Failed excursion

I hadn't seen the Campbell River beaches yet this trip; I've been too busy unpacking. I finally set out this afternoon. Too late; no sooner had I reached the highway along the shore than it started to rain steadily. And I had come out without my jacket and only the pocket camera.

So I drove south, looking at beaches from the car, in the rain. Grey water, grey skies, grey stones, mist. A couple out in a skiff, not going anywhere, maybe fishing. More mist. And all along the shore there were people, ignoring the weather, out for their afternoon walk. Next time, I'll join them. Properly dressed, of course.

High tide, on a cloudy day. In June of 2010. Today, the light in the sky was still there, but barely.

Red boat on a blue-grey sea. June, 2010.

Lines in the sky

At Semiahmoo beach.

Rail and contrail, with little zapped cloud.

Parasails.

A Skywatch post.

Love on a Rocky Shore

The White Rock beach, like Boundary Bay, just around the point, is mostly flat sand, reaching far out into the bay. It's ideal for children and dogs scampering across the sand, splashing knee-deep far out into the water; I have even seen a few horses running there at low tide. But at the west end, there are rocks. This is the direction that we take, on most of our visits; there's something fascinating about just plain rocks. And myriad sea creatures find safe harbour under, beside, on top of them.

The tail end of the sand, with rock intrusions.

Looking east. Small rocks, and some very big rocks in the distance, snow-capped.

Scattered rocks on sand, Laurie poking at seaweed on the incoming tide.

Sea lettuce  and rockweed "wigs" on the rocks. The rockweed turns black as it dries.

More black rockweed.

Rockweed further from shore doesn't get baked as long; at least the winged bladders stay green.

On a dry rock, black lichen and sun-baked clam shells, the remains of gull dinners.

Blue mussels sheltered in a crevice

The tide brings welcome relief to drying seaweeds and the animals hiding beneath them.

Not a rock. A two-toned stone, with barnacles.

That's love! The rock is covered at the top of mid-tide, and the letters are carved into the stone after the seaweed and barnacles were scraped off.

Cure for cabin fever

Tsawwassen! Beach Grove! Boundary Bay! It seems ages since we were there together; not since this summer, because of Laurie's various injuries. He's getting better. This afternoon we made it back.

The weather co-operated. The rain stopped. There were even patches of blue sky, and the occasional glimmer of sunlight on a yellow-leaved tree.

We went to the Delta Potters sale, walked around, as we can't resist doing, several times, bought a few Christmas presents, and went back to the car. Laurie was still not in too much pain, so we went to our favourite lunch place in Tsawwassen town centre. I suggested, afterwards, a quick trip (only 5 more minutes driving) to Beach Grove, just to collect some water for my critters at the boat ramp, not to walk. Laurie said ok; he was tired, but he could handle it.

Beach Grove is BC's banana belt. Here it is November; our annuals have hidden away for the winter under a mulch of brown, soggy leaves. But not in Beach Grove! There the flowers are still in cheerful bloom. Along the streets we saw pink hydrangea, pots of marigolds, nasturtiums, roses, asters and dwarf sunflowers, fresh pansies, luxuriant fuschias, and more. Most of the trees are green. People are walking about in shorts and T-shirts. Golfers trundle their carts across the greens.

By the time winter arrives down there, spring will be on its heels.

At the boat ramp, a nasturtium sneaks out beneath a garden wall. The berries fell from a bush overhead.

Looks like holly, but the leaves aren't spiky.

Laurie was planning to wait for me in the car, but he couldn't resist; when I turned around to wade back with my water, he was on the beach taking photos, trying to zoom in on a flock of diving birds, too far out, and too often underwater to identify.

The tide was high, and the waves were forceful, if not really tall. They had stirred up the mud so that the water was brown for a good way out.

Boat ramp near the US border. Looking across to Mud Bay, Crescent Beach and Surrey beyond.

A recent storm loaded the beach with fresh eelgrass, both large and dwarf. I filled a bag in a couple of minutes. My critters are Happy!

Detail of a section of stump used as a stool.

