Close Encounter on the Crooked River

Arriving at the end of a long, dry summers day in Eastern Oregon, we pulled into Smith Rock State

Park. The excitement of seeing the towering faces of the stunning rock formations that tower over
fields and desert scrubland never dwindles with repeated visits. However, on this occasion we were
more interested in setting up camp and jumping into the cool river waters than in admiring the views.
As it turned out, the water was only cool in comparison with the air - still heavy even with the sun
close on the horizon, and thick with the heady scent of baking sagebrush.

As we relaxed in the lukewarm pools, the sound of crickets loud about the canyon floor, we watched in wonder as the sunlight was chased by gathering shadows, up the many colored spires rising overhead. The glowing crimsons, and shining yellow-gold of the rock formations was reflected in the ripples of the lazy rapids of the aptly named Crooked River, and the bushes rustled with the furtive scuffling of unseen wildlife.

As the last of the light was fading I prepared to leave the luxury of the river’s water, when sailing in from up river came the elegant form of a GBH (Great Blue Heron). It landed startling close, and proceeded to catch its evening meal regardless of my silent presence. I was loathe to disturb the tranquility of the scene, and so a lay still and quiet in the water with my camera, which I had thankfully placed at arms reach on the bank.

So the hours passed, me floating there half submerged, he patiently fishing the placid waters.
Warm though the air was, I was growing chilled, yet I still could not bring myself to leave.
Only when the first stars began to emerge, and the night wind commenced its susurration in brittle
summer grasses, did I stir and draw slowly from thewater to leave my feathered companion in peace.

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This post was written in one hour for the #NatureWritingChallenge