Stalking the Cooperative Vulture.

I've been enjoying a lot of outdoor activities lately. My son and I head to the high country often to go hiking. My wife and I have been doing a good deal of kayaking locally. And of course when no one else has the leisure time to go with me, I go off by myself. I take advantage of most of those days to go hiking, generally within a drive of anywhere from half an hour to as much as three hours.

Today I fell back on the old standby activity, hiking at Crowders Mountain State Park. My main purpose was to hike to the summit of Crowders to see if I would have the opportunity to photograph Turkey vultures. They're one of the most common large birds around, and they use the cliffs and thermals around the summit to launch themselves into the sky to scan for the scent of carrion.On a sunny day it's hard to miss them at either of the two peaks in the park, Crowders and Kings Pinnacle.

I have to say, it was a hot day for hiking. I arrived at the trailhead at about 10:00 am. The lot was about 2/3 full, and it's a vast parking area. There is very good reason that local hikers refer to it as "Crowded Mountain". On some days you can encounter as many as 100 people arriving at the summit every hour or so. Today wasn't quite that busy, but nearly so.

After reaching the top and toweling all of the sweat off of me, I staked out a shady spot at the edge of a cliff and began to take landscape photos and to scan the area for signs of vultures. One of my friends, writer/photographer Michael Hodges had suggested a lens to me: a Canon 24mm pancake lens. He told me that photographs taken with it would "pop", and he wasn't kidding. It captures crisp, colorful, brilliant images. This was the first time I'd used it other than to take a couple of test photos. Michael was spot on.

I stayed on the summit for about three hours taking photos, drinking lots of water, and enjoying the views. The people arrived and left at a steady pace. Sometimes it got quite noisy, then the voices and music would subside as the numbers of people dwindled. (I never have figured out why anyone would bring music with them on a hike. I find the idea pathetic.)

Over the course of my time there I took well over 200 photographs of the crew of Turkey vultures who passed in front of and above my patch of rocky cliffside. I think I'll salvage about a dozen images good enough for me to add to my online portfolio of photos that I sell through some online purveyors of stock photos.  Every month I make a little more than I did the month before. It has become my part-time job. A job, for once, that's fun (aside from writing).

Say what you will, they're actually quite the majestic bird in flight.

I don't know if this bird is just old, in the midst of molting, or the victim of a tussle. It seems healthy and flew and cruised the thermals as well as the others. But it looked rough.

Aside from the Great blue heron, the Turkey vulture is my favorite bird to photograph.

Michael was right. That lens makes the image really stand out.

Sometimes...

A few times in my experiences hiking or camping or backpacking in the forests and wilderness areas I have had some creepy things happen. I've had several bad encounters with bears--once when I thought I was about to be killed (but of course was not).

And a couple of times I had what I can only describe as weird experiences. It's said by many that humans still have some basic senses that they don't acknowledge on a conscious level, but have retained from those ancient days when we were still relatively helpless herbivores traveling through grasslands and forest, ever on the lookout for predators who could kill and eat us. Perhaps it's just an amalgam of the senses we know which, combined on a subconscious level accumulate to give us a pulse of a warning to make us alert for danger that we cannot pinpoint with any one or two of our five senses. Thus, the prickling of the skin for no observable reason, or the tickling of the fine hairs on our necks and arms when we cannot see or hear anything definite.

The first time I had such an experience was when I had decided to hike alone to see Mooney Falls in the Nantahala National Forest one very late summer afternoon. I had already done several miles of hiking elsewhere and on the way back to my campsite at Standing Indian I pulled off the Forest Service road to take the brief hike to see and photograph the waterfall. I figured I could easily do it before nightfall. And I did that, but barely.

Here's the thing. On the way back to my truck I paused to take some photos of gnarly old birch tree that everyone who hikes the trail notices. I figured to capture some images of it on my way back and stopped there to gather those shots. And as I got my camera out and began to record the images all I could hear was the rushing of the creek, and all I could really see was the close press of the green trees and woody rhododendrons that pushed in all around.

