I'd missed a few mornings at Lakeside Park with the much-needed rainfall we'd had. I returned to the lake on Monday the third of August for the photo of the black-crowned night-heron that I included at the end of my last post.
On Thursday though, the temperature was a little cooler than of late and the light breeze was just perfect.
Mallards were feeding at my feet in the shallows, painted turtles had pulled themselves out onto the dead branches poking through the surface of the water, and the kingfishers were calling out to each other a little further away, chasing whichever one of them was lucky enough to have caught a fish.
And then everything paused... there was silence.
The silhouette of a large pair of wings held at full stretch glided in from my side. The kingfishers disappeared from sight, the mallards stopped feeding, everyone was watching the predator that was coasting around the perimeter of Shoemaker Lake.
The predator was an osprey and it repeatedly circled Shoemaker Lake, occasionally stalling in mid-flight as it locked onto fish in the water.
The osprey circled around, further into the sun's rays, and I could not follow. I was doubly blinded by the sun and the reflection on the surface of Shoemaker Lake.
I'd lost the osprey and had to move position to ascertain if it had landed or simply moved on. I surveyed the far bank of the lake through my lens, looking for the tell-tale white of the osprey in the branches of the trees, but there was nothing. Just two kingbirds sitting on the sign at the bottom edge of the lake.
I was about to move further down towards Shoemaker Creek, but for some reason, I looked back to where I had been and immediately noticed something out of place.
Mixed in with the mallards, who had earlier graced me with their company, was a slightly smaller bird, its shape also looked different and I just had to backtrack to satisfy my curiosity.
I made my way back to the mallards. One group came directly over to me while the other stayed a little further out, feeding on the aquatic plants in the lake, and the misfit duck was partially hidden among that second group.
To anyone looking from a distance, this bird could easily pass for a juvenile mallard. It dabbled in the water just like the mallards, but on closer inspection, it was clear that it wasn't feeding, it was looking under the surface of the water. And then it disappeared out of sight only to reappear seconds later with a prize.
A wolf in sheep's clothing, a pied-billed grebe. A skillful hunter who was using the mallards for camouflage and protection.
The young pied-billed grebe had piqued my curiosity and it had also caught the attention of a female belted kingfisher who was watching from just a little further up on the side of the lake.
The grebe continued to mingle with the mallards and soon submerged under the water again, bobbing to the surface moments later with its second catch.
The problem then was maneuvering the fish into a headfirst direction, and down it went.
I was then distracted by the grumpy call of a white-breasted nuthatch that was working its way topsy-turvy down the trunk of a tree just off to my left.
Another distraction further to my left, and an even smaller bird. In fact, the smallest bird in Ontario and one that I had hoped I'd be able to capture some photos of this year, a ruby-throated hummingbird. It zipped from flower to flower and I struggled to keep up with my camera.
And then, just as I was starting to fear that I'd again missed my opportunity, the hummingbird took to feeding on one flower. All I had to do was hold steady and let my camera do the hard work.
The hummingbird then perched for the briefest moment.
Just before the lake was again eclipsed by the silhouette of a large pair of wings.
Another predator and another fish eater, but this time, just one of our regular great blue herons, a juvenile.
From some of the largest to the smallest bird in Ontario and I'd barely moved a muscle all morning.
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