Tales From The Woods #6

Last time we talked about the woods I told you about my stumbling across a coot out there - where it had no business being - and its unfortunate end. I also mentioned it wasn't the last time I'd see one.

It's the fall season by then, and I was more concerned with making preparations for the end of the sampling season and enjoying how much drier an October it was than the previous year. I hadn't forgotten about my encounter with the coot, but you know how it is, unless something happens which reminds me of it, the meeting fades behind all the everyday stuff that demanded immediate attention. Also, I was frequently distracted by the horses that were roaming the site, which I'd run into at random. Just a week of so previously I reached the road from one of my arrays to see the horses thundering past me. I had waited for them to pass, like a car waiting for a green light, and they shifted to the far side of the road as they went by, the adults eyeballing me the entire time. It was a pity I stopped bringing my camera out with me.

By mid-morning I was over halfway done with my work and on my way up the long hill to my truck. One nice thing about working on the same site, visiting the same traps every day, I quickly made a distinct trail to the traps, which makes it easy to find them. It frees me to think on other matters, because after awhile, my body can follow those trails on autopilot. Which is why I noticed the coot sitting on the ground, not two feet from where my trail entered a small clearing.

This wasn't the same site I had my first meeting on, but it was still miles from any body of water big enough to suit a coot. I was standing next to the coot by this point, regarding it silently (which is unusual in itself, since I typically maintained a running commentary for my and the Ghost of the Forest's amusement). The coot likewise watched me, but made no attempt to bolt. I wondered if it was injured, as I suspected the last one was, and what I might do if it was. Would a veterinarian help a wild bird, if they even could, and was there even one anywhere nearby? The nearest animal shelter was over 60 miles away. Could I even get a coot in my truck and drive it there, assuming I knew where to go? The last thing I needed was a truck where the interior was filled with bird crap. I'd never hear the end of it from the higher-ups.

Deciding this was a pointless line of inquiry until I knew if it was hurt or not, I decided to pick it up. The last one hadn't reacted violently to my presence, even when I poked it with the blunt end of the hand rake, and I was wearing gloves, so I figured I'd be alright. I leaned over, placed hands on either side of the bird, and lifted it slowly. The bird shifted a little, but made no move to escape or attack. It did, however, stick one leg out straight, and I noticed something wrapped around it.

At first glance, I suspected it was an identification band. Those are fairly common, conservationists catching birds, banding them, and letting them go. Someone catches the bird (or finds its remains) and contacts the appropriate agency to tell them they found a bird with a particular I.D. band at this location. Then you have some idea how far they're traveling, and when. That'd be cool, and I'd be helping some biologist with their work. I wasn't sure how to get the band without the coot escaping. The best I could do was to kneel and set the bird down, but hold it against my leg with one hand. It wound up being moot, as the coot still didn't try to flee, instead keeping that leg extended. I noticed that for a bird band, this was pretty ratty looking. Not to mention cloth isn't a material used for bands, and it was held on with a loose knot.

OK, so a note? Who would use a coot to send a note? One of my professors used to call coots 'the apex of avian evolution', but that was joke. They're ungainly birds, not fast or nimble, not even able to get seriously airborne without a long takeoff. Also not believed to possess any unusual intelligence. If you needed to get messages across water they might work, but there are any number of other birds that would be better. Well, maybe it's the equivalent of a dog tag, I reasoned, though someone keeping a coot as a pet didn't make much sense to me. Still, with no better ideas, I removed the piece of cloth and read what was scrawled across it.

"'The Lady in Orange moves,'" I read. "What does that mean?", as I looked at the coot for answers.

The coot decided it'd had enough. It shot out of my grip faster than I would have imagined possible and flew away. Not far, just around the side of the hill and out of sight, but definitely away from me. I debated following it. What could it tell me? Nothing. It's a bird. Well, it can't speak, another part of me argued, but I could see where it went. I decided to go look. What could it hurt? It wasn't as though I was pressed for time. But I'd dithered too long. By the time I made it around the hill, there was no sign of the coot. No sign of anything moving, in fact. Even for a cool fall morning, it was strangely quiet. Even the distant baying from hounds practicing their tracking was absent.

With no further ideas, I pocketed the piece of cloth and resumed my march up the hill. The coot being right there next to my trail seemed an odd coincidence, especially having met one earlier in the year. But maybe that's all it was. I've read humans are predisposed to read patterns into what are essentially random occurrences, and I was certainly doing that. I guessed if there was anything more to it, I'd find out eventually.

"You'd tell me if something was up, right?" I asked the Ghost. There was no obvious reply, but there never is.