Lo, The Fowl Armada

Dark clouds streamed across the sky from horizon to horizon. Dark wisps over-ran even darker ones, then were consumed in turn. A storm had passed this way, had disgorged its energy, until now all that remained was a sullen shadow. Down below cold, grey waters reflected the mood; not a ripple showing to destroy the smoke and mirror of approaching conflict. At the coast water, beat to a froth, foreshadowed what was to come. Tomorrow? The day after? Only the unforgiving foe could know for sure when the epic battle would commence.

Lo, the Fowl Armada.

Steaming ever forward with all the haste and lack of stealth of mechanized juggernaut, it would not be turned aside this day. No entreaty would assuage its relentless progress. Pausing only long enough to gather strength, the full force of the host brought together on their fearful mission. Ragtag followers, the feasters of carrion viewed the march with a morbid satisfaction from afar, unwilling to forfeit their safety of distance.

A mere twenty miles inland another army made their own preparations with the full knowledge of what they would soon face. A stillness covered the land in morning slumber. With the dawning of the day, though, a steady staccato broke through the calm. This army, one of workers wielding rivet guns set to grim work strengthening gigantic defensive siege towers. These men scaled to dizzy heights along thin beams of steel, forming them into a breastwork to withstand an onslaught, a breaching storm. Their work, born of desperation, was one of determination and hope. With the the tang and bitter sting of sweat running into each pair of eyes, the fearless acrobats labored on, well aware of the import of their work. Theirs was a second line of defense.

Just a few miles away, but back toward the coast, a first line of defense progressed at a steady pace. The drone of a helicopter beat the air as it strung cable between a long row of massive towers finished months earlier. Lengthy strings of cable alternately sagged and grew taut between the steel battlements, while spoked pulley wheels hummed under the stress and strain of weight. Here too men put aside their own fears and weariness to scale the girded towers - helicopters might be able to lift and pull, but only human hands could thread the cable, tying tower to tower in an unbreakable line.

Two armies prepared to face one another, one commanding the land, the other the sea. Blood would not be spilled on this day, though; that would be for the future. This was a day for gathering and preparing for the inevitable clash.

Seriously, though, I don't think there is too much to worry about from that Fowl Armada, they couldn't seem to make it past the whitewater and low waterfall where river meets sea. As for the army stringing wire - they are doing so between towers crossing from east of the river to west. Of course this also means those wires are also crossing the bike path (San Gabriel River Trail). As a result the path periodically closes during the day as the wire sags down low to the ground causing enough of a safety hazard that flagmen monitor either side. I suspect the stringing of wire will be going on for at least another week, if not longer, by the looks of things. Of course, if you do get stopped during your ride, it is kind of interesting. I always wondered how they did it.