Back to Miller's Landing, air temp about 44 degrees, partly blue sky, strong breeze. The iced over car is about half way to freedom, the restrooms are still closed, and part of the path that lies near the river is itself a shallow pond.
I walked to the Old Mill District and found myself at the tail end of a parade of ducks. There must have been fifty going single file along the asphalt path, tail to bill. There were other lines of ducks coming up from the river, coming over from the neighboring field, making a couple hundred or more. They were all headed up to an embankment of bald earth and rock and landscape pavers, where the ducks that got there first were between a wall of a building and a row of paver stones, facing west to what little sunlight there was while the other ducks scrambled their way up the slope, tugging with their bills at what grass remained on the lower flanks. I wondered if someone fed them, but as all the ducks were so silent, I decided that there must be some other mysterious reason for their meeting.
I walked past the line, upsetting the ducks who eyed me as I went by. I briefly recalled the Hitchcock movie "The Birds" but there weren't any scenes of people being warily eyed by ducks, so I relaxed and safely made it to the Columbia pedestrian underpass, and turned around instead of wading through.
There was a brief shower of rain at the orange flagged footbridge and some snow bikers on fat tires on the western bank. I decided not to try the amphitheater way, and went back the way I came.
On my way back, the top area was empty, and the ducks were down in the river, and starting their approach up the slope again. Some were marching forward while others looked back and watched their mates, their fellows swarm out of the water to meet up with them.
I walked to the Old Mill District and found myself at the tail end of a parade of ducks. There must have been fifty going single file along the asphalt path, tail to bill. There were other lines of ducks coming up from the river, coming over from the neighboring field, making a couple hundred or more. They were all headed up to an embankment of bald earth and rock and landscape pavers, where the ducks that got there first were between a wall of a building and a row of paver stones, facing west to what little sunlight there was while the other ducks scrambled their way up the slope, tugging with their bills at what grass remained on the lower flanks. I wondered if someone fed them, but as all the ducks were so silent, I decided that there must be some other mysterious reason for their meeting.
I walked past the line, upsetting the ducks who eyed me as I went by. I briefly recalled the Hitchcock movie "The Birds" but there weren't any scenes of people being warily eyed by ducks, so I relaxed and safely made it to the Columbia pedestrian underpass, and turned around instead of wading through.
There was a brief shower of rain at the orange flagged footbridge and some snow bikers on fat tires on the western bank. I decided not to try the amphitheater way, and went back the way I came.
On my way back, the top area was empty, and the ducks were down in the river, and starting their approach up the slope again. Some were marching forward while others looked back and watched their mates, their fellows swarm out of the water to meet up with them.
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