A Chilly Day on Kentucky's Barren River Lake - Photographing Gulls, Killdeer, and Bald Eagles

There was a bite to the wind on that November morning as a cold front had carried artic air into the region where it lingered like a chilled blanket over the landscape far longer than Kentucky would normally experience this time of year. Thanksgiving, still about a week away, was but an anticipation still to happen, but in the meantime I needed to get out for a while and exercise my legs and my camera.

The alarm sounded much too soon and with blurry eyes, I stared at it with a disgruntled disposition not believing it was already time to get up. But, it was, and I did, for I wanted to catch the sunrise as it bathed the farm country near Lucas.

My plan was to see how the sunrise might develop, then work across The Narrows to see if the gulls I had encountered the day before were still there and close enough to effectively photograph. The sunrise was better than I had hoped for as it climbed above the horizon appearing between a silo and a farm house. My hands grew numb as I waited for it, the wind cutting well into the inadequate gloves I wore. 

Even so, as the sunrise developed, I fired off a number of photo's and felt good about the results. I stopped shooting when the cold air numbed the end of my trigger finger enough to where I could no longer feel it. By the time I rolled into the parking area above the marina at the end of The Narrows peninsula, I had warmed up enough to use my binoculars to survey the lake.

There were some gulls, but they were far off, too far in fact to be able to photograph. I waited a short  while to see if they might migrate closer in, but they seemed content to stay well out on the lake.

This part of the lake is perhaps the most scenic with tall trees lining the edges of the lake. The Corp of Engineers drops the lake level about 25 feet or so during the winter and by doing so exposes the sharp contrasts of gravel beaches and rocky drop offs creating a beautiful almost canyon-like appearance. Fog and morning mist will often hover over protected areas where the wind doesn't affect its development. Across the way you can see an odd dark line that reaches about 1/3rd of the way up the tree line and wraps its way all the way around the visible shore. My guess is that dark line is the result of very high water levels from years past as I have other photo's taken several years ago that show that same line.

From what I can gather, there are three species of gulls that winter over in Kentucky; the Herring Gull which is the most common, The Ring-Billed Gull which is very common, and Bonaparte's Gull which turned out to be the most common one I photographed on this outing. There is a fourth one that is very rare but has been seen this far east and that is The Franklin's Gull.

Herring Gull

 I ended up moving on backtracking to the access road and working my way over to a location at the end of that crumbling road. This is really a beautiful location and it was here I discovered a good number of gulls, several hundred in fact, maybe upwards to 500. They drifted here and there circling and darting, then diving head first into the water to chase a tasty morsel. You could follow where the schools of bait fish were by where the gulls were congregating.

Bonaparte's Gull

I walked the 100 yards or so to the waters edge and sat next to an old cedar log. To my right was a long point of gravel beach that extended a good ways into the water. 

On its front edge several Killdeer were strutting around making their distinctive high pitched call. I could not get very close to them as they were quite jumpy so I made several long range photos and a few video clips of their antics. I sat there for a couple of hours enduring the cold wind that was blowing directly into my face. A good number of gulls drifted by, but way off across the open water several hundred gulls congregated along a gravel beach. 

Ever so often they would rise up and fly around only to return to their roost within a minute or two. That collective flight was fun to watch. While doing so, I noticed two large birds drifting along up high just above where those gulls congregated. A quick look through my lens revealed they were two Bald Eagles...and they were drifting toward me.

I began to fire off photo after photo and without noticing it, I caught them as they drifted near the pale moon almost hidden in the bright sky. Eventually, they came almost directly overhead. Amazing birds they are, bold, majestic, confident, striking against the sky.

In time they drifted off and eventually I returned to my Jeep for a snack and a warm cup of coffee. While sitting there I noticed what I thought was a coyote running across the sloping rocky bank to my right. With my binoculars I identified it as a red fox...with another domestic dog chasing him. The fox out ran the dog, darted over a fallen tree trunk, and left the other dog behind who trotted off retracing his steps. No photos, but it was fun to watch.

