Recently, I decided to go on a migration-seeking adventure. It’s that time of year when waterfowl (and many other birds) are on the move, heading for northern nesting sites.
I live in Minnesota, near the Mississippi Flyway—one of four major bird migration routes in the U.S. It is a bird superhighway. Migration of many types of birds—waterfowl, hawks, some songbirds—is going on this month. I wanted to check out duck and goose action. I read about 40% of North American waterfowl use the Mississippi Flyway. That’s amazing!
I left around 5:15 a.m. I had almost an hour to drive and wanted to arrive at least ½ hour before sunrise. I love being on the road early in the morning, before the sun comes up. No matter the reason or destination, I always get a little thrill. I think it’s because the world is so quiet in the early hours, and I get to watch it wake up.
I was headed for the Mississippi River flats where the Mississippi and St. Croix converge, near Hastings, Minnesota. It’s known to be a key spot for migration. I wanted to arrive before sunrise, since that’s when waterfowl are often active.
About half a mile from my destination, directions told me to turn onto County Road 66. That’s the year I was born (1966). I’m not superstitious, but I took it as a good sign.
The location turned out to be a state aquatic management area—but there was no water. It looked like a floodplain, but I was looking for water, so I moved on.
Second Destination and a Beautiful Bridge
My new destination was 20 minutes away, and it was already 6:15. Sunrise was at 6:45, so I wasn’t going to get there as early as I’d hoped. But my nature-seeking adventures often go awry and end with surprises, so I wasn’t judging the situation before it was over.
We humans do that, don’t we? I call it prejudging. We judge a situation before it is finished, sometimes before it even begins, and our summation is not always accurate. Silly, really.
I drove into a town called Vermillion. I had no idea it existed; I only know of Lake Vermilion up north. Vermillion was a little farm town with a giant flag flying in the center. I drove through it in less than a minute. The sky had a smattering of pink clouds on the eastern horizon. The sun was getting ready to rise.
When I crossed the Vermillion River, I looked to the right. In the dim light, I saw two large forms floating on the water—probably geese. Hope stirred.
Getting closer, I turned onto Great River Road. As much as I liked the symbolism of being on a road named after my birth year, Great River Road sounded more promising. I was in Hastings—larger than Vermillion and, as far as I could remember, a town I’d never spent time in. I crossed the Mississippi on a beautiful arched bridge that was lit up on both sides. I love bridges!
I’m always marveling at what God has made. Nature is amazing! But occasionally, I give a nod to humans too. Like I said, I love bridges. I also appreciate architecture. Cityscapes. Stone walls. There are many wonderful human-made structures. Still, I don’t love any of it like I love nature. That’s my favorite creation of all.
I arrived at Point Douglas Park just minutes before sunrise. The river was wild and wide before me, but I didn’t see any wildlife. Then I looked up—an eagle soared overhead. And then another.
I stayed a bit, but the area didn’t seem like prime waterfowl habitat. So, I moved on. My dreams of finding a good spot to watch waterfowl an hour before sunrise were dashed, but not my resolve. I decided to try another spot—someplace near Rebecca Lake.
A Note About Waterfowl Migration
I interrupt this blog to share some information about waterfowl migration. They often migrate at night. Yes, I was aware of this before I set out on my early morning adventure, but I was after migrating waterfowl, not waterfowl in flight. I’ve seen a wetland or lake filled with ducks, geese, or swans in the early morning when they hadn’t been there the night before.
Obviously, they flew in at night. This was something I was hoping to find on my early morning outing. An area teeming with ducks. I didn’t feel the need to see them flying. I just wanted to see them. Anywhere.
Moving on to Rebecca Lake and Stepping into Mud Boots
Just before I left, I looked out the car window and saw a pair of ducks flying. Then some hawks. Then songbirds. And more ducks high in the sky. I took one last look at the great river and saw birds soaring high above. I watched a large hawk soaring… followed by another. Busy morning in the sky.
As I turned onto Great River Road again, groups of ducks and geese flew overhead. Dark gray clouds loomed. I arrived at Rebecca Lake Park at 7 a.m. Dense hardwoods and closer to the river, I decided to drive around before finding an area for hiking.
I saw a bird skimming the water. I slowed down and realized it was a heron. Then I spotted some geese floating and decided to take a walk.
I looked in the back of my car and found mud boots. I was grateful since I wanted to walk off the path through squishy, soupy terrain near the backwaters. Yeah—that is where you find things, in the wet and undeveloped places. Paved paths are for people. Muddy, marshy spots are for ducks and geese.
My walk did not disappoint. I saw plenty of ducks, geese, and other birds. I did not, however, see any areas that were “teeming” with waterfowl. I decided to head north, closer to home.
An Unexpected Gem: Minnesota Valley National Wildlife Refuge
My priority before leaving the area was gas for the car and food for me. Breakfast on the road. After gassing my car and filling my belly, I drove along the river toward St. Paul, Minnesota.
I drove near the airport and saw something I had seen before. It was a sign for the Minnesota Valley National Wildlife Refuge. I had never stopped, so I decided it was time. I pulled in. Right away, I saw two birders with binoculars in the parking lot. Songbirds everywhere. Juncos flitting about.
There were a few paths I could take into the river valley. I chose a trail toward the water. It sloped down toward a quiet backwater. A perfect habitat. Just what I’d been looking for all morning.
Birdsong surrounded me—some familiar, some not. I paused often to listen and watch. I saw a red-winged blackbird, some juncos, a woodpecker, and a lot of song sparrows.
The trail opened to a beautiful river surrounded by wetlands.
I watched a hawk soar just above the water, dipping and pulling up over and over. It was fascinating. I enjoyed a song sparrow on some low branches. It didn’t seem too bothered by my presence, so I stood and watched it for a while. It sang me a sweet tune as it flitted from branch to branch.
Yes, there were ducks. I saw many mallards and a pair of buffleheads, which was a treat. I thought they were a bit later during waterfowl migration, but either I was wrong or the pair I saw were early. Whatever the case, they were lovely.
The refuge wasn’t only for the birds I saw, it was for me. I found myself enveloped in a peace and state of calm that seeped deep into my soul. Sounds a bit dramatic, I know, but it really was a lovely place. I don’t know why I’d never stopped there before. I do know I will go back.
What started out as a serious waterfowl-seeking adventure turned into much more. Nature doesn’t always give me what I ask for, but it often gives me what I need.
I guess I needed variety.
And surprises.
And peace.
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