Wednesday

          My sleep was ended by the sound of the woodpecker singing to me.  A new low came in and I woke to a heavy snow fall.  The trip to the lake basin could wait.  I prefer to travel in nice weather partly for comfort, partly for the sake of visibility for me and my camera.

          I started to doze, nestled in my bed of soft feathers, when old Mr. Woodpecker pecked a peck full, challenging me to come on out.  I went out in underwear and booties to locate him and there he was 80 feet away providing my camera with the perfect winter portrait.  I had no way to get closer, with the deep snow and the 200mm was not enough lens to get the shot I wanted.  So I got dressed for real, put the 500mm beast on the camera, mounted the skies and headed for my trophy, who by this time had hung around de-bugging the trees for a couple of hours.  I looked, I waited, (I listened, I was ready for the shot of the year.  I looked, I waited, I listened for two more hours.  Woody had flown the coop.  Defeated, amongst the falling flakes, I retreated to the tent for some mocha and soup. 

          I heard that pecking again and went on out there to see if I could catch him on film.  Quickly, putting on my skis, I closed in on my quarry just in time to see his flashing white tail patch greet me as his undulating flight took him away through the mystical infinity of the clouded trees.  I stood silently waiting for him to resume his ritual but it seemed every time I came out he went in, somewhere.  and again I went to my tent, staying dressed, ready to charge; but, he was gone for the day.