Further around that embankment, I noticed a good number of gulls swirling and diving just off the bank. It was good walk over there, maybe somewhat less than a half mile, but I walked across a frozen mud flat, up a rocky bank, and down to the waters edge where I gained a great vantage point for photographing those gulls. Spent over an hour there until the bait fish moved into deeper water and the gulls followed them. Before they all drifted off, a good number of them moved to my left where they were backlit by the bright sun. It was then I captured my personal favorite from the day. 

It is a simple composition with a gull drifting with outstretched wings highlighted and backlit by the sun, all against the dark, shaded distant embankment. It's the simplicity of the image that makes it my favorite.

The time passed by quickly and even though it was quite chilly, I really did not feel the cold so much. Watching and experiencing these birds as they effortlessly glided across the sky warmed my insides where the cold did not make any difference. I did manage to shoot a few video clips and along with some still photo's created a short video commemorating this fun shoot. Please enjoy.

Backpacking Mammoth Cave NP: Echo's From Times Past - Something Strange Happened While Camping Next to an Old Cemetery

 It was a faint sound at first almost drowned out by the wind that swirled through the tops of the massive ancient trees. I did hear it, a distant, indistinct laughing that seemed to emanate from all around not coming from any particular direction. At random, it would echo across and through the woodland blending with the wind. It was the faint and distant sound of a child playing and laughing, yet there was nothing visible to see. Did it have any connection to the old Miles-Davis cemetery?

My adventure began as an idea to make another photography/videography trip into the backcountry of Mammoth Cave National Park. This time around, I was going to stay for three days and two nights with the intent of spending the entire three days at my favorite location known as "The Bluffs". 

As it turned out when I arrived at the park headquarters to get my backcountry permit, The Bluffs area was already booked for the first night I was going to stay there. Instead I opted to reserve one night at Sal Hollow, and spend the second night at the Bluffs. To get to Sal Hollow required taking a short alternate route, branching off the Buffalo Creek Trail, which added another mile and a half or so to my hike. The cut off to that trail was located close to the Bluffs side trail cut off.

Somehow or another, I missed the cutoff turn to Sal Hollow. How this happened I'm not sure because it is pretty obvious where the trail connects with the Buffalo Creek trail. I just simply walked right past it without seeing it, and this is why I ended up at the old cemetery. By the time I realized what had happened, my troublesome hip was hurting and my legs were a bit tired and my desire to backtrack and continue hiking down to Sal Hollow had pretty much evaporated.

Leaning against a corner fence post, I stood at the entrance to the cemetery and surveyed the 1/4 acre or so of headstones most of which appeared to be heavily weathered. I chose at that time not to take a closer look at this well kept plot of land. It was clean, not overgrown, and possessed a peaceful, rustic value all its own and I thought the light would be better later in the day to capture a few photos within its boundaries. Before moving on, I looked at the map and realized my mistake of missing the turn, then sighed as my rebellious hip dictated against any further heavy hiking for the day, so I decided to setup camp near the cemetery.

Even though the area is not a designated campsite, I thought it would be okay to stay there for the afternoon and one evening and I found a nice flat area off in the woods, a few yards in front of the cemetery and pitched my tent. A thick layer of leaves provided a soft cushion however, a burn ban was in effect so no fires were allowed. I would not have created one anyway as it was much too windy to be safe with all those leaves blowing around. That's why I always pack my venerable Coleman Peak 1 packer stove.

Throughout the afternoon I meandered around the area looking for photo ops snapping pictures here and there. The wind worked the tops of the trees pretty much all day, and with each gust hundreds of leaves would spin across and fall onto the woodland floor like a work of leaf art showcasing various shades of brown, red, and yellow snow. It was this canopy of color that caught my attention photographically and I spent a lot of time and covered a lot of ground simply looking up to find suitable compositions on high. 

It was during this time I began to hear the laughter of a small child off in the distance. At first I wasn't sure of what I was hearing. It was a tiny, subtle, yet happy voice really, one that seemed somewhat distant, yet hauntingly real and innocent. What was troubling about it was, just how haunting it sounded for it seemed to flow across and through the woods not coming from any particular direction. It seemed to emanate from all around like it was a part of the ambient atmosphere. There was no real pattern to it as it occurred at random times ever so often. I'd be working the camera and hear it again as slightly more than a whisper, but distinct, almost like it was trying to catch my attention without being too obvious.

