Osprey pair sitting on manmade platform.
Today was wonderful.
The weather sucked and I half contemplated blowing off my walk. But I soldiered on; and nature gave me a gift. I was glad I wore my fedora, though, the beaver felt rarely gets thoroughly soaked and the brim keeps the water off my glasses. Which is a good thing, because it alternated between a heavy mist and a light drizzle until letting up as I neared the lake, about 2.5 miles into my walk.
I have enjoyed looking for nesting Osprey in the wetlands adjacent to the Causeway Path for over a decade. The path is a virtual straight shot through the wetlands, bisecting the swampy marshlands, then departing the shore and extending far out onto the lake. A former railroad bed, today’s path sits elevated slightly above the wetlands, unpaved, but surfaced with fine crushed gravel. At a spot about one half mile from Airport Park and about a quarter mile down the path on the right, set back beyond the small trees and dense scrub that lines the path on both sides, about 100 yards out in the middle of the wetlands, one can see the single tree that features the Osprey platform at its very top. This is no manmade platform, unlike so many Osprey nests resting on the tops of the powerline towers that line the highway linking the mainland to the islands.
Each spring season, starting in early April, I look for Osprey parents caring for their chicks in the nest. I always feel rewarded when I see the female in the nest or the male returning to the nest. But, alas, no sighting last season. Not for want of looking. Every other day on my walk I paused on a rise, elevated slightly above the path, and fruitlessly looked through the leafless branches that screen the view. Disappointingly, I never saw an Osprey last year.
Once the trees, and the scrub that line the path, sprout leaves in late May, the platform becomes increasingly obscured. At a certain point the view is fully blocked. Not having seen any Osprey during the previous two months in 2023, I assumed the nest had been abandoned. New Osprey will use abandoned platforms, so I hoped for the best.
Yesterday, I was excited to see one Osprey in the nest, likely the female. Today was even better. I got to see both Osprey like I rarely have seen them before, both on the way out to the Causeway and, once again, on the trip back. On the outward bound trip, I saw both parents. The male was positioned higher than the female on the one spindly branch that extends above the platform. The female, out of the nest, was perched just below him on a lower portion of the same branch.
The Osprey built this nest over a ten-year period. Ospreys are large predators with an almost six-foot wingspan. They are monogamous and will mate for life. They are often confused by casual observers with an eagle or a hawk, but they are neither. They are in their own little family of birds, all by themselves.
Today, I saw the male spread his massive wings, balance on his perch just above the female and drop off the branch, diving and flapping his wings once, catching a draft and gliding out of sight. If memory serves me right, males will hunt for food and bring the vittles back to the nest for the female and their offspring. The female attends the chicks, staying close by, which is why she is so easy to spot sitting on the platform day after day, I rarely see both birds at the nest simultaneously. He does not stay long; so, one has to time it just right, by chance.
On the return trip I was lucky enough to spot him soaring high above the wetlands, the underside of his wings white against the sky. His wings were fully extended, gliding on the updraft. He began to lose altitude, gently floating lower and lower, until he was positioned below the height of the platform, about twenty-five yards from the tree. He adjusted his path and quickly regained altitude slowly climbing and nailing a landing on the branch above his mate. Then he leaned forward; and in my mind's eye, I imagined him neatly dropping lunch onto the platform for his bride. I could not, of course, see him doing this, but I think my guess that he brought home the bacon is probably right. That's his job.
Moments later, he was off again. Seeing him twice in one day was nature's gift on this raw and cold day. I love Vermont. You couldn't get me out of here with a skyhook.
