Fish and Vultures

We've had a bit of a warm-up. We are still getting some low temps at night and intermittent snow, but it isn't lasting. And the ice on the pond has finally melted. Much to our dismay, this revealed a fish kill.

a largemouth bass, belly-up at our favorite fishing site

a giant grass carp floating in an inlet near the dam

Most of our pond is pretty shallow, and the ice got very thick. So there were hundreds of bluegill killed, and a few big fish too.












There was one gigantic largemouth bass and a humongous grass carp that I photographed, for example.

a turkey vulture soaring over the hay field

This has brought the turkey vultures. My oldest counted 17 around the pond on Thursday. I've enjoyed watching them slowly circle above the trees as I rock with my littlest. They swoop and glide, teeter until they find another updraft, and then veer off.

a few of the turkey vultures perched in a tree above the lake

They decorate our trees like grotesque Christmas baubles when they roost. 

a closer view of a turkey vulture roosting

And they are ominously silent. When you get close to them, you might hear them hiss if they are squabbling over something, and they are said to sometimes emit a nasally sounding whine when they fly, but that's the extent of their vocalizations.

my oldest daughter and middle son standing next to a largemouth bass skeleton (for scale)

They're quite effective as a cleanup crew. They wait until a strong wind causes the fish to drift to shore, then they pull them out and pick them clean. Even this gigantic largemouth bass is almost gone, which is lucky for us, otherwise things would be pretty stinky around here. Maybe they still will be in a few weeks when things really warm up.

a turkey vulture taking one of those rare, slow flaps

But for now, I've got many other things to worry about. (I went through another round of sugaring off. A bathroom sink drain sprung a leak and ruined a cabinet, thereby kicking off a bathroom revamp, etc. etc.) I am content to watch the graceful giants flap slowly with their six foot wingspans until they catch a current on which to circle, swoop, and soar.