I really did not think too much about it at first, yet I would turn my head trying to pinpoint from where it was coming, but mostly I simply explored the surrounding woods looking for photo opportunities. Over the next hour or so, I continued to look for photographic opportunities and as the afternoon progressed, the laughter continued to randomly occur, yet it became more prominent, a more distinct echo through the woods. Eventually, I made it back to the cemetery and this time I stepped into it to take a closer look at the headstones. 

To my dismay, many of the headstones were carved with the names, birth dates, and death dates...of young children.

A chill ran through my spine as I read a few of the inscriptions; 

William J. 

Son of R and E Davis

Born Sept 12, 1861 

Died Aug 14, 1864.

I stepped over to another one of an adult;

J N Miles

Born Aug 1, 1847

                                                           Died Oct 27, 1886

I continued on to several others a few of which told the sad stories of just babies who were no more than a few weeks old. Many of the headstones were simple stones with no markings on them and appeared to have been taken from the surrounding area and placed as a simple memorial to mark the grave of someone. There were headstones marking the lives of wives and husbands, but the most sad ones were the ones of infant sons and daughters of which there were several. This small plot of sacred earth spoke of the struggles those who tried to tame this rugged land must have endured.

Eventually, I continued on, looking for a composition to photograph, but randomly through the afternoon up until almost dark, I kept hearing that child's laughter in the background. I guess through the afternoon I must have heard it at least 8 or 10 times, maybe more. 

Eventually, I discovered what appeared to be the foundation of an old cabin consisting of large squared off boulders taken from the surrounding landscape. The structure itself was long gone, but the foundation was unmistakable. I figured it must have belonged to some early homesteaders from long ago. While there, I again heard the soft laughter and I wondered what connection this old cabin had with the names of those from the cemetery.

Not being someone who is prone to over play his hand or allow his imagination run away, I tried to convince myself it was just the wind rubbing tree limbs together, but the laughter of a small child sounded so real, yet far off and so dream-like, I had a difficult time reconciling what I was experiencing. Later that night as I lay inside the tent reading a true adventure book, I subconsciously listened for something that may be related to the sounds, but can not for sure say I heard anything except possibly for one faint, remnant laugh of a child playing off in the distance. In time, I drifted off to sleep as the wind continued to blow across the trees through the night.

The next day began as a routine breaking camp morning; a quick oatmeal breakfast, tearing down the tent, packing away the gear, then the short hike out to the junction trail that would take me to The Buffs area. The wind continued to blow throughout the chilly day. While I was setting up camp at the new location, a time or two I thought I heard that laughter again, way off and even fainter than before...coming from the direction of the cemetery which was maybe a half mile or so away as the crow flies over the other side of the ridge. 

The rest of the second day was uneventful and my thoughts were consumed with searching for photographs, making video clips, and resting my troublesome hip. By that evening, I was pretty tired and called it an early day. 

As I lay in my tent that second evening reading, just after dark, I heard what was the most chilling and heart stopping sound of the entire trip. The best I can describe, it sounded like a very loud screeching / hollowing, that lasted about six or seven seconds, followed by some faint rustling of leaves and cracking of small branches, the sound of movement, across the ravine like something was walking over there. Then all was quiet except for the breeze that still moved across the trees, and it never happened again occurring only that one time. Even so, with the events of the previous day still fresh in my mind, it was an eye opening sound, one in all my years of camping in the woods, I had never heard before. 

The next day was spent hiking back to the real world. All the while as I was walking down the trail, I listened for that child's laughter, but never again did it materialize, just the sound made by the continuing wind cutting across the trees and a few birds singing a cheerful song. 

With each step, and during each rest stop, I pondered about the lives of those who were buried in that cemetery, especially those of the children. Who were they really, and what heartaches did they endure? 

What was the sound I heard? I'm not sure, but it sounded like a small child playing and laughing. Maybe it was just the wind...but maybe...just maybe...it was a haunting echo from times past.