But I had the distinct impression that I was being watched in the swiftly failing light.

That's right. I felt that someone, or some creature, was peering at me through that luxurious mass of trees and flowers and shrubs. Why was I feeling that way? I have no idea. As I said, all I could hear was the rushing water, and all I could see were limbs and leaves moving in the slight wind. But the feeling was so strong that I stopped taking photos and looked all around me, trying to spot anything that might be giving me this very disturbing and very creepy sensation.

But I couldn't see anything that might dictate danger. Just that feeling. So, I took a few more photos.

And suddenly all of the hairs on my arm went up. And the fine fuzz on the back of my neck was standing to attention as gooseflesh made pimples up my spine and down my arms.

It was at that point that I just made a quick 360-degree examination of my surroundings, jammed my camera back into its case, and hauled ass down that trail as fast as I could without actually running. After all, doesn't running trigger a chase response in big predators? I didn't want that. But I will tell you that I closed the last circuit of that particular hike in quick order and found myself hustling up the slope of the trail to the parking spot where my truck waited. It was pure relief to open that door and close it solidly to create a hardened barrier between my mortal flesh and the perceived threat that I never actually saw or heard--merely felt.

Well, that was then. Some years back.

On my hike last week in the Big Draft Wilderness Area in West Virginia I had a similar experience. I had decided to do a five-mile loop in the wilderness that would take me from the campground at Blue Bend Recreation Area and back to my campsite. So I did exactly that and soon found myself deep within that wilderness and its rich forest of recovering hardwoods and hemlocks (but mainly hardwoods).

When I began the hike I startled a couple of whitetail deer who, upon seeing me, scattered and thrashed the woods with their fleeing. I watched their tails bouncing through the green screen of limbs and leaves like flags of white vanishing in the distance. We surrender. We surrender. We surrender. After that it was mainly just bird song and wind blowing and the laboring of my breath as I gained the ridges of Brown Mountain.

Along the way, at a wide curve in the trail that took me through a cove, I discovered a particularly ugly Turkey vulture watching me. This vulture--for some reason--seemed fascinated by my presence and it followed my progress into the wilderness, flying from tree to tree, branch to branch, to watch me as I hiked along. I thought it was curious, but they're very intelligent animals, I have learned, and not much that they do particularly surprises me. After about a quarter of an hour it finally lost interest in me, and I lost sight of him.

Around that time I noticed a pile of bear scat in the middle of the trail. Not terribly old, maybe dropped since the last rain. I am never startled to see bear crap in the forests because they seem to be just about everywhere in the southern high country, these days. I rarely see the bears, though. Now and again as they're racing away from me when I startle them.

The higher I climbed on the mountain, the more obscure the trail became. Until I realized that few people were using this trail and it began, at times, to vanish into vigorous growths of all types of low, green plants; including stinging nettle which pricked at my bare calves and made me miserable for several seconds every time I brushed against those nasty, poisonous leaves. All I could do was plunge ahead and make good guesses where the trail should be. And each time I was right.

In no time at all I had achieved the summit of Brown Mountain. At the top, I paused to take some video and photos and.

I got that old, creepy feeling that not only was something watching me...it was also following me.

My breath held in my chest as I strained to hear anything that was not...well...normal. But there were only bird calls and some slight sighing of wind among the trees. Nothing moved that should not be moving. Nothing called out that alarmed me in any way.

And, yet.

That feeling of being watched and followed.

Once more I pushed on, knowing that I would soon come upon a trail shelter in the wilderness. Most wilderness areas do not have things like trail shelters and bridges and such. They are, after all, supposed to be wilderness. But in a few minutes I came to that shelter. It stood there in the shadows and dappled sunlight of a mild summer day and looked as if it had not been used by anyone in a very, very long time. As I had realized since I'd begun the hike, not many people walked into this wilderness. I was very much alone. At least when it came to human company. Still, that feeling of being watched and followed continued to dog me.

