Avian interlude

(It's crappy out there today, but 'tweren't so yesterday afternoon when I'd planned on penning this piece.)

A hazy Monday afternoon. A clear, cool breeze brushes the beach when I'm finally able to peel my arse from the office chair and step out for a post-prandial saunter. Choppy waves are bereft of pattern. The everpresent low grumble of constantly churning water strums the bass as stereophonic trebles from breaking and running waves roll from the left ear to the right.

A dozen gulls at the mouth of the creek become two hundred in a manner of minutes, small flocks diving in from points west. A small California gull coasts the rippling creek from the estuary to the breaking edge of the closest wave, flapping off just in time to return to the estuary and ride the creek out again.

A single seal glides through the narrow channel from the calm estuary to the tempestuous surf, popping up just once to make sure I'm holding to my spot on the bank.

In the estuary, six grebes are joined by a double-crested cormorant for an afternoon of quiet fishing.

An osprey flaps silently above me, his black masked eyes to the ground, heading southward into the wind.

Loud twittering killdeer frantically pace the mostly dry south slough channel.

A great blue heron knows I'm approaching before I get there. He honks away on slow, lumbering wings trusting the cows on the other side of the slough more than me.

The neighborhood northern harrier posts up high above the alders, twirling softly, soundlessly.

A pair of male mallards cruise overhead. Amateur birders everywhere applaud their bright green heads.

Least sandpipers prance and dip in the exposed muddy floor of the draining creek.

An artfully camouflaged Wilson's snipe traces the grassy edges of the south slough. His mate (her mate?) emerges briefly from a hole carved into the deep grassbed before disappearing back inside. Alas, the time has come for me to do the same.

....and I get paid for this?

Wednesday, 02Jan08, around 1pm, just before low tide:

It’s a hazy gray day. We’re waiting on a storm that should arrive later this afternoon or tonight. There’s a high, dark line of clouds that’s been hanging out at sea for most of the day, yet still hasn’t made its move toward the shoreline. The haze settled after lunch after a morning that was simply overcast. The sun tries to shine through but just can’t penetrate the silvery haze.

The ocean is loud today as the bottom of low tide approaches. It’s difficult to make out the sound of individual waves. Simply a continuous grumbling rumble. The waves are constant, moving, jumbled, anticipating their upslope return trip with the rising tide. Beyond the breaking waves, the ocean matches the silver of the sky, and Redding Rock slowly disappears behind a thin gray veil.

In the distance there’s a huge gathering of gulls at the mouth of Redwood Creek, bigger than I’ve seen in months. To say several hundred gulls is not an exaggeration. They mass on the wet, oval sandbar sitting at the mouth of the creek and on both its north and south shores. They float in the rushing channel of the creek and fly over the churning foam around Little Girl Rock and the two sisters.

On the south shore, 40 to 50 harbor seals have beached themselves. They rest on their bellies, some on their backs, and one reddish fellow leans on his left flipper like he’s waiting at the bar for his girlfriend to come back from the restroom.

They are of all sizes, male and female (and young’uns) though I don’t know how to tell apart from this distance other than relative size. Their colors range from very near white with dark spots, to cream and chocolate brown, as well as the aforementioned ruddy haired gent. They all have the same black-eyed face though, and each pair of dark eyes follow me as I saunter past, making sure I give them adequate personal space. I’m enjoying watching them and don’t want my presence to force them into the chilly rushing waters on this calm afternoon.

The estuary is all but gone. Where two weeks ago there was a placid, near circular pool of fresh water, today there is only Redwood Creek, wider than it was a fortnight ago, rushing straight to the Pacific. The path to the ocean is a broad avenue with no narrowing or tapering at its terminus. No ocean waves push their way into the channel this afternoon. The force of the creek stops the Pacific at the sand bar.

I’ve had this beach to myself on most of my walks in recent months. Today, a solitary birder has joined me here. He kneels on the sand, motionless, keenly focused, his eye pressed into a large spotting scope that almost certainly costs what would take me a couple weeks to earn. What is he looking at? I scan the horizon yet see only gulls. Perhaps he’s peering through the haze to one of the rocks, to something beyond the range of my 20 year old binoculars. Though I’d be well within the expectations of my paid duties to stroll over and chat with him, perhaps inquire as to what he’s found, I’m not willing to interrupt his afternoon simply to satisfy my curiosity.

In the south estuary, some new birds appear for me this afternoon. A black-headed bird with a dark back and striking white patch at the base of the chest, with reddish eyes and a hint of white on the bill - male ring-necked ducks - dot the calm waters. Lesser scaups, so similar to the ring-necked ducks but with a silvery-white back, plod along nearby. Buffleheads and a few coots, both of which have been here before join the throng. And, perhaps a few ruddy ducks, small diving birds with a dark head cap, buff body and grayish-buff back. (I’ll need to check on that last one.)

Hard to believe sometimes that your government pays me to wander around on the beach doing not much of nothin’. On days like this, it’s harder still to wonder why I have the gall to whine about it on occasion. As we enter a new year, I’ll try to remember this task is better than quality counting the elastic threads on a pair of BVD’s in Russell County, Kentucky, cuz it’s really not all that bad, huh?

