful eye studies the water as he follows his prey. He cocks his head, turns toward his goal and splash! His beak goes in, and he unfurls his neck to lift his fish high.

    His neck is so long, like a giraffe's. How does he see the fish from such a height and shoot that long neck into the water with speed and accuracy? Splash! One shot is all it takes. It's a miracle of timing. 
   While I watched Big Blue, the day changed into evening and sunset claimed my attention. The sun actually goes down over the water across the road, to my back from the pier where I stand. The reflection I see is more subtle than those fiery reds beyond the fishing boats in the west.
   A high, wind-swept bank of clouds had gathered above the tidelands. The sunset behind us painted them rose pink, purple, and blue. They were magnificent! It's a cliche' word, but they certainly were. These clouds were straight from "The 10-Commandments":  Charlton Heston could have easily emerged.
   The water was perfectly still. It shone with a mirror image of the sky - pink marble as slick as glass.
To the right, a grove of trees stood on a cleared point, their dark green tops bending toward the water like ladies with wind-blown hair. An early moon, nearly full, hung just above the trees. Translucent silver, it completed the scene like a sigh following a deep breath.

The Ones that Got Away

Fishing, I think, is about being still and quietly waiting, occupations for which I am characterologically unsuited.
Nevertheless, there is a pier outside, and I was determined to try for the fish, shrimp, and crabs, enthusiastically reported to be teeming in the water, waiting to be harvested. I envisioned a coastal dinner waiting for my husband when he returned from work.
  We stopped at Wal-Mart Sunday afternoon to purchase basic fishing equipment and a crab net. Crabbing: an activity so simple even a child can do it. For $87 I got rudimentary supplies, the crab net, a frozen concoction labeled "Bait Shrimp" and good advice from a kind and patient man, who seemed to genuinely hope that I would catch something.
   My mother always said that after supper is the best time to fish, so after supper, I dragged out the fishing equipment for G. to help me set up. An hour later, an interval which evoked strong profanity and the surgical excision of a considerable length of wadded up line, my usually mild-mannered husband offered to let me try his rod and reel. I've heard that night-fishing is also good.
   I baited my hook with some of the Bait Shrimp, and cast my line into the dark waters. "Now what?"
     "Now you wait," replied my husband.
      "How long?" "
      "Until somethiing bites it."
      "Hmmmm."
   I gave it my best. I restrained myself from reeling in my line to no more than four or five times. I waited and confined my whip smart repartee to whispering. I'll spare you the details, but I concluded that night fishing is no good, because it is too dark to read a book. I caught a lot of green, slimy stuff and gave up after 45 minutes. The bait was still on the hook. That last sentence should have been a red flag. Alas.
  This afternoon, I moved on to crabbing. After several trips to my computer and wading through a 12-paragraph thesis on this simple activity, I managed to get the durn net and bait set up. I flung the thing into the water, my chicken wing bait securely attached. I lay down on the pier in the sunshine with the dogs and peered through the clear water to watch the unsuspecting crabs approach. I wondered how quilty I would feel about plunging them into boiling water.
  I went back to the house for my book. We three, the dogs and I, stood on the pier, read three chapters and hauled it in. Repeat the preceeding sentence three times. Nada. Nothing had even nibbled the bait. I again snagged a large quantity of green slime.I left the net and the chicken wing on the pier. I read it is the smell that attracts crabs. I figure by Saturday, it should be ripe, and the damn crabs should have no trouble crawling up on the pier to find it..
   It is now 4 pm. I am drinking a glass of wine and contemplating the ingredients I will need to make a successful Bait Shrimp Marinara for my husband.