I saw some brightly colored mushrooms on the ground near the shelter and decided to photograph them. And it was then, crouching on the forest floor to get a good point of view, that I heard something cracking what I knew were very large, very dry dead limbs on the ground. Something relatively close--perhaps forty or fifty feet away.

I stood up and looked in that direction, and didn't see anything; but did hear some more limbs being cracked underfoot and then some lighter sounds as of something retreating from me through that decaying leaf litter.

I had been right. Something had not only been watching me, but apparently also following me. Or maybe it was someone. I have no idea.

But feeling even more a sense of dread than I had before, I put my camera away, pointed myself down the trail toward Blue Bend, and made haste to get back to the campground and my waiting wife.

Sometimes, I know, those feelings of being watched, of being followed, are not passing paranoia. Sometimes they are spot on.

About where I scared the deer.

Hello, Mr. Man. What are you doing here in the deep, dark woods?

Pushing on.

Death in the midst of so much life.

I'm still here. You are, too, I see. Hm.

Where does a big bear shit? Anywhere he wants to.

Sometimes the trail vanished under depths of stinging green.

It looked like it had not been used in a very long time.

Pretty colors to distract me....WHAT'S THAT NOISE??!!

Nothing there! But I think I'll leave, now.

If the forest will let me....

Crowded Mountain

It only takes me about twenty to twenty-five minutes to drive from the house to Crowders Mountain State Park. Over the decades that I have lived here it is the park where I most often end up when I feel like hiking on steep terrain but don't have the time to head for the real mountains.

So it was today when I took my second trip there in two weeks.

Today I hiked to the top of King's Pinnacle. It's the highest mountain in the park at just a tad under 1800 feet above sea level. Yeah, I know. Pretty pathetic even when compared to a park like South Mountains. But the summit does stand over 900 feet above the surrounding terrain and there are cliffs all around the top, so it's an impressive little mountain.

One thing about Crowders Mountain State Park is that I never really see any wildlife. The only creature I can expect to see are Turkey buzzards. Other than those, the only wild animal I have ever seen in the park was an otter. This was really strange because there is almost no water there...just a couple of small streams and a very small man-made pond. What this otter was doing in this dry, rocky terrain is a mystery. It crossed the Pinnacle Trail in front of me, paused very briefly, and hurried along. I suppose it was headed for a decent creek or river somewhere and was just passing through.

I think the reason I never see any wildlife there is because of why the park is affectionately known as "Crowded Mountain". Since it's so close to Charlotte and Gastonia, a lot of people go there to hike. On a busy day you will encounter hundreds of people. This was a mid-week hike for me and I still met up with well over twenty other hikers. So don't go there expecting anything like solitude. You won't find it, unless you decide to leave the trails and go bushwhacking through the woods.

All in all I had a good time today. Climbing up there was a decent little workout. The wind was brisk and the skies were thinly overcast and the temperatures were very mild. It was a fine day to be out in the forests climbing mountains.

There are a butt-load of rocks in that park.

They're not kidding. It seems hardly a year passes by without someone falling and getting killed on the cliffs on King's Pinnacle and Crowders Mountain.

This is the most popular overlook on King's Pinnacle. Not quite the summit, but it does offer a view of the high mountains far to the west on a clear day. You can even spot the Black Mountains from there when the conditions are right.

King's Pinnacle. Good for an infusion of hiking upward.

Park and Campsite

I have to admit that Carole and I chose the Ochlockonee River State Park because when we wanted to book a site, all of our first choices in Florida parks were booked solid. So we had to pick an alternate park, going down the list of parks in the area of the state we wanted to visit. Ochlockonee River was actually fifth or sixth on our preference.

Also, when we were picking out our campsite, the choices were getting slim there, too. So we ended up going with campsite #19, hoping for the best. When we arrived it seemed a little tricky getting the trailer into the site, but it ended up being a lot easier than I would have thought when looking at the area. In addition, we were extremely happy with the site's privacy, space, and shade. It was easily one of the largest campsites we've ever had at a state park.