A cold morning on the shortest day at the highest tide.

No, I'm not about to get all loopy and new age-y on you with the onset of the winter solstice. We had an 8-foot high tide set for near precisely the time I drive past the beach on the way to my white box government office. I couldn't resist the chance to pull off and spend an hour at the start of a day wandering, not working.

Yesterday was a chilly 35° at just past 8am. It's been like that a lot of these past few mornings. A handful of killdeer met me on the silver-frosted sand as I walked from the car to the shoreline. Out in front of me, a large mass of seagulls and even a couple wintering pelicans swirled over the churning Pacific. Waves were way up yesterday morning creating a wide swath of white foam along this stretch of beach. The wind, brisk and cold, poured down from the hills.

As I approached the mouth of Redwood Creek, western sandpipers (or perhaps semipalmated sp's?) dotted the surfline, scampering in and out of the running waves. The surf came up so fast however that nearly every quick dash into the receding tide was brief, before the next wave sent them all flying off to avoid being washed over by the sea.

At the creek's mouth, a couple hundred gulls massed on the mostly dry south bank. A few more floated on the incoming tide. Unlike times past where you could see the river competing on equal footing with the ocean, this morning, at this time, the ocean was winning the battle. Wave after wave pushed into the placid estuary, raising the water level with each push.

As I walked the estuary's edges, there was a constant tinkling of small waves breaking on the shoreline. One set of waves threatened to trap me on the once-narrow sand bar that separates ocean from creek. While counting seal heads, I heard water rushing in around my feet - from both sides. What was once a dry, 100-foot wide peninsula quickly became a narrow 30-foot slip of sand as the ocean poured over the top and the estuary filled up behind me like a bathtub.

Perhaps 25 harbor seals in the estuary this morning. It's funny how they all float, near motionless, watching my every move on the beach. I can hear their breathing in the quiet morning air, the huffing and puffing of their deep breaths. At least two of the larger ones appear agitated with me. From opposite ends of the large group, these two loudly blow bubbles - like a kid with a curly straw in a tall glass of chocolate milk - and flap their tails on the water. It's hard for to understand why this morning is different than any other walk I've taken on the beach, and what has their dander up, but I choose not to linger here, anxious both to warm up and to avoid annoying them too much.

Walking back to the south slough, more incoming waves filled the channel that was dry just last week. A couple great blue herons, some coots, and a couple buffleheads paddle in the back side of the estuary.

Hasta la proxima.

Discovering coots

Thursday, 08 November 2007…

For the past couple of days, I’ve been seeing large bunches of dark water birds – dark gray, chunky bodies, black heads, and obvious white bills. They’ve been all over our lagoons, estuaries, and even out in the ocean just beyond the surf line. Now if the ID is obvious to you already, don’t go minimizing my naturalist skills, cuz I do enough of that myself. I’m still learnin’ my ways around the birding thing. This morning, on the way into work, I stopped on the roadside at Freshwater Lagoon to make sure I had a good idea of the markings before consulting the bird books once again.

Scaup? No…it has the white bill, but the body is all dark vs. the white-backed scaup. Scoter? Again no, cuz the body is entirely dark, and there’s no apparent color to the bill as with the scoters. Too big really to be a duck, and none of the ducks match the description anyways. So I gave up on the books, and asked our wildlife folks. Didn’t take them long to figger out my obvious ignorance.

An American coot. How’d I overlook that one in all the books? Too painfully obvious with Mr Sibley’s nicely illustrated picture of an all dark bird with a bright white bill and a squat, round body. Now I know. And now I’m revealed to the rest of the staff as an idiot. But really, I’m ok with that.

So I learn.

After checking in at the Visitor Center (and before heading to the office to do some real work), I spent a few minutes out at the end of the boardwalk overlooking the south end of the estuary. A list of what I saw that I could identify, again, painfully obvious to those of you with proper bird credentials, and becoming more obvious to this untrained eye with 20-year old, minor league binocs:

A sizable number of Canada geese, who dashed away as soon as I appeared on their horizon,

A lone great egret, brilliant white, wading in the middle of the shallow water,

A cluster of mallards, both green-headed guys and brown mottled girls, and perhaps a couple other types of ducks that I was too far away from to make sense of, or maybe they were all mallards,

Lots of the aforementioned American coots,

A couple of great blue herons – tall, dark gray birds, white headed with a dark black streak above their eyes and bright yellow bill. One strolled the grasses along the shoreline while the other waded along the muddy shoreline before lifting off and disappearing in the haze.

Two river otters appeared near the southern edge of the estuary, slipping in and out of the water’s surface. They disappeared for a couple minutes into the grass, then re-appeared, one of them dragging a duck carcass behind him. They swam together with the carcass out to a log in the middle of the estuary. Perched atop the wet log, one munched down, pulling out long, bloody strings of duck parts for breakfast. The other cleaned himself next to his dining partner and occasionally dipped into the water for a brief swim. Very cool…wild lives in action.