Distinctly Montana Magazine

D I S T I N C T LY M O N TA N A • FA L L 2 0 1 7 18 Dozens of Cormorants perched on the extinct remains of Quake Lake, adding an other-worldly dimen- sion to the wilds of Montana. ey grunted like pigs when claiming a fishing branch, eventually scanning the pools and small eddies, diving for luckless small fish which they nabbed with their yellow, hooked upper beaks. Often they ran noisily across the water, taking flight when boaters or other intruders ventured too close. e effect for me was funny and entertaining—my own private circus. e challenge for getting good photos was to let my boat drift and spin quietly with the lake's current. I studied their behaviors as I kept my distance from some of the perches. If I wanted the best of action and a reasonable time to get myself ready for a shot, I had to choose Cormo- rants that were perched lowest to the water. e cue for my readiness was their twitching and peculiar cocking of the head, their piercing blue eyes observing what might be approach- ing them in or out of the water. Slight flaps of wings as they adjusted their feet on the perch meant they were almost ready to take a plunge. ey were used to the boaters who ignored them, but not this odd kayaker with the one big eye who that was lurking among them. My boat continued to drift with the current ever so slightly, so I used my paddle to carefully correct to the right angle. Once in position to photograph a single bird, I laid my paddle on my lap and held my breath, drifting closer than I ever imagined. I hefted and steadied my 500mm lens and muttered, "go" to the obviously uneasy Cormo- rant. Usually, that command was readily heeded; but this cocky Cormorant seemed to feel unthreatened. I approached to within perhaps eight feet, much too close under ordinary circum- stances. is big bird was an exception to the rule of expected behavior. e Cor- morant was too habituated, his flight or fight instinct dulled by years of exposure to humankind. He ignored my intrusion, allowing several good shots as I continued my float. ankfully, most of the time when I was at a greater distance they leapt onto the water with a flurry of feathered enthusiasm, their speedy feet remind- ing me of that Biblical miracle of "walking on water." Time after time, I released the shutter in a flurry of frames per second. I felt like a duck hunter must feel, only these silly birds kept flying whether I "shot" them or not, repeating themselves for my amuse- ment as if I was in a funhouse arcade. e low branches came alive as the A dazzling flyfishing line in morning light Cabin after the 1959 earthquake Moose swimming Osprey's dance manouver

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