Tidal moods

It all depends on where you're standing.

I was walking eastward, following the tide as it came in on the Semiahmoo flats. And the water eased in gently, barely disturbing the sand patterns.

Rockweed and eelgrass, drifting in with the tide

Three minutes after I took this photo - three minutes! - I had reached the long breakwater from the old shingle mill. There, the waves rumbled in, splashing and rolling seaweed and small stones.

From the breakwater, looking over the border to Semiahmoo Spit.

Wave breaking over the remains of a piling. In the cut of the wave, you can see the tangle of eelgrass and sea lettuce the wave is bringing in.

At the top of the breakwater, I ducked under the railroad bridge to look at the old slough and shingle mill pilings. There the tide was running strong and fast, but so smoothly it looked static.

Six minutes later. Semiahmoo Reserve slough. Most of the eelgrass has been abandoned on the breakwater.

If you look closely, you can see several yellowlegs on the muddy island. And you may even find the killdeer, in the shadows. The high tide will cover the mud, but since the slough is the mouth of the Little Campbell River, the water is brackish. The vegetation here, and on the breakwater, is mainly Salicornia (aka pickleweed, samphire, saltwort, etc.)

A map may be helpful.

The border marker, visible in the second photo above, is somewhere under the Canada/United States label.

They had heads back then

1913. 100 years ago. BC was still new, still half empty. White Rock was a railway station and a narrow strip of summer cottages along the beach and straggling up the slopes. On the Semiahmoo Reserve lands to the east of the station, some 40 Semiahmoo natives remained on their ancestral grounds around the mouth of the Little Campbell River.

In 1908, the Blaine border crossing, a mile to the east, had been opened. The next year, 1909, the Great Northern Railway line was rerouted to follow the coastline around Semiahmoo Bay, as it does to this day. The trains ran on steam; diesel came much later.

By 1913, developers had already seen the potential of the beach, the railway, and the proximity to the US border, but growth was slow.

Indeed, officials were so keen to develop White Rock that for a brief period in 1912, property lots could be had for free with the purchase of a subscription to a British Columbia travel magazine. (Super. Natural. British Columbia)

1913 changed all that. The Campbell River Lumber Company began construction of a large shingle mill on part of the Reserve lands. By 1918, . . .

The company, with its allied shingle mills and lumber camps, has a pay roll of over 300 men, running into some $35,000 per month. The big lumber mill is fitted with the latest and most up–to–date machinery and labor–saving devices, all run by electric motive power, with steam auxiliary, and turns out timber, flooring, siding, ceiling, shiplap, mouldings and other dressed lumber with an average cut of 100,000 feet per day. This lumber is shipped in carload lots to the prairies and other eastern Canadian points, as well as to a number of places in the United States.
Three shingle mills are operated by the Campbell River Lumber Company, . . . Each of these mills turn out some thirty thousand shingles per day, averaging about 560,000 for the week, the bulk of which is shipped to Pennsylvania. (Surreyhistory.ca)

 This is where the beach walkers came in. They had heads back then.

Row of footings and boards wander along the old breakwater, heading out to deep water.

The Campbell River mill was built on the slope below the present-day Semiahmoo townsite, and on pilings over the last curves of the Little Campbell River, on the inland side of the railway line. Beyond the line, the river was dredged and bordered with a stony breakwater, creating a straight, deep channel for boats.

The river still stays within these banks, though the tide covers them twice daily.

Logs were brought in from near Cloverdale to the east, by a temporary (removed in 1929) railway line, and from Hernando Island, in Georgia Strait; these were boomed down by tug boats, and moored in the bay. A few years later, logs cut near Cultus Lake in the Fraser Valley were hauled down to Bellingham by rail, then dumped into the bay, boomed up, and tug-boated back up to Canada. (A long way around, but transportation wasn't as easy then as it is now.)

The finished product, shingles, shiplap, siding, etc., was shipped out partly by rail, from the siding directly behind the mill, and partly from the scow berth at the end of the pier.

Layout of the mill, ca. 1923. From Surreyhistory.ca.

Most of the mill site was built on piles. Only at high tide was there enough water in the river to store logs. Continuous dredging was required, and piles placed every 12 feet in the river to hold back the sand and silt. Eventually, the dam was built to hold water, and store logs to keep the supply constant. ... The 1800 foot company pier was built in 1921.

And here are today's remains of that old mill:

Old cement footings, and the pilings holding the river in place. Taken from the path beside the rail line.

I have often wondered what those blocks were, down on the flats in the mud and silt. I'm glad I thought to look up my mysterious dog walkers.