Patches of blue sky, low blue hills. Looking south.

Sky over Point Roberts, with a gull on a post at the bottom.

On the way back through Beach Grove, we passed these pumpkins above a gate, looking as new and fresh as if they were carved this morning.

"Beaky"

"Curly"

A Skywatch post.

Starry shore

Critters, critters, and more critters. And acres of seaweeds, to boot. That's "our" beach. I've sorted out the photos from our one-hour visit; too many for one post.

I'll start with the easy ones, and even then, there are a couple of mystery beasties.

The upper intertidal zone, looking south towards Oyster Bay. Difficult walking, unless we stick to the slabs of sandstone.

Middle intertidal zone, looking north towards Stories Beach. The greenery is rockweed, sea lettuce, and a dark, stringy weed, all very slippery underfoot. The birds are Bonaparte's gulls.

The top of the subtidal zone, which we didn't reach this visit, is partly sand, part rocks, and difficult to wade in because of a steady current.

A tangle of bull kelp, tossed up by the tide.

A small piece of an unidentified seaweed.

More stars:

This one is redder than most purple/ochre sea stars.

Can you see the three starfish here? 

 There's a common purple star at the bottom, then the orange one above it, not the same species. The skin is smooth; it may be the leather star. And up at the top right, a small, fat, beige and grey one, well camouflaged. It doesn't match anything in my books.

A green, patterned star, also unidentified.

 Near the tip of the lower left arm, there is a shiny brown speckled animal. I hadn't seen it until I was examining the photos. I don't know what it is, but I suspect some sort of small nudibranch, possibly the barnacle-eating nudibranch.

A large brittle star. The central disc is about the size of a dime. Probably the long-armed brittle star. 

There were three or four together of these stars on the sand under a rock; it's hard to tell how many when they're a tangle of squirming arms. I fished this one out to a rock, to keep it from burrowing down before we got a photo. They're fast!

A poor photo of a scrunched up sunflower star. 

To get this, I had to balance on two wobbly, slippery stones separated by a deep stream of running water, and bend 'way over to look underneath another rock. But he was so vividly orange, I had to try!

Just more purple stars. Papa star, Mama star, Baby star.

And a great blue heron, fishing for gunnels at water's edge.

Tomorrow, little critters under the rocks.

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Once again, a reminder: Rock Flipping Day is Sunday, September 9th. Instructions, history, etc.

Stars, for starters

"Our" beach, the beach just below the Edgewater motel, on the south end of Campbell River, is the main reason we return to the area every chance we get. It's flat, but stony, seaweedy, slippery, treacherous. No place for swimming or wading, except with extreme caution. But every inch of it is alive.

Because of Laurie's injury, this beach was almost off-limits for us this trip. There's a long staircase down the cliff face; 113 steps, then a scramble across the upper edge of the beach before the walking gets easy. We dared it only once, stayed for a short hour, and climbed back up, stopping for a long rest half-way.

Up top, Laurie went directly to bed; it was too much for his ripped leg, which was bleeding again. We didn't risk a second trip.

And still, in that cautious hour on the beach, we turned up an astounding number of animals. I've just about finished sorting my photos from that morning and there are two dozen worth posting, still needing resizing, etc. And I've still got Laurie's collection to review and mix in.

For now, I've resized only this one; I'll start posting the rest tomorrow.

Starfish pile-up

These are Pisaster ochraceus, which translates as "ochre starfish". In English, they are called either ochre starfish or purple starfish. Orange or purple, they're the same species.

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Reminder: Rock Flipping Day is Sunday, September 9th. Instructions, history, etc.

Harsh!

"Sand beaches are very harsh environments, ..."

So starts an article by NOAA, an overview of the animals living on and in the sand. It doesn't seem quite right, does it?

Boundary Bay, retreating tide. Harsh? Yes!

Flat sand, warm, shallow water, fresh air with a hint of salt in it, the cry of gulls, distant laughter, blue sky overhead. Perfect! Just being there gives us a new lease on life. But ... harsh,they say?

