Biking & Birding in Santa Barbara
I’m back. Turns out the grid is inbuilt, anymore, like a subconscious Matrix, but it was nice to let the grey matter take a break for a day or two. To wing it, as it were. Almost everything improves over time—like wine & attitudes, and whiny attitudes, too—and while I followed my own Forrest Gump feather during my power down, my whimsical meanderings ultimately became research for the blog post you’re reading now. My wild goose chase out to Goleta Beach County Park proved anything but, lending flight to my fancy, and providing a flocking good excuse to feather this post with far too many bird idioms.
It must have been all that paragliding I watched last week at Elings Park that caused me to look up. That, or potential bird poop, but whatever the reason, once I’d pedaled my mountain bike to a patch of swampy marshland abutting the Obern Bike path connecting Goleta and nearby Isla Vista, I was bird-dogging the skies. The turf, too, since the next few miles of wetlands before the coastal park proper plays home to feathered friends and terrestrial fauna alike, but in the 80 degree heat of afternoon, the sightings of four-footed critters was scarcer than chicken teeth. The number of birds taking advantage of the cool if murky waters was toothsome, though, and fully close-up worthy.
Get off the bike and kickstand it worthy. Just look at this gorgeous wader.
It’s no wonder my rubberneck craned in near 360 degree angles as I strove for—and missed—the perfect shot. What a magnificent beast, though! A dinosaur relation too awesome for just one photo, so here’s another from the albums with which I feathered my Pictures Library nest, a shot I immediately dubbed: crane-ka-too for obvious reasons.
Stylin’ & profilin’ reasons. I’ve never seen any animal pull off a pompadour hairstyle with outrageous kicks & matching honker quite as effectively as the blog star above—well, excepting Amy Winehouse & certain members of 80’s rock band “the B-52’s”, and those warblers had plenty of cosmetic help. Stylists, too, whereas Mr. Crane and those below are wearing off-the-rack Mama Nature.
And more natural platform “shoes”.
I’d strike a pose, too—wouldn’t you?
Great as the creatures in this Beach Lagoon are, no trip to the seashore is complete without a gander at our pier dwellers. Nothing flies like a seagull so much as a seagull, and I like pigeons, too, despite their bad rap, and though I felt as crazy as a loon to depart the swamp with so many incoming and outgoing flights, my inner surfer chick couldn’t resist a sea-breezy stroll down Goleta’s all wooden wharf.
While my not so inner blog-o-grapher snapped a picture of anything that moved.
And that which didn’t…
And my nascent Spielberg tendencies got busy, too. Defining a a floating, wind-blown feather of my own when I captured this incidental birdbath.
That’s a wash, then—er—a wrap.
Not a swan song, though, so until next time, chickens!