The park itself is heavily wooded. It was once a slash pine/turpentine tree farm before the state bought it. These days it's known for its wildlife, in particular the white squirrels that are there in some number, and the popular boat ramp with access to the river of the park's name. We saw a fair amount of wildlife and were at first pleased to see the white squirrels, but soon grew irritated at how bold the little rodents were and how much of our stuff they ended up raiding, stealing, and damaging.

Also, the park was central to many of the places we wanted to explore, and we had some really nice float trips on some of the springs and rivers we'd picked out to see. All in all, I can highly recommend the park as a central destination.

Campsite #19. Not only was it spacious, there was access to the river right behind our campsite, complete with a stairway to the shoreline!

Tons of space to spread out, and plenty of shade.

Just another example of the space we had. The site went even farther back. I was standing in front of a clothesline when I took this photo. We used that line a lot to dry towels.

The view right behind our campsite.

When we first arrived, we asked a ranger about how and where to see the white squirrels. "Just stand next to a tree and make a sound like a potato chip," he said. He wasn't kidding. Soon, they were pretty much terrorizing us. One even grabbed a spatula from our picnic table and made off with it!

There's also a population of Red cockaded woodpeckers in the park. I did see a mated pair of them, but they would not let me get very close. This was the best I could do of a photo of one. Taken from a very great distance with a telephoto lens and then cropped. I wish I could have gotten a clearer photo.

Turkey vulture. This one was sitting on the stair leading to the riverbank.

Another white color phase animal! There must be something in the water. This was the most solidly white deer I have ever seen in the South. Popularly termed "piebald" deer. She was a beauty.

The Back Yard Vultures

Almost every day a group of Turkey vultures cruises over our neighborhood. Jove knows where they roost, but just about every day I can look up and see at least one of them scoping out the local territory looking for some corpse to eat. Today I was taking it easy on a cool afternoon looking for other birds to photograph. But the other stuff...the crows and the song birds and such just didn't want to make an appearance. I was just about to go put the camera away when one big vulture came swooping low over the tops of the local houses. And I got just a few shots before he soared away.

The first pass over the yard. I wasn't sure he was going to double back, but he did.

This time I was ready and got some halfway decent photos.

I kept the lens pointed at him as he continued to pull away.

I reckon he was looking for anything edible.

And this was the last image I captured as he vanished behind the rooftops.

T-Day!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! We're going to go eat dinner, now.

Two of my favorite bird species. The wild turkey, and its close relative, the Turkey vulture.

Wild turkeys in the Cataloochee area of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Turkey vulture in Stone Mountain State Park in NC.

Picnic on Stone Mountain

I'm going on a picnic to Stone Mountain State Park with the family today. I need to take a break from the novels for a few hours. I may try to take an easy hike to the Lower and Middle Falls, which I've never seen.

Ancient snag near the summit.

My old friends, the Turkey vultures will be there, I'm sure.

I'm having too much back and leg pain to climb to the top, but I will take one of the easy hikes below the mountain.

Test Hike!

I visited Stone Mountain State Park today. It's only a two-hour drive from the house and I really needed to get up to the mountains, at least for a few hours. I wanted to try out my knee on a short and relatively easy hike. It did okay, but for the first time in my life my legs feel weak. That sucks. I've always had strength in my legs, even when my upper body strength was lousy. I had a hard time climbing up to the top today, even on the improved trail system the park now has in place. I have my work cut out for me to complete my physical recovery.

I'll post more on the hike tomorrow.

This self-portrait came out pretty good. I was moving as fast as I could up the steep slope near the summit of Stone Mountain. I just set the timer and started (kind of) running.

The summit area of the mountain was PACKED with turkey vultures. So I sat down on the exposed rock, put the telephoto lens on the camera, and took about seventy photos, hoping that at least a few of them would come out okay. I got lucky, and this was one of the good ones. Vultures are one of my favorite birds. Huge, and resourceful, and extremely intelligent.

This is Stone Mountain Falls. A bit over 200 feet, they say, in a series of cascades. I think a moron recently got killed here--he ignored the butt-load of warning signs and climbed over the fence and went out on the slippery rock surface. Death followed.