Snow Geese are smart and wary; they flush at the slightest provocation. I see tens of thousands of them this time of year along the Illinois River. There are days when they fill the sky farther than the eye can see. Most views are at 100 yards or more, but I recently had an opportunity to get close to a flock feeding in a field. All I had to do was cross a 12-inch log half-submerged in a creek. When I was younger, I would have just darted across the log, but at 52, I am more cautious. My balance isn’t what it used to be, and I am carrying an expensive camera.
I look at the log, knowing that thousands of geese are feeding in a cornfield on the other side of the creek. A levee between us provides the perfect cover for a close approach. The log is wet and decayed. Icy water slides below. My first step is to test the surface to see how slippery it is. The second step is to test its strength. The log sags under my weight but does not crack. I have to decide whether to commit to crossing 8 feet of water. I want to be close to the geese, so I continue on.
My third step crosses a psychic boundary and takes me into a flow state. My body instinctively knows that this crossing has real consequences, and now there is only the log. I hold the camera in the center of my chest and examine the exact spot on the log where my next step will land. I am looking for any slope that would make my foot slide, and I compensate by placing my foot in the flatest spot on the upside of the slope. I slowly shift my weight onto my leading leg and listen for cracking sounds. My next few steps are uneventful.
I am in the middle of the creek when I hear cracking. The log sags, and my heart races. I take one quick step and start to lean to the left; I hold the camera out to my right side, pivot slightly, and take one more step in hopes of righting myself. This initiates an unconscious decision to scamper over the remaining three feet of the log, and now I am standing on solid ground.
What is a river? by Monika Vaicenavičienė
I feel exhilarated by my epic creek crossing. It is not like I risked my life crossing a large river, but it is thrilling nonetheless. I hear a rush of wings that brings me back into the present. I am just out of view of the geese. They are feeding about 50 yards away. I start crawling on all fours up near the top of the levee. I pause and pick a small opening where I can get an unobstructed view.
I hear soft, guttural calls as content geese forage together in family groups. I have a view of the far end of the flock, which stretches out over hundreds of yards. Small groups of geese fly up and shift position. Loud, high-pitched calls fill the air. I slowly ease up in hopes of photographing the geese nearest me. Just as my eyes clear the top of the levee, I see a billowing white blanket peel up from the land, accompanied by an uproar. The slow appearance of the top of my head was all it took to send the flock airborne.
The flock rises in a swirling cacophony of gray, white, and black, sweeping over me just above the tree line. I can see mud on the tips of their bills. Boisterous waves of geese fill the sky and my senses. It is overwhelming in its intensity. They shoot past at high speed, calling wildly as they slice through the air. The numbers build and then slowly wane. The intense calls dwindle, and the geese are now tiny silhouettes dancing with the clouds.
I turn and run back down to the creek to get a better view of the passing flock. It is one of the most intense birding experiences I have ever had. Within seconds, I am facing the log crossing again. I pause and calm down a little before re-crossing the creek. I make it across and walk out into the open. There are geese everywhere I look. Great masses and elegant V’s are shape-shifting on the horizon.
I walk down the edge of the marsh and reflect upon how much I love birds. They bring me such joy and make me feel deeply content. I am now satisfied to revert to a more casual approach to birding and view them from a distance.
Just down the road, the large open wetland in the Emiquon National Wildlife Refuge is covered with Snow Geese. Current estimates of Snow Goose numbers in the United States place its population between 5 and 6 million. This is up from an estimated 900,000 birds in 1969. Snow Geese have adapted to us and a highly modified landscape. They used to overwinter on coastal marshes, but we have filled in and paved over most of these wetlands, so the geese have switched to foraging in agricultural fields. This new food source and mild winters have increased winter survival and spurred their growth.
The dark side of these brilliant white birds can be seen in the tundra in northern Canada, where they overgraze vast areas and degrade habitat on their breeding grounds. Our response has been to create liberal hunting seasons and rules. The problem is that Snow Geese are intelligent and intensely social. They quickly learn to avoid hunters. In addition, there just aren’t enough people hunting to effectively reduce their numbers. Hunters currently kill around 3% of the population annually.
