Ernie's Great Outdoors

 Outdoors I often seek answers in the wonders of a starry summer sky. It’s easy to do when you open the mind to the vastness of the universe and all that it holds. But as I sat on a rural mountaintop last week and watched a stunning comet hanging overhead, I was left with more questions than answers. Comet Tsuchinshan-ATLAS became visible in our evening sky about two weeks ago and has dazzled sky watchers, amateur astronomers and dreamers who share the mystic wonders found in a clear heavenly view. I was awed when realizing I was watching a tiny celestial object drifting through the night sky 44 million miles away. Hanging above was a visitor from the Oort cloud, a cluster of icy space debris far beyond our solar system. Only about 2 miles in diameter, Comet Tsuchinshan-ATLAS became visible as it neared the sun and its 18 million-mile-long ice and dust tail began to glow in the sunlight. And I was stunned when I learned that this object would journey through the heavens at 150,000 mile

Union-Tribune Outdoors  It was a glorious early fall day, and I was lost in the moment, surrounded by towering granite monoliths, scented pines and a gently flowing High Sierra creek. Eager brook trout were flashing their brilliant fall colors as they rose in the gin-clear water to grab my fly as it landed on the surface and drifted slowly away. I was lost in deep contemplation. The only sound was the whisper of the Sierra wind as it gently fluttered the leaves of the surrounding aspen trees. A thought popped into my mind. It’s the wind that allows us to smell the fragrance of the pines, and it’s the soaring eagle that lets us see the wind. A little time fishing can allow the mind to drift into such lofty thoughts. But another sound pulled me back to reality. It was different, something urgent, but not quite understandable. I realized it was my wife, muttering something. Turning toward the sound, I could see her pointing and realized she was whispering, “Ernie, bear, bear.” Turning to

 UPDATE FROM MT. HOO Many of the birds of summer have departed for winter homes, but there is still plenty of activity here at Mt. Hoo.  The hooded orioles left, right on schedule in early September, but the hummers are so happy, because now they have the feeders all to themselves.  We use the First Nature, 32-ounce Oriole Feeders because they hold a good amount of nectar and are easy to clean and maintain. The larger holes allow the orioles to use them with their larger beaks, but they are equally popular with hummingbirds. So, we keep them clean and filled, even after the orioles depart for winter homes in Mexico. We add a little extra sugar water to the mixture to give the high-energy hummers a bit more nourishment during the chilly winter months.  That mixture is one part sugar (and a just a little more) to four parts water. Make sure feeders are clean and free of mold.  During the warm fall days we will also get bees using the nectar, so there can be competition. The hummingbirds

Legendary wild horse’s presence will be missed in White Mountains The long shadows of mortality have swept across the lonely sagebrush flats of California’s White Mountains, claiming the life of a wild and elusive legend. For three decades a mustang named Campito roamed wild and free in this windswept wilderness range best known as home to the oldest living thing on Earth, the bristlecone pine. News has come from the U.S. Forest Service that this legendary mystery horse now belongs to the ages. Campito’s remains were found by a hiker and confirmed by USFS biologist Kary Schlict. According to Lisa Cox, acting public affairs officer for Inyo National Forest in Bishop, it appears the wild horse enjoyed a final summer in the meadows of the White Mountains before passing away in August. Hopefully, Campito slipped away peacefully in a soft summer meadow in this wild place he chose to live. I had the pleasure of sharing the wilderness solitude of the White Mountains with Campito several times

For a moment, I felt like I had been transported to another planet where the residents had huge eyes, colorful bodies and the ability to fly at incredible speeds or hang motionless in space. Then the water seeping into my pants pulled me back to earth. While hiking past a pond on Palomar Mountain, the bustle of colorful flying insects had caught my attention and triggered a sit-and-see adventure where I plunk myself down someplace and simply observe the natural activities around me. It was the rapid wingbeats of these insects that had captured my attention, and as I sat down to see what I might discover, a world filled with unusual creatures came into focus. It wasn’t an alien planet. I had wandered into the realm of dragonflies and damselflies, and as I sat quietly at the edge of this small mountain pond, the industry of nature resumed as if I wasn’t there. In this narrow band between dry land and an aquatic world, there was a tremendous amount of activity. At first, with childlike wo

And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul. — John Muir I realized I had stopped fishing. I had entered a paradise of natural beauty where time and purpose seemed to stop. I could only sit by the banks of the Sierra stream as the water tumbled musically over the rocks and gasp at the splendor that surrounded me. This was the first day of what would become an annual fall trip to the Eastern Sierra. It was early October, and I knew the aspen groves would be ablaze in autumn hues, but I was not prepared for what I was seeing. I had come to fish, but nature was on full display. This was one of those spectacular fall color years in the Sierra, but on many trips since some years were better than others, but none have ever been bad. Over time, my annual October fishing trips have turned into fall color visits with a little fishing tossed in. California’s Eastern Sierra is an overpowering vertical world, created by massive geological forces, grinding glaciers, torrential water

ERNIE COWAN OUTDOORS Wildlife photographer a finalist in state contest It began as a world tour for a young Scottish lad, but he only got as far as Del Dios, which is hardly an international travel destination. But in this tiny enclave, tucked away against the reedy shores of Lake Hodges, Brian Caldwell found several passions that changed his life’s direction. He left Glasgow after earning a degree in information engineering, but today, if Del Dios had one, Caldwell might be considered the local artist-in-residence for his broad talents as a nature and wildlife photographer, environmental activist and popular musician. His latest honor was notification recently that one of his bird photographs is a contender for California Wildlife Photo of the Year. This annual contest is conducted by the California Watchable Wildlife Committee, a coalition of federal and state agencies, nonprofits, destination marketing organizations and private-sector businesses. Each quarter, two or three images ar

I’ve always believed that even a rut is a road to somewhere, but never realized that a weathered old log could be a wildlife freeway. I was in a rambling mode, wandering along a nearly dry creek in a remote area near Palomar Mountain enjoying the solitude of nature when I spotted animal tracks in the sand. The tracks appeared to be headed toward an old log that had fallen across the creek, and I wondered if animals use the log to cross, especially during the rainy season when more water might be flowing down the cobblestoned ravine. Readers may recall that I often put out wildlife cameras in remote places in hopes of capturing images of our wildlife neighbors as they go about their daily or nightly tasks. It was summer now, and not much water was running in the creek, but I wondered if this would be a good place to set up the camera. My camera traps are not the simple all-in-one trail cameras often used by wildlife enthusiasts to capture the nightly antics of neighborhood critters. Whi