When Frost Settles: Don't Wait Until It's Too Late

 I stepped outside one cold morning and inhaled the crisp air of the late fall season. Most of the leaves had already dropped and covered the yard like a multi-colored blanket. Around the perimeter and scattered across my little acre stretched tall trees; beech, hickory, a few oaks, sugar maples, and other assorted kinds, mostly bare now, but some still retained remnants of their fall colored coatings. Fallen leaves, mostly dried and brittle, crunched under foot as I trod toward the end of the yard and then into the wooded area beyond.

 I weaved my way through the woods, ducking under low hanging limbs, stopping ever so often to examine the evidence of a deer rub where the bark of a three inch thick sapling was scrapped off exposing the brighter under bark of the smallish trunk. 'Must have been a nice buck that made this one...' I thought to myself as I felt along the rough edges of the rub. At the end of the woods, the area opened into a corn field, just stubble now all dry and brown, but casting a subtle and distinct aroma of dried earth and harvested corn stalks.

 I stopped for a moment and took in another deep breath. The chill of the morning continued to hover silently across the landscape, yet I felt warmed now from the walk. It felt good to be there, able and ready to experience the natural world at its best, something my heart and soul needs from time to time, even more now that I am retired. It's when the frost settles across the land that makes all the difference...and winter is not far off where snow will cover these same fields.

For close to 30 years I worked in the high tech, hurried pace of the IT world, and before that spent far too many years following a dead end career that almost broke my spirit. That stretch of years provided a steady living for my family offering a means to an end I'm grateful for, but it was a high price I paid for it. During that time my adventures afield were limited to a few days here and there, a morning, an afternoon, then back at it working on the details of too many high pressure projects with un-realistic deadlines. Not only did I feel stressed, I was stressed, far more than I realized, to the point it began to show. Other friends and even family members noticed, asking my wife if I was okay...I looked really tired and burnt out...which I was. Somehow, I muttered through, one day at a time, often staring out the window day-dreaming about floating in my canoe, or fishing, or camping beside a sparkling set of shoals.

The time eventually came when I was able to retire, a bit early, the circumstances leading up to that moment are not important, but the effect of doing so was. Even so, it took a few years for the stress level to subside, but it eventually did and I began to realize just how much time had slipped by and how little of the adventures I so enjoyed were missed. Even though I've tried to stay in shape and I've done a respectable job of doing so, time and age does catch up. A troublesome hip, more general aches and pains, longer recovery times, well, they all generate a slowing down enough so the level or degree at which I can participate doing the things I enjoy so much has been tempered. Hasn't stopped me, and now I get out more than I ever did when I was younger. Can't push it too hard, but I do push it right up to what I know is my limit, then I back off.

As I stood next to that corn stubble field, the cool morning air hovered around my eyes generating a wind born tear that blurred my vision. Across the way a few deer worked their way along the edges looking up toward me from time to time just to make sure I was no threat. Their once tawny coats were now turning winter gray and the little ones born the previous spring were almost as large as their mothers. Overhead a Redtail hawk screeched as it sailed effortlessly across the field expanse then disappeared beyond the tree line. What had been a brilliant morning sun, suddenly closed down as a bank of darkened clouds moved in and the crisp fall morning became almost cold. 

Later that afternoon, I made my way over to the pond at the far end of that corn field. I sat partially hidden and camouflaged at one end of the pond and in a short time a family of squirrels chased each other through the woods to eventually and cautiously meander down to the pond for a cool drink. They were fun to watch and as silently as I could snapped a few long range photo's of these interesting and energetic creatures. 

As I sat there waiting for the sun to settle toward night, I was thankful to once again have the health and vigor enough to enjoy doing such things, and I was thankful for the time to do them. 

When the frost settles across the land is a special time of year where the seasons mark a dramatic shift toward winter. In previous years I had all but lost contact with such moments and had almost waited too late to enjoy them. I suppose the lesson here is to not allow life to get in the way of living. Don't wait until it is too late, for frost can quickly settle across a persons world, so much so, enjoying the simple things of life are far too often lost over time.