There was more snow than I expected up in the Raven River country.

I’d seen in the forecast that flurries were going to happen but from the looks of all that white, they had flurried pretty ferociously.

Not that it wasn’t pretty. No, it absolutely was. And, as the mantra goes, we need the moisture. It just, I dunno, caught me by surprise.

I’d hit the first dusting of it in the pothole country just north of the city. There was barely enough to whiten the grass and stick to the leaves and it was already melting as I drove along, making the roads sloppy. But snow wasn’t the only thing that was white up that way.

I’d actually chosen to come this way in hopes of seeing a moose. And I did, a long ways off on the far side of a pond. But it was what was in front of the moose that really caught my eye.

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There was a dozen or more trumpeter swans paddling around, family groups of parents and their grey-plumed babies. Among them were mallards and wigeons, even a couple of teal.

I love these guys and their booming voices. They were a distance away but I could hear their sirynxal sounds even over the omnipresent roar of overhead planes and farm equipment. Through my long lens I could see a group of them bobbing their heads and turning to look down the open water, a sure sign they were about to take off. Usually, I miss shots like that. This time I was ready.

Honking away, they flapped and ran across the water until they had enough speed to lift off. In the air they arced away to the south and behind a hill.

Only to fly directly over my head as I........

© Calgary Herald