This picture was taken from the top of the hill in front of the White Rock Hotel, on Dolfin Steet, looking east. ... The picture, taken in the 1920's, shows the Campbell River Saw Mill pier. At this time buildings were allowed on the beach. (Surreyhistory.ca)

There is an excellent, clear photo of the bay, showing the pier and the river channel, here, on Flickr. (Copyrighted, so you'll have to go there to see it.)

Here's a Google maps photo taken from the Dolfin Street corner, last year:

The current pier is behind us, to the right. The old mill pier is gone, except for the barnacled bits poking out of the sand. Seen full size, the border crossing at Blaine is marked by a white spot (the Peace Arch) near the centre, at the end of the bay.

The mill closed in 1927; many of the workers moved out, leaving empty housing in the community. The mill pier was dismantled. The buildings and machinery were removed. All that remains are the pilings, and those rusting walkers out on the tide flats.

Another Google view, slightly cleaned up. This is from the Reserve, looking over the mouth of the river, where the old mill was. Some of the pilings still stand, gently rotting away.

Google again. The railroad bridge, the mouth of the river, and the flats where the log booms were moored. If you look at it full size, (click) you can see, faintly, the crowds of metal and barnacle ghosts from the old booming grounds.

Lines in the sky

At Semiahmoo beach.

Rail and contrail, with little zapped cloud.

Parasails.

A Skywatch post.

Meant to be wordless, but ...

... I talk too much.

Two weeks ago:

Glittery water in the Semiahmoo bay.

Now all the water is falling from the sky. And it's not glittery. Ah, BC!

Tracking invisible fish

On White Rock beach, it was low tide. Unfortunately, we had not started out early enough, and the water was already racing towards us as we hurried out to the edge. I was hoping to get to the starfish/geoduck/crab grounds, but they were already too deep.

We waded out as far as we could still see the bottom; it was all drifting seaweed and smooth sand. And small, racing sculpins; as we splashed along, they would burst almost from under our feet and dash away, just far enough to vanish into the sand. We walked east, towards the outlet of the Little Campbell River, laughing as we tried to see the fish before they saw us, and always failing.

In shallower water, about ankle deep, the sculpins were joined by small sand soles, maybe 2 or 3 inches long.  We could only see them when they moved. Suddenly, one would appear just ahead, skate quickly along the bottom, and disappear. I tried to follow them with a finger, and point out to Laurie the place where one just had to be, even if neither of us could see it; he would try to get a photo. Difficult, because the camera could never discover what to focus on, and because when we got near enough the fish would be up and away.

We came home with many photos of sand, one photo of sole.

Can you see it?

Cropped, with the colour muted and the contrast jacked up, it's a little clearer:

Laurie caught it just at lift-off.

The first stickleback we saw was floating in the tide, recently dead.

Repeat of yesterday's photo. Three-spine stickleback.

Laurie saw two more dead fish; I wandered around looking for live ones. I think I saw several. I think.

All three species of fish did the same thing; lie invisibly on the sand until we were close, then scoot away. I couldn't always see the shape; just a speeding grey thing gone almost as soon as I'd found it. But I could soon recognize them by their swimming style.

The sculpins swam like tadpoles; the big head followed by a curved, wagging tail. They took a twisty route, usually an inch or so above the sand. A second later, they would sink straight down, wriggling to dig themselves a hole. For a minute or so they could still be seen, but soon the sand covered them completely.

What I thought were probably the sticklebacks zipped away in a straight line, well above the bottom. I never saw any settle; they swam away out of sight.

The sand soles also swam in straight lines. But they stayed right down at the sand surface. The flat tails flip up and down, so that they made a temporary dotted line of holes, each with its tiny puff of thrown sand. Where they stopped, a cloud of sand rose into the water and drifted away. That's where I would point; not at the fish, which was instantly hidden.

We wondered about the dead sticklebacks. The one I picked up didn't seem damaged in any way; what killed it?

A Wikipedia article may offer a clue.

Marine sticklebacks live two or three years, returning to freshwater to breed once only, in the spring, before they die.

...males defend territories where they build nests on the bottom of the pond or other body of water; ... Only the males care for the eggs once they are fertilised. Parental care is intense, involving nest maintenance and fanning of the eggs to ensure a fresh water supply, even at night. Males build the nests from vegetation, sand, pebbles and other debris, adhering the material together with spiggin, a proteinaceous glue-like substance secreted from the kidneys.

These fish were near the outlet of the Little Campbell river; freshwater where they can build nests. Could it be that their care of the young is finished by now, the beginning of our summer?