It depends on your situation; if we had to live there 24/7/52, we might see things in a different light.

 "... encompassing most of the rigors of the rocky intertidal (high wave action, wide temperature range, periodic tidal exposure) with the addition of high abrasion levels and lack of firm substrate for attachment. Beach fauna exhibit the characteristics of communities in harsh environments, namely low species diversity but large numbers of individuals of each species."

I would add the lack of hiding places, refuges from predation. And predators there are many; around here,  they're mostly of the two-legged variety, some with wings, others with shovels and buckets.

When we parked at Centennial Beach Monday afternoon, the tide was starting down; just the first few metres of sandy beach were exposed. We stopped at the edge to watch hordes of mud snails, exposed on the sand, and all streaming as fast as they could drag their stripy shells downstream, towards the retreating water. A doomed enterprise; the tide goes out faster than they slide, and they would end up having to wait out the dry spell all afternoon.

We waded in, meandering back and forth from one newly-risen sandbar to the next. The water was bathtub warm in spots already, where the current was slower.

Once we'd passed the snail zone, there wasn't much to see. Occasional patches of seaweed or eelgrass provided shelter to small critters. I captured a tiny greenmark hermit, watched it scramble around my hand; so tiny, it had a long walk to the edge. When it got there, I replaced it in the weeds.

Green ribbon seaweed harbours an abandoned clam shell, and probably a few multi-legged beasties.

Bleached seaweed remnants float out to sea.

A tangle of rockweed and eelgrass stranded on a sandbar. It reminds me of the tossing bouquet that a bride would carry.

Rockweed turns orange and yellow as it dries in the sun.

Apart from the bits of floating or stranded weed, the beach looks empty, because everything that can flee or dig or find a convenient patch of eelgrass has gone into hiding. Sometimes they leave signs of their passing, holes or humps in the sand. A smallish lump with a round hole in the centre may hide a clam, but most have dug themselves in deeper. Careless clams get offered free flying lessons by hungry gulls. A few hard landings, and they're lunch.

Assorted worms make larger hills, usually topped with a coiled poop decoration. 

I don't know what makes these.

Boundary Bay sand is on the muddy side. Further inland from our walk, the mud gets deeper and mushier; even going straight out from Centennial Beach, we cross spots where our feet sink deep into the sand long after the water has gone down. The finer grains of silt and clay retain water better than coarse sand and shell remnants.

In this area, the sand may contain up to 89% fine sediments (97% further inland, where it is almost impossible to walk). This means that, along with the water, the sand is rich in organic remnants, food for the residents. However, it also means that the space between the sand grains is packed with mud, reducing the space for small animal life. (Meiofauna; I haven't forgotten that good word!)

A few inches under the sand surface, there is a layer of blue-black sediment. This is an area starved of oxygen, which has been used by the animals above it, and is not replenished due to the density of the compacted silt. There, contaminants settle, giving the layer its black colour.

When a burrower digs past this layer, it shovels the anoxic mud up to the surface, leaving a black patch. I dug down into a few of these, looking for mud shrimp.

Mud shrimp burrow opening?

I couldn't dig fast enough. I was using my bare hand; I wouldn't want to risk damaging one with a digging tool. The sand was loose and easy to remove. A few inches down, I found the burrow; a hole about big enough for two fingers before the sand caved in, gushing water. I followed it down and down, around a corner and down again, tossing out handfuls of lumpy sand as I went. About eight inches down, the sand from above filled the hole as fast as I shovelled. I gave up.

A second burrow gave me the same result. But I ran my fingers through the excavated sand, to see what made the lumps.

One pink macoma clam, and many purple and brown clams, species undetermined.

I put the clams back in the hole, and filled it in again. No sense exposing the clams to the ever-hungry gulls!

Just a thought

Whether we're on our knees ...

with our noses to a log ...

peering down dark crevices ...

getting our pants muddy ...

or standing tall

to see the distant hills and clouds ...

the expanse of green and grey beach ...

or the ducks far overhead ...

we're never tired of the view.