The squeaky wheel ...

... gets the grease.

So, after my half-hopeful, half-mournful comments on the weather yesterday, it stopped raining. And the sun came out! It pays to squeak!

Laurie and I went down to the Ladner dikes to check out the birds, and maybe get some photos.

Even before we arrived, we had to stop to look at a mature eagle in a tree, then a minute later for a great blue heron on the side of the road, one who didn't mind having his photo taken; he stood there patiently, posing for us.

Two more herons at the entrance to the dike. A sparrow. A flock of sandpipers speeding across the bay, so far away that it was just a fleeting shadow. And then, nothing. Mud and logs, dried weeds and distant water.

Still, it was pleasant out there, with the sun on our backs and Mount Baker, covered with snow, sailing above the low-lying land across the bay. We walked on.

A birder carrying a camera with a humongous lens stopped to tell us about a harrier (marsh hawk) across the flats, on a dead root, too far away, she said, even for her equipment. I squinted and strained and finally saw it; a bird-shaped blob. I kept my eye on it as we walked along. Eventually, it lifted off and sailed across the flats. Flap flap flap, glide... flap flap flap, glide... I glanced away for just a half a second, looked back and it was gone. No matter how I stared at the blank marsh, I couldn't see it. Totally invisible. "That's the point," Laurie said.

We saw it again, later, on a dead branch. Again, a bird-shaped brown blob. At least this time, I was able to identify the colour. So it was a female; the males are light grey.

Half-way to Mud Bay Park, we turned back. Not before the setting sun presented me with a picture that no camera could get: Mount Baker, highlighted over a misty, grey-blue sky and hills. In front, still far away, a flock of seagulls -- hundreds of them -- streaming west , heading for wherever they settle down for the night. As they flew, the sunlight turned them into a cloud of tiny white fireflies, flickering on and off as the light caught the beating wings. Unforgettable.

On the way back to the car, in the center of a small tide pool, I saw a Northern Shoveller. They winter in this area, but this was the first I had seen close enough to identify as such. It was a male, and already sporting his white spring markings; my book, The Audubon Society Field Guide, tells me that they molt in February. So he's a bit early. Another sign of warmer temperatures?

Three more eagles on the way home. A pair in a tree, one flying.

All in all, a great afternoon. I take back yesterday's grumble.

Photos: Mud Bay, slightly south of where we were. And starlings in a tree at the entrance to the dike.

Update: Photos of the eagle and heron in a more recent post.