It’s the same every spring–ski season ends, allergy season begins, and the ospreys show up along with our human snowbirds from wherever they spend their winters. Laika the space dog, my woo, and I spotted our first ones yesterday and again today. They were working the orographic lift created by the wind against the highway embankment along the Lake Pend Oreille shore at the north end of the Long Bridge. They repeatedly searched a half mile of shallow water from thirty feet altitude, their rakish wings barely working in the stiff breeze. Osprey are my favorite bird, the only honest fishermen I know. They only eat what they catch, and it’s fresh, usually delivered to the nest still flopping. Eagles won’t fish if they can steal; gulls won’t steal if they can scavenge. Both were flying with the ospreys today, and both were disappointed–the osprey caught nothing.