A fish in the hand

Three spined stickleback.

White Rock Beach, Semiahmoo end, yesterday.

More about these and other fishes from the Little Campbell River delta, tomorrow.

Soggy sunflower

We caught the lowest tide I've seen yet this year, at -2 ft., in Semiahmoo Bay, and managed to walk almost all the way to the border marker in the channel there.

Down at the very edge, we found this sunflower sea star:

It's the first one I've seen for many, many years. They used to hang around under our dock up on Vancouver Island, and sometimes had over twenty arms and were close to a couple of feet across. We kids would tease them with ropes until they grabbed one, then we'd haul them to the surface. They always let go the instant they hit air, and sunk slowly to the bottom again. Even in the water, and not fighting us like the fish did, they were heavy.

This is a young one, with 15 arms, and about 8 inches across. (They start off with five arms and add more as they mature.)

It was still alive, but looked pretty miserable, all sagged into the eelgrass. Their bodies are so soft that they need the support of water. It wouldn't be out of the water for long, though; the tide was due to turn and the waves were a couple of steps away.

Rocky road

For the past couple of years, I have been mapping our trips to the shore, hoping to eventually walk the entire Delta shoreline. We've covered a fair amount so far; the skipped areas are usually off-limits to the public (First Nations Reserve lands, for example) or far from any possible access by car.

One spot that was easily accessible, and that we have set out intending to reach many times, was Kwomais Point, at the mouth of Semiahmoo Bay. People walk the railroad tracks around the point often, going from White Rock to Crescent Beach and back, so it was doable. Our problem is that we get down on the rocks, and get sidetracked by the life we find there.

A month ago, we finally made it to the Point. We started at the south end of Crescent Beach. The tide was high, so we were confined to a narrow stretch of shore.

Looking south, towards the Gulf Islands.

This is critter heaven:

Barnacles everywhere, an excellent variety of snails, crabs and hermits, worms of all sorts where there's a bit of sand, clams, mussels, -pod creatures galore, limpets ... And off-shore, always a few flocks of waterfowl, there for the smorgasbord. Overhead, the eagles, checking out the waterfowl.

White stripe, with green algal coating.

Even the rocks are interesting; each one tells a story of our ancient past, a story I am unfortunately unable to read. I can look at the "pictures", though, and make guesses. Many are like this one, solid grey stone with stripes and swirls of a different rock through the center, each layer meaning a new geological era. Others show odd speckles, or indented patterns. Fossils, maybe? The history of the Strait in code on our shore!

Snails and other animals jam themselves into the interstices, sometimes so tightly that I wonder how they got there, and if they'll ever get out. I couldn't move this whelk.

Laurie's typical pose on the rocks. Looking at barnacles this time.

"Can't catch me!"

Near the water line, we moved a stone and disturbed this prickleback (aka blenny). This is the way we saw him, mostly, squirming and slithering into the nearest shadow. I can't identify it as to species without seeing the head.

When he thinks he's hiding, we get a quick glance at the beautiful pattern. The tiny tail fin helps to define him as a prickleback.

The ever-hungry whelk.

Whelks were plentiful, as usual. Some shells seemed to be empty; I brought a handful home for my hermit crabs. Turned out, once they were resting in a bowl of seawater, that they already had hermit owners. The grainyhand hermits (like poor old Mo) like a shell so big that they can hide 'way back inside, where they can't be seen, even looking straight into the opening.

This shore, by the way, is home to species that don't show up on the other side of Boundary Bay, just a couple of miles away. Over there, the hermits are almost all hairy, the snails mostly the invasive Batillaria attramentaria, with a few periwinkles and Nassas, and the worms are mostly lugworms and polychaetes. Here, the snails include a variety of whelks, assorted turbans and periwinkles, and more. I've found ribbon worms in two colours, and bamboo worms. Which is why it takes us so long to walk this section.

Looking north, back towards the mainland.

We persisted, cheating a bit at the end where the rocks got just too much, scrambling up to the railroad tracks for the last few yards.

Even up there, life is bursting out. Through the thick layer of dry, gritty stone the railway spread to keep the vegetation down, large horsetails sprout, as rough-edged as the stone around them. This was a month ago; these are probably a couple of feet tall by now.

And we made it!

Walker, Kwomais Point. Looking south, to Washington State, at the mouth of Semiahmoo Bay.

We walked around the Point, to where we could see the inner end of Semiahmoo Bay, and the rocks we'd reached, walking from White Rock.  I could close the gap on my map.

We walked back on the tracks. Sometimes we're just lazy.