Turnaround day

We made it! The shortest day of the year has arrived, and will soon be past. By Sunday, sunset here on the 50th parallel will be one whole minute later, at 4:22 PM.

These little minutes matter, the farther north (or south) you go. In Bella Coola (52°N), where I used to live, sunset today was at 4:16; they got 7 hours, 40 minutes of daylight. Up at the top of the Yukon (64°N), the sun didn't come up at all, and won't until the 28th of this month.

Here's a pair of mallards relishing the warm sunlight.

The male's purple head colouring may depend on the angle of the light.

Happy Solstice!

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¡Por fin! Ya llegó el dia más corto del año, y ya mañana habrá pasado. Para el domingo, aquí en el paralelo 50°N, el sol se pondrá un minuto completo más tarde, a las 4:22. 

Estos minutitos tienen su importancia, especialmente entre más nos acercamos a las regiones polares. En Bella Coola (52°N), donde antes vivía, el sol se puso hoy a las 4:16, dándoles 7 horas, 40 minutos de luz de dia. En el pueblo más norteño del Yukon (64°N), el sol ni siquiera apareció; no subirá hasta el dia 28 de este mes.

Foto: una pareja de patos ánade real disfrutando del calor del sol. El color morado de las plumas de la cabeza del macho probablemente depende del ángulo de la luz; el color usual es un verde intenso.

¡Feliz dia del Solsticio!

The cormorants

On a pair of rocks near the shore at the 50th parallel, a small flock of double-crested cormorants perches every day, whatever the weather. This Tuesday morning, the flock had doubled in size, and a couple had to make do with a smaller rock, just a stone's throw off the beach. I walked down, taking a couple of photos, a couple of steps, a couple of photos, a couple of careful steps ... I was quite close before they started to worry.

"Okay, that's close enough!"

And they're off.

From the street, where I see the cormorants daily as I pass by, they all look a dull crow black, but from the edge of the water, and with the sun shining, suddenly some of them acquire beautiful colours, shining purple and green.

Two are smaller, more brightly coloured, and have black faces and dark bills. Visiting Pelagics, over from Mitlenatch Island?

The double-crested cormorants have no crests at the moment. In breeding season (surely soon now?) they will develop two tufted clumps of feathers on their heads.

Then a raven said, "Wow!"

I was running errands; groceries, hardware, and a last, quick stop at the beach to collect driftwood for a cat tower. I had loaded the car and was just about to leave.

But then, a raven said, "Wow!" It was a clear "Wow", but louder and hoarser than most humans can manage. I grabbed the pocket camera and went to see what was going on.

Down on the beach, a half-dozen ravens were visiting, parents with their youngsters. Hungry youngsters, according to the older of the two.

"Mommy, I'm starving!"

The adults weren't paying attention to him. As he called and called and called, they kept moving farther down the beach, talking among themselves occasionally. He would follow and keep on complaining. They moved on.

"What did I do to deserve this?"

Another chick, still downy about the head, was quieter, but wasn't getting fed either.

The other juvenile was identical to his elders, but slightly smaller. This one was the smallest of the bunch, with a soft hairdo, and wearing newer shoes.

I never thought I would say this about a raven, but isn't he cute?

Adult, giving me the evil eye. Time to make myself scarce.

None of the ravens repeated the "Wow!" nor any other human word. They had plenty to say, however, in grunts and croaks and gratings and gargles, along with the screechy cries of the begging teen.

Shifting shapes

The many shapes of intertidal beasties.

Long and twisty:

Long-armed brittle star, Amphiodia occidentalis. Aka snaky-armed brittle star. Disturbed in sand or mud, they stretch out and twist out of sight, gone in seconds. In my hand, they curl and twist into a knot. This one hadn't decided whether to go left or right.

Tubeworms, hiding from the light.

Saddleback gunnel. Accompanied by another of those kelp crabs with a sea lettuce hat.

Round and spiky:

Green sea urchin, Strongylocentrotus droebachiensis. (That name's a bit of a tongue-twister, isn't it?) Topside. Those spines are in constant motion.

When I was a kid, someone told me that sea urchins were good to eat. You just broke one in half, and ate it, raw, on the half-test. With a spoon.

I had to try it. I brought home a green sea urchin from the beach, cracked it down the middle, and tasted it. Not bad. I took another bite, and another. And while I spooned out that first half, the second half walked itself across the counter and dropped to the floor.

That did it. I apologized to the urchin and returned it to the beach. I never ate another.

Sea urchin underside, showing the mouth.

