Winding down, IRFD 2015

This year's International Rock Flipping Day was quiet. While there was a good response before the actual day, few people reported in with findings, and Googling only turned up one other entry. Maybe people had the same problem finding good rocks as I had.

But we did find a few real gems!

First, did you know that we humans aren't the only ones flipping rocks? Anna, of The BlennyWatcher Blog, let goatfish do all the work for her, and just sat back and took video footage. Go see.

On the IRFD Facebook page, the first post showed a slug and a pupal case. (I think that's a moth inside.)

And Slow: Children at Nature Play went out with two kids and found a Dunn's salamander, and other critters. "So much fun!", she says.

The salamander. From the IRFD Facebook page.

In the comments on the Celebrate Science IRFD post, Dana Rau posted a Rock Flipping Day poem.

I lift your heavy door 

to find

busy you

on your way from

one side of your space

to the other. 

The surprising sunlight

curls you into

a spiral

to protect all those legs

and underparts. 

Between fight and flight

you choose

freeze

and hope

someone remembers

to shut the door

so you can get on

with your interrupted

business.

And that's about it. I found the beetle, and the ants and spider. And later on, down at the shore, I turned over a stone and crabs scuttled quickly out of sight. Except for one brave little guy; he was ready to take me on, defending his territory.

"Back off!"

"And I don't care how big you are, either!"

I think, unless there is a public outcry, this will be the last year I host the IRFD. If anyone is interested in taking it up, I'll be glad to participate, of course.

Wading in liquid glass

On Boundary Bay, the tide starts its descent in low gear. The beach slopes a bit here, and the bay has widened; the water drains from a circle over a mile across. Further out, the beach is almost flat, the area much less, and the current speeds up until it runs like a river.

We caught the noonday tide last Sunday at the top of its run and waded out with it. At low tide, on calm days, the water starting inward is fairly clear, but it's already carrying bits of weed from further out, and it scours the beach as it races in; by the time it reaches shore, it can be a thick soup of blackened eelgrass fragments and other muck. But then it sits for a few minutes, the gunk settles, and, if the wind hasn't whipped up the waves, the freshly cleaned water eases on out, as transparent as melted glass.

On a day like this, you can see the individual grains of sand under ankle-deep water.

Wormholes, a snail, and dwarf eelgrass (Zostera japonica) blades.

A snail trail, undisturbed by the flowing water.

And this dwarf eelgrass stands up around our legs, instead of lying down in a mat, as we usually see it.

A thick bed of eelgrass, under about 8 inches of water. Like an old-fashioned window, settled over many decades, the water distorts the view in spots.

A worm volcano, with its poop cap.

Clamshell and wave marks from our feet.

Hurry, hurry!

We caught up to this medium-sized crab on a bare patch that would be a sandbar a bit later on. He was heading leisurely out to shelter in the larger eelgrass beds, where the sand is softer and never dries out. Quite a ways to go, but there was time enough.

Laurie was trying to keep up with him and take his photo, but he kept moving away, so I got downstream of him, and stretched out a foot to slow him down. "Aha!" he thought; "Shelter from that horrible man!" and scuttled under my foot.

I could feel him, through my shoe sole, snuggle in cozily, relaxing, then suddenly realize his mistake. He jerked back, pushing upwards against the foot (just in case I might decide to stomp him into the sand), backed out, and raised his pincers in self defence, or possibly challenge.

Assessing his options. Flight or fight? Fight first!

And when my foot stayed put, and didn't attack, he lowered his pincers and ran out to sea.

Sand and sky, with polka dots

The patterns and textures of White Rock beach at low tide:

Above the usual high tide line, fragments of driftwood slowly disintegrate.

When the wind lets up, the gentle wavelets are responsive to tiny local differences in the sand.

The five-pointed star of a dime-sized sand dollar.

Purple polka dots on the pincers of an angry crab. And drying sea lettuce.

Sharp points of a molted crab shell.

And the abdominal plate of another.

Seaweed draped over a rock, and floating in the shallow water.

Rocks, seaweed, and reflections. Looking west towards White Rock.

Rocks and empty sea. Looking east.

Critters and questions, next.

Crab or Great Horned Owl?

"Better not try anything with me, friend. I can take on you and two more; just me and my shadow!"


This afternoon, on Crescent Beach. I didn't rile him up; that was the little girl who found him first. He was mad, and ready to tackle the world by the time I pointed a camera at him.

And the beach was teeming with life; I'll be posting about it all week, once I've sorted the photos and done a bit of research.

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