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“I tried to comfort her, ah, but she would not be still and how the rain did fall as I found my way back down the Redwood Hill,” – Gordon Lightfoot

It was in the very early morning hours when I slipped outside the back door to the yard to look at the “blood moon” – a full lunar eclipse which casts the moon’s face in a rusty red tint. Just a couple steps out there, I was disappointed to see the moon shrouded in a thick white woolen sock’s worth of clouds. It was only visible in an opaque fashion.

Clearly, this was not the grand event I had hoped for with a big, fiery blood moon shining above my head in the night sky – big and bright. I could see that the lunar eclipse had begun with a dark shadow covering the bottom portion of the moon’s face, as though I might be looking through the lens of my spotting scope with my left thumb partially blocking the circular view.

I went back in the house. I returned about a half-hour later to find the same disappointing cloudy conditions, though the moon was now more advanced in moving through its eclipse sequence. The night was quiet, other than the sound of a vehicle somewhere off in the distance with its backup alarm beeping. For me, that persistent noise contributed to diminishing my experience.

Or so I thought.

In less than a heartbeat, my bad luck on the night changed for the better. A northern saw-whet owl started singing from the trees where the thickest of the darkness pooled in the back corner of the yard. The owl was mistaking the sound of that distant vehicle’s backup alarm for a rival somewhere out there in the darkness. It had begun to sing back.

Saw-whet owls are named for the calls they make at their nests that have been described as similar to someone drawing a knife back across a whetstone. But their songs, which they use for marking territory and attracting mates, sound very much the same as a vehicle backup alarm if it were whistled.

This was a fantastic development.

I temporarily forgot about the disappointing moon and focused on the owl. bAs the bird continued to sing, a great horned owl joined the song from farther back in the trees on the other side of the yard. The much larger great horned owl hooted with its much deeper voice.

I wondered if a barred owl, which is a medium sized dark-eyed owl known for its “who cooks for you, who cooks for you all” singing pattern might soon pipe up from the dark woods.

It never did, but I was delighted to hear the other two birds in prime voice.

Meanwhile, for me, the blood moon never did turn out to be the memorable event I’d envisioned.

The next day, I saw beautiful blood moon photos posted across the Internet as I knew I would. One such image was posted from Whitefish Point in the eastern Upper Peninsula.

Owl researchers at the bird installation there said it had been a perfect night to begin spring owl banding efforts. On the night of the blood moon, they captured and put identification bands on the legs of 20 northern saw-whet owls.

The birds had begun their seasonal movements north. For a few nights afterward, I returned to the backyard listening and whistling for the saw-whet owl I had heard, but I had no luck. Perhaps the bird I had heard was just passing through on its way north too.

Now bitten by the bug of springtime, I made it a point to hit the road looking for signs of spring a couple of days before the equinox marking the season’s first day. Zipping along on the highway, I noticed that many of the streams I crossed were still covered in snow and ice. Others, however, had been split open wide with the aid of waters swelled by recent snowmelt.

These mostly larger rivers also exhibited fast water conditions aiding in their ability to displace snow and ice from covering their rapids, riffles and waterfalls. In some places, even the slow waters were open. Canada geese stood on the edges of these waters puffed up and standing tall, presumably already defending nesting territories.

Others are tipped over with their heads underwater, beaks snapping and grabbing for submerged vegetation to eat. Though I have been known to curse their honking V-shaped flights as they float overhead like bomber squadrons heading south in the fall, the geese are seemingly always a welcome sign in spring. At one place, I saw five bald eagles sitting on the ice. Presumably, there was food around there somewhere. Maybe a dead deer. I have heard reports of robin, sandhill crane and other spring migrant arrivals, but I have not seen or heard any of these species yet myself.

I turned off onto a dirt road to look for some quieter places away from the highway to ingest some clean, crisp aspects of the natural world. I needed to breathe some fresh air and let it lift my spirits off the ground. The normally firm, graveled road where I had seen moose tracks and a beautiful coyote just a few weeks ago, was now mostly covered in thick black mud that tried to grab and redirect the tires of my Jeep, pulling me toward the edge of the road. I drove on slowly with the mud spattering up against the wheel wells of the vehicle.

There were no moose tracks to see today, nor did I see the coyote or any other wildlife. However, I did find the fresh air, some wonderful silence and the peace was profound. I stood alongside the dirt road where a small creek ran through a culvert. There was no open water, but the scene was still pleasant. A few miles away, I let the image of bluish-green ice covering a small pond sink in as I sensed winter, though still present in many ways, was loosening its grip.

The farther I traveled north and west the more open water I discovered. At one bridge, I noticed a creek bubbling and babbling as it tumbled smoothly over boulders and cobbles. At another, the sound of the cascading waters from an excitedly flowing river were so loud, the white noise temporarily deafened me. These sights and sounds had awakened my spirit from its wintertime slumber, which I realized now was more pronounced than I had been aware of. I was focused in the moments I encountered, trying to shift my mind away from the turmoil and tumult of present society and governments and the execution of truth, reverence and respectability.

Pull the rope, hear the trap door flip open and the dead weight drop. Crows overhead are cawing loudly as they dip and turn in flight.

At a bridge over some old railroad tracks, I stood as an old engine chugged past beneath me. I lifted my camera and took a few shots. Headlights greeted me along the road home as the sun sunk behind the trees. I watched the edges of fields to see numerous deer grouped in twos or threes, nibbling at what was left of last autumn’s offerings.

Lots of bare ground now in a lot of places, thanks to recent sunshiny and warm, windy days that melted and evaporated the snow.

It won’t be long before the early blooming flowers paint the low-lying areas across this slowly awakening landscape. Spring will spring. Count me in. Soon I will be able to climb safely, with the ice and snow gone to some of the overlooks and airy high spots I enjoy, to have a look around. A week or so ago, we were already treated to an early season thunderstorm. The loud banging rocked the nighttime, and the orange-blue crackling of lightning lit up the sky.

I am heartened to know that there will be more of this in the days ahead, the sound of hard rains cleaning and greening the earth will be all around us.

I can almost already smell the spring wildflowers. In my mind, my heart is soaring, smoothly gliding over green grass dappled with pinks, purples, blues and yellows – the blooms of spring. My spirit is now somewhere winging north with the martins, the swifts, the nighthawks and the warblers. We seek to avoid storms that would have us blown off course or cast into the seas.

Determined to reach our destination, we will continue to fly at night, aided by the light of the bloodless moon, floating in daylight on the warming winds. One day soon, I hope to pop up bright and singing atop an old fence rail – soaking in the sunshine, resting all my bones.

Ready for another season.

Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan’s world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.