Fountain Creek

 

 I woke up this morning without the aid of an alarm clock, the chill of autumn did the job plenty.  That's such a satisfying cold; only skin deep, able to be chased away by a cup of steaming coffee.  It's dry out too, the air isn't heavy nor are there dense fog banks rolling down the forested hills.  Tourists are flocking to the high country to find places to view the changing of the aspen leaves, something we have yet to see in full force at this elevation.  A few brown leaves blow across the porch where I'm eating my breakfast with the Jays, something of a tradition; waffles for me peanuts for them.  The finches and sparrows have started to get lazy; they show up around mid morning with a pair of collared doves.  I think that I'll head even further south, away from the masses who will spend hours driving somewhere to stand on a the side of the road for a few minutes.  The migration has begun and soon an entire host of birds will reach us as they fly too their warm summer feeding grounds on the coasts of South America or farther.  Some of the year long resident water birds are more visible now since the summer residents have left and the egg laying and chick rearing is over.  Having been to the arid prairie that surrounds Pueblo Reservoir I thought it would be as nice a place as any to scout for merganser, wood duck, or the myriads of geese.  Merging onto I-25 was a nightmare, thousands of monstrous pick-up trucks; the most garrish featuring both camoflage and chrome with gun racks, right-wing bumper stickers and a Texas license plate, ripped down the interstate pulling all manner of utility vehicles, boats, sea-doos, campers, dirt bikes, and atv's.  I knew where the boats and sea-doos were going so I made an emergency change of location.  Fountain Valley Nature Center. 

Cattail Marsh and mighty oaks

I pulled off 85/87 and into the dirt lot that hides most of the park until you walk to very edge.  There are towering oaks and cottonwoods though, still green and fully leafed out.  I headed for the trail, which for a moment overlooks the first pond.  Which is actually very large by Colorado standards.  The water was dark, suggesting that it was deep.  Ringing the pond was a dense marsh with an impenetrable cover of cattails.  The trail descends through a dark forest of oak, the thick canopy overhead betraying the season.  The moisture in the air climbs slowly during the descent as the oaks give way to the marsh.  Inside the tall reeds the sound of elusive Virginia Rails calling to each other is overpowering, the thought of catching a glimpse of one was enough to cause an extended stop on a wooden viewing platform.  Song sparrows rustle the dry ground on the other side of the path, stirring up grasshoppers.  The pond itself is completely obscured by the cattails, but the path wefts its way through the marsh, over a wooden bridge where several large carp search for algae.  The path curves around and onto the second pond, which is bigger still and doesn't have the cover of the cattail marsh.  This pond is also much more shallow.  Just deep enough for the Canada Geese that are napping in the shade of a cottonwood.

This one was not napping

Two White Pelicans are on the other side of a small inlet, patrolling for fish with their great bills.  Strange and marvelous the pelican.  These two are snow white with bright yellow bills and legs. 

American White Pelican

The pond has two or three small islands, pied billed grebe, a new arrived fall resident swam from one to other in search of small fish.  A gaggle of wood ducks, mostly females with two bright, buffle-headed males swam in the opposite direction, looking for the algae balls that hung just below the surface.

Wood Duck

Another group of ducks, the diminutive blue wing teal clean themselves before taking a nap.

Blue Wing Teal in a gaggle of Wood Ducks

 A high pitched laughing rang out from the cottonwoods on one of the larger islands and a belted kingfisher slammed into the water, when it surfaced it did not have a fish and quickly returned to its perch, calling madly.

Belted Kingfisher

The land is strange, there is so much water, Fountain Creek flows past the park and the marsh is all encompassing, yet the trail is dry.  All the grasses and flowers have died back for the season, blue tailed fence lizards chasing down grasshoppers in their remains. 

Blue Tail Fence Lizard

 The creek is low and slow, summer has passed; no matter what the trees say.  The park connects with another small collection of ponds, Willow Springs.  There are two ponds here, one low and green, filled with algae and apparently fish from the number of fisherman casting into its viridian water.  The other looks to be naturally spring fed, crystal clear fading to chalky blue in the center.  All around the twin ponds are gigantic cottonwood, their heady scent filling the air.  On my way passed the big pond and back to the great marsh I saw another bird in the water, dark body, light blue almost white bill; American Coot.  Another strange but less marvelous bird.  Coot clutches are very large, much too large for the two parent birds too feed, so at one point they begin killing off chicks until three or four survive. lovely. 

Psychotic American baby killer Coot

The sun was perched over the mountains to the west, a blur of golden light, white puffy clouds and purple masjesty; I rounded the first pond, the dark still water looked cool.  A flock of red wing blackbirds rushed from the reeds calling loudly while a painted turtle looked on from a log it was sunning on.  Five new birds for me plus sighting of familiar faces.  Fountain Valley had pulled through on a whim.