Whee!

The daytime tides are getting lower these days; today a large expanse of barnacled stones was open to the sky. A pair of oystercatchers dawdled there, happily collecting limpets and unwary clams, chattering all the while.

"Wonderful menu at this joint!"

"Have you tried the mussels? Delish!"

Like good friends in a favourite restaurant, they spent more time talking than eating. "Whee! Whee! Whee!"

Black Oystercatchers from Alaska to about Oregon are entirely black, but southward from there birds show increasing amounts of white feathers and browner (less black) abdomens. (Cornell)

30 orange