Imagine running one of the great American marathons. Or, if you are in the kind of shape I am in, imagine jogging, then walking, and in the end possibly crawling to the finish line of an American marathon. Whatever your condition, by the time you reach the finish line you’d be in dire need of fluids, food and rest. Stillwater Marsh – for waterfowl and shorebirds enduring the marathon we call migration – is one such finish line. But now imagine that, after giving your all for twenty-six miles, you’re greeted at the finish by a sign that read:
SORRY. WE’RE FRESH OUT OF FLUIDS, FOOD AND REST AREAS HERE. YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO RUN ANOTHER TWENTY-SIX MILES TO ANOTHER FINISH LINE. MAYBE THEY CAN HELP YOU THERE.
David James Duncan, My Life As Told by Water, “Patching the Pacific Flyway,” p. 125.
David James Duncan is one of…
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