We enjoyed another bird-spotting day in the ravine this morning. An extremely cold morning, as it happened, at 5C when we entered the woods. Cold enough that we could feel the icy fingers of winter reaching into our fall jackets, reminding us, as though we need reminders, that much colder weather is on its way.

There was enough wind to clack the topmasts of the trees in the forest canopy. But that sound was as nothing in comparison to that of the high, sharp decibels put forth by bluejays. When my husband was out earlier in the backyard before we left for our morning's ravine circuit, a bluejay was poking about in the cedar hedge at the back fence. They're larger, more colourful, and louder than we often give them credit for.

Although we saw them frequently when we lived in Toronto, we see them less so in the Ottawa Valley. They're around conspicuously in the spring and the fall. And since we're now into fall, their presence in the forest is audible, and we love to hear them. Their sharp, loud cries tempered by the muted calls of nuthatches' little 'duckie' calls as they accompany small flocks of chickadees.

Just as we were approaching the first bridge to ascend a rise I looked to my right as I often do, down into the creek. I often do that because in the 'you never know' tradition of anticipation, I often think there might be something interesting coursing by. A Great Blue Heron, perhaps. And there it was, surprising us with its presence, when we see them more frequently only in the spring.

And this spring they had exhausted the supply of fish in the creek. So we wondered what they could possibly be existing on, now? This fellow was impressively large, as these birds tend to be. And he appeared to us to be much more grey in colouration than blue. He seemed unperturbed at our presence for the first few minutes, then he majestically spread his wings and rose swiftly with no seeming effort at all, suddenly graceful from his original awkward-looking appearance.

The bird didn't go far, and I followed alongside the bank, hoping to be able to photograph it, but as luck would have it, too many shrubs and trees formed a screen, so that while I was able to see parts of the bird as it moved steadily along skimming the water, I was unable to snap it for a decent picture. And then once again it rose into the air, turned in the opposite direction and flew off into the forest.

It's incredibly exciting to witness firsthand and close at hand, any of nature's wild creatures, and it certainly gave us a lift to be able to do so once again. Given our disappointment at the disappearance of the fish we were happy to see repopulating the creek, and that these birds are responsible for their absence, we have to acknowledge the imperative of nature's life-cycle and chain of predation.

It is precisely, though not exclusively tied to, events like this that keeps us wondering what next we'll see on our daily peregrinations through the forest trails. Jackie and Jillie didn't really react to the presence of the large bird. They're not accustomed to seeing animals other than dogs in the creek, and it's mostly the presence of other dogs they react to. In all likelihood they weren't even aware of its presence.

So, on we continued, looking out for unusual appearances of fungi, and concluding that all the different types we had come across in the past few days have somehow receded, shrinking back because of the cold temperatures the last few days, and the sun's return after a week of milder temperatures and overcast skies following hard on days without end of rain events.

An hour, hour-and-a-half goes quickly while we're in the forest. We move steadily onward, but at a relaxed pace, where once we moved at a fast-paced clip. Jackie and Jillie are fine with that, they have no end of good sniffing opportunities afforded them that we're happy to indulge them with, a pause here, another pause there, as we make the most of this daily exposure to nature's fundamental precincts.