It figured. I started my walk today at Triphammer Pond, along the northern shore, when two great horned owls started dueting, calling back and forth to each other. Of course, there were on the southern shore of the pond.
Some ponds have thawed and are now open. Some are not. Today, Triphammer was not. But that does not mean there wasn't water movement. At the eastern end of the pond, Accord Brook roared into the pond through two outfall pipes. There's also a small rumbling waterfall not too far away, adding to the noise. Because of the former spillway, it's impossible to circumnavigate the pond without stepping through the fence into Wompatuck State Park. But no worries. The fence has holes in it that stretch back at least a generation. And since it's all open space, and nobody's charging entrance fees either way, nothing is lost. More to the point, the wildlife that uses this land is not being held in by manmade artificial boundaries.
At the western end, the pond emptied into a stream that headed for Foundry Pond, which gives birth to the Weir River, which flows to the sea. The pond is so deep in the woods that no traffic noise can be heard. But today, with melting snow and ice causing powerful rushes in the brooks, there was nowhere to stand along the pond in complete silence.
That worked in my favor. I was only able to sneak up on the pair of hairy woodpeckers I found because they couldn't hear me coming. I was standing so close to them that the shavings from the tree they were drilling were falling on the bill of my hat. I was not so lucky with the deer. They found me in no time. All I could see were three white tails through the tangle of branches in a witch hazel grove, bouncing into the woods.
Time: 55 minutes.
New species: American woodcock (114).
Stranger hellos: None.
The rest of my Saturday: Led a trip based on a book I wrote, When Hull Freezes Over; led an owl prowl for a family and their friends on Turkey Hill in Hingham, all part of a twelve-hour work day.