My wife joined me the following weekend to spend some quality time with the geese. There are even more of them now, their numbers building by the day.
We started down the hiking trail in the refuge and soon heard a din off in the distance. At first, I thought it was a barge on the Illinois River. As we continued down the path, the sound gained texture and complexity. It took on the quality of fans at a sporting event. That’s when I realized we were hearing Snow Geese, a lot of Snow Geese.
The sky was full of flocks of geese, and they were all heading to the same spot. We could see a white band of birds resting on the water, but they were obscured by trees. When we got closer and came to an opening, we could see a great white raft of geese, a shape-shifting flock comprised of tens of thousands of birds. They fell from the sky like snowflakes.
The intensely social, garrulous birds were very noisy. Occasional individual voices rose up and rang out above the cacophony. That’s when I realized that the geese may be celebrating spring. Shouting for the joy of open water and 50°.
We walked farther down the trail and got within 500 yards of the flock. More geese were streaming in from every direction.
My wife pointed out a single snow goose between us and the flock. My first thought was that he must be injured or sick, but my wife shared a different point of view: “He must be introverted; I know an introvert when I see one.”
Maybe he just needs a break from the crowd, some alone time. I can relate to that. I am decidedly introverted. My wife is decidedly extroverted. I spent most of my life feeling guilty about being introverted. I thought something was wrong with me, and I tried to be different. A vague sense of disappointment hung in the air.
Now, we have books like Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. Susan Cain writes that introverts comprise up to half of the population and that we can be just as successful as extroverts because of our inherent qualities, not despite them. I embrace my introversion now and no longer see it as something to try and fix. I see it as a superpower that I have cultivated over a lifetime spent being patient, sitting still, paying attention, and being present in the moment.
Introversion and extroversion exist on a spectrum, and allowing labels like these to define us is limiting. If someone really gets to know a person, they will see that, like everyone else, they are a mystery waiting to unfold.
People who tend toward introversion prefer environments that are not overly stimulating. Maybe this is why I head for the woods and the bookshelf every chance I get. There are so many opportunities for communication amidst solitude.
The Snow Geese border on overstimulating for me. If we were any closer, the sound would be stressful. We hear a shrill call, but to the geese, it is ripe with diverse harmonics that convey meaning. I can hear a certain lilt and uplift in their voices. Yes, it is there. They are praising spring! It is an avian Ode to Joy resounding across the landscape. These ephemeral emissaries of deep time are engaged in a celebration of rising sap, increasing light, and the warmth of the sun, all comingling with an exuberance for life itself.
These are Mary Oliver’s wild geese, flying high in the sky and settling in our midst. They are calling to us, beckoning us to reside in the moment, feel the wind, see the light, revel in the warmth, and embrace the life force that will soon unfurl bright green leaves. I want to bring people out here to be with the Snow Geese, to sit and be in their presence as waves of geese wash over us, bright white birds against the clear blue sky, radiating wildness and hope for a spring that always comes.
Apparently, then, our lifelong nostalgia, our longing to be reunited with something in the universe from which we now feel cut off, to be on the inside of some door which we have always seen from the outside, is no mere neurotic fancy, but the truest index of our real situation. And to be at last summoned inside would be both glory and honor beyond all our merits and also the healing of that old ache.
C.S. Lewis
There is a loneliness more precious than life
There is a freedom more precious than the world.
Infinitely more precious than life and the world
Is that moment when one is alone with God.
Rumi
Correction: In last week’s essay, I mistakenly referred to a juvenile male pileated woodpecker as a female. In the photo with two pileated woodpeckers on a tree trunk, one is an adult male, and one is a juvenile male. You can tell males from females by the extent of red on the crest. Males have red that extends down to the base of the bill. The red on the crest of a female stops halfway down their forehead. Thanks to a loyal subscriber for pointing this out!
I love geese ~ snow and wild. Your description of the epic crossing of the creek is brilliant ~ taking the reader with you on every precarious step. And the introvert goose is priceless! Thank you for another beautiful piece 💕🙏
Thank you, Bill. I love your work, the depth of your heart always blooms throughout, reconnecting my own to this blessed world.