Awakening to Rain

Around 6 am, I heard the familiar sound of raindrops, splattering against the window. My signal to dive deeply beneath the the comforter for an extended Sunday morning sleep. Then the wind hit with a kind of Whomp! and our little, cottage suddenly became not so much water-sided as broadsided by water. One moment of raindrops, and then the earth rolled up her sleeves and pitched in to help out the sky with raining .
   I looked out across our little section of the big pond to see only gray. With no demarcation between gray sky and gray land, the world was upended. I felt like a diver, unsure between up and down.
   Sheets of rain flung themselves against the house, licked under the front door, and reverberated across the water beyond our pier. A foolish plastic chair launched itself from the deck and fell defeated against the railing. I saw what I had not seen before. This is not a house, but a houseBOAT.... at least I hope so. Our little finger of land was disappearing fast, the marsh reeds drowning, and that wind menacing. All this before coffee.
  Then it stopped. A pair of ducks landed and set about finding breakfast. No line of cars clogged the highway in route to safety. The water level remained below the pier. It was only a shower, not even a storm.
   I have yet no vocabulary for this place. No labels that that say "this is this and that is that." I am reduced to wildly misplaced cliches and weak-kneed perspectives.
  

My Blue Heron

     I have a new friend here in Swansboro. I think I will call him Big Blue. He is the Great Blue Heron (I looked him up in the Audobon Book), and he thrilled me in front of the house last evening.
     He caught my attention fishing for his dinner. He moved so slowly, lifting one mud- dripping foot above the water, and then, after a time, the other. I slowed myself long enough to watch, then, mirroring his movements, I edged my way to the pier with the binoculars. I feared that if I even breathed too hard, he would fly away, but he was too intent on his fishing to notice me.
    Patience does have its rewards.  As slow and careful as was his approach, his attack came swiftly and sure. He plunged his beak into the water, one shot, and lifted his prey into the air.... a wide, dinner plate-sized FLOUNDER! This was a literal can't believe my eyes moment. I had expected a minnow or some minor fish, but not for Big Blue. What a prize! He  lifted it triumphantly into the air, and then, more surprises, plunged it back into the water.
   For the next 10 minutes, he washed the flounder, dunking it repeatedly. He carried it to a spit of land, and placed it on the sand. Not good enough, he picked it up, waded back into the water, and washed it again. Then, while I blinked through the binoculars, he swallowed his flounder in one huge gulp.
   I am a longtime watcher of nature shows, and I have rarely seen anything more thrilling than this magnificent bird at work. I think it is the quality of being present that made the scene so wonderful... filled with wonder. 
     Please come back soon, Big Blue, you are my friend and better than television by far.

Today is my first day of living at the North Carolina Coast. We have rented a small cottage for the winter, which sits on marsh and water that is part of the White Oak River Basin in Swansboro. What appears to be a nondescript yellow building from the road is, in fact, a charming cottage with a big deck, which reaches nearly to the water, and a small pier. The back of the cottage is nearly all windows, and the view across the water is, well, breathtaking. I'm told there are fish, crabs, and shrimp to be caught from the pier, but not sure how its done. I tried calling up a few crabs this morning but succeeded only in rousing a few crabby neighbors.
  It is so odd, but the sun rises from across this water, when it appears to me that it should come up on the other side of the house. This jagged coastline, with its filigrees of land surrounded by water is the explanation. The ocean is nearby, but where? I definitely have to orient myself. Oh, did I mention the intense red/orange sunrise that fills the picture window in the bedroom and makes me feel that I am hallucinating when I open my eyes in the morning. Man, that scene is psychedellic!
   So far I have seen a large, grey, wading bird just off the dock. I would have called it a Great Blue Herron at home, but here I'm not so sure. I'm going to need a coastal bird book. He stood so still, then slowly waded through the water, looking for dinner I presume. His pace is so calming to watch.
   After breakfast, the dogs (Nicki and Teddy) and I drove out to Emerald Isle for our morning walk. It takes about 10-15 minutes to get to the beach. Let me say that again 10-15 minutes to the beach. I never in my life thought I would be able to say such a thing about the place I live.
   It was low tide, and the beach was impossibly wide, as it is on the Carolina coast, and nearly empty. Nicki, our Corgy mix, was ecstatic. She has this way of lifting her front paws up in a half jump when she is really happy. Teddy endured walking on a leash. He's a 7-1/2 lb. Poodle, and he is not amused by having to be leashed.
   It has been really cold, but today is slightly warmer, and not so bad on the beach with a jacket and gloves. This weekend should be better.
   No great insights as yet. I guess I am overwhelmed by being here, and just looking to see what is. See what is. That phrase is on my refrigerator, and I guess I'll have to make good on it.