Once I even spotted her fishing in the river off Black Bear Flats -- saw her dive to the water in a mighty splash, and come up with what looked to be about a 12-inch trout. But she'd dropped the fish and winged away the moment she saw me and the horses.

"Oh well." I shrugged.

Then, here she came! She wheeled in at treetop level, pumping her wings for all she was worth. She swept past her nest, angling to cross the trail. I stared, mouth agape, entranced with the illusive bird and her flight pattern. She executed a neat right-angle turn directly over the trail, about 200 feet away and sailed to bring her directly overhead.

Such airborne mastery! I was thrilled! Then she released her load.

The poor bird must have been constipated for a week! I don't know much about internal working organs of predator birds, But it all was released -- squirted would be a more proper term -- in once long blob. With my red hat bobbing unsuspectingly below.

I've seen borate bombers drop retardant on blazing wildfires with less accuracy.

Journalistic honestly compels me to tell you that was the only airborne attack suffered by my little outfit that summer, though I passed the nest many more times. Honesty all compels me to admit her -- uh -- movement over my head might have been accidental. But the result was that I lost interest in all things osprey.

As you might guess, I never did see her babies.

But that might have been because every other time I had to pass that spot after her -- uh -- accident, my head was down inside my jacket collar like a turtle's in his shell. And the red hat was wadded up and concealed beneath my shirt!

There are indeed dangerous animals out in the wilderness. And future columns might shed some light on my many encounters with those creatures: llamas spitting, horses biting, mules kicking. I'll tell it all just like it happened -- the warts, as well as those avoided encounters. Or at least I'll tell them like I remember them occurring. . . .

Like the mixed-up great horned owl that kept me awake all night hooting just outside our tent, attracted, so It seemed, by one of my tent mates' odd snoring.

 

Next week? Another walk on the wild side.