When all waterfowl look alike.

Off the south end of Crescent Beach, last week, hundreds of dark-coloured birds were making their way around the point into the bay. The sun was behind them, so we high-tailed it down the beach, trying to catch up to at least the tail end of the flock where the cameras would be able to function.

We did catch up. But did we get a good photo of them? You know we didn't.

If you click on this to see it full size, you can just (barely) see the line of flying birds, out close to the land over there.

Starting farther out, a goodly number were flying south, just above the water, mere flapping Vs against the sun.

Closer in, still in silhouette, small birds with their heads tight down against their bodies, rubber-ducky style. They seemed to be just floating, not doing anything, but the flock moved gradually southwards. Many of the ones closer to us seemed to be floating with their heads down, almost underwater. Dabbling without upending?

Closer to us were the actively diving birds. Some of these had long, curving necks, with white fronts. Some seemed to be crested. I would swear a few were loons; Laurie pointed out a surf scoter with the white patch on the back of the neck. But it was hard to tell; most were still too far to see clearly. And they wouldn't sit still. One would pop to the surface, and we would aim the cameras in its direction, and it was gone. I got several photos of circles in the water where a bird had been.

Tail end of the flock, catching up.

The most frustrating were a group of quite small, slender birds that came in quite close, wading distance. They were fishing; the only time they stayed on the surface for more than a second or two was when they were trying to swallow a small fish who had other ideas.

The fish were about 4 inches long, slender and very active. (Who wouldn't be, rudely snatched from your peaceful swim by a nasty alien wielding knives?) But they all got eaten; at least, I didn't see any get away.

Our photos, enlarged to full size, show only a smudge of white on the side, white in front, and the slender neck. Some seem to have a white keel, but many, upending to dive, did not flash white at all.

A collage of all the "best" shots, at their full size. Even Laurie's film camera didn't do better.

They don't exactly look alike: I was wrong. But I wouldn't swear to the identification of any of them. No matter; it was a beautiful afternoon, the weather was wonderful, the sunset astounding; these flocks of waterfowl were the final, perfect touch.

We had one other treat in store for us. We had come down another long set of steps to reach this beach (I didn't count this time, but the climb was comparable to the "1001 steps"), and we were hurrying to get back before dark. I was out of breath half-way up, but Laurie charged on ahead.


At the very top, while he waited for me, he did a little victory dance, heels drumming on the wooden walkway. And immediately a loud complaint, a series of screeches and squawks, arose from the top of one of the tall evergreens overhead. Nothing moved. I climbed the last few steps and we stood, looking for the source of the protest. A squirrel? No. Too loud, too raucous. But what local bird shouts like that?

I said, "He didn't like your dance," so Laurie did another good rat-a-tat-tat.

And a red-tailed hawk flew out of a tree just overhead, and headed north, hollering as he went. He must have found another perch just out of sight, because we could still hear him as we trudged up the street to the car. "Dratted humans! Just as I was settling down for a nap! Screech!"