Mouth open, showing off his five teeth.

Blobby shape-shifters:

Pink-tipped green anemone, Anthopleura elegantissima, half-way between the ball form and the flower shape.

Compact and round:

Probably a stubby isopod, Gnorimosphaeroma oregonensis. Also a shape-shifter; they curl up into a ball and roll away when I touch them.

All of these were in the mid-tidal zone, 50th parallel north.

Oh, those eyebrows!

Gunnels are panicky fish. When I turn over their rocky roof, they flip and twist and flip some more, squirming and twisting until they find a hiding place. But no crack is deep enough; my shadow moves, and they fly into a new frenzy, splashing and stirring sludge, making a slurry dense enough to disappear into. They hope.

No wonder herons stand so perfectly still for so long!

This big saddleback gunnel couldn't find a good spot.

Saddleback gunnel, Pholis ornata. Unless he's a Crescent gunnel, P. laeta. They're almost identical.

The pattern along the spine is either saddles or crescents, but which? Both saddlebacks and crescentbacks may have the line from the eye down to the chin, and the pretty orange pectoral fins. They live on the same beaches, sometimes sharing a rocky hideout.

"You can't see me; I'm under a shiny spot on the water."

The shiny spot proved useless; now he's hiding under a black prickleback. The tail looks like a leaf.

And look at those eyes!

Dotted line eyebrows. And from this angle, the clear jelly part of the eye is a brilliant orange.

I took a couple of photos of the black prickleback, and carefully rebuilt the roof of their hideout. The tide came in and covered them. They live to panic another day.

50th parallel, again.

Bathed mud crawlers

I keep finding chitons. Under rocks, in tidepools, on soggy mud, under blackish algae, there they are, not moving, almost invisible, looking like oval mud patches surrounded by shreds of algae. When I've seen one in a sludgy pool, there are sure to be more, sometimes in plain sight, although I hadn't seen them.

Years ago, on Stories Beach, Laurie and I found a lined chiton. Easy to see, away from its favourite red algae, and a fast crawler besides. Easy to identify.

Lined chiton, Tonicella lineata, 2010

This year's finds are more challenging. Most of my photos have turned out like blurry blobs of mud. But I caught two chitons on the underside of rocks, lifted them into the sunlight, and poured water over them until the mud washed away. And then it turns out that they are as beautiful in their own way as their showier kin.

Mossy chiton, Mopalia muscosa.

The outside rim, called a girdle, spiky and hairy as it is, is a mud catcher. And the eight plates covering the centre come in variable colours, from grey to brown to green.

Zooming in to see the pattern of the plates. The head end is to the left and the plates overlap each other, going from head to tail.

Brown and yellow, with a couple of decorative accents, red algae.

Zooming in on the head. 

These chitons are night crawlers. In daylight, they sleep. Even disturbed by a rude rock flipper, and given a good bath, these two barely moved. The first one lifted an edge, then flattened itself more tightly to the rock; that was enough exercise for the moment.

These two were on the 50th parallel.

Wrinkly, puffy skin. Purple

I don't know why I took this photo of a sea star. She was in an awkward spot, wedged into a crack I could barely reach, and I was sure to find more, I thought. (I didn't; the tide caught me delving under stones and I had to rush away.)

I almost tossed the photo, but then I looked at it more closely.

Pisaster ochraceus. The arms are as usual; hard, knobbly skin. But around the central portion, the skin is puffy and either lined or ridged. (It helps to click for the full size photo.)

Zooming in on the original. I think those are curly ridges.

I'd never noticed skin like this on a sea star before. I looked up a bunch of my old photos; none of them are puffy. On the web, I found one with the wrinkles, a close-up of the skin taken in 2011. By the accompanying photos, I think it was somewhere on the Washington-BC coastline; the photographer doesn't say.

Now I find that I must head out again next low tide, carrying a hand lens to examine every sea star I can find.

By the way, while you're here, notice the unusual green wrists of the purple shore crab nestled beside the star.

(I've decided that I should really be recording the exact location of the intertidal critters I photograph; from one beach to the next, the communities are so different. This was taken almost exactly on the 50th parallel north.)

5:09 PM

It gets dark early these days, here at the 50th parallel north. Driving home this afternoon, I had to stop near Oyster Bay to look at the moon. It was only a few minutes after 5 o'clock. Sunset was at 4:27 PM.

Taken with the little pocket Sony, using the car as tripod.

The hints of pink at the top of the hills are snowy mountain peaks on the mainland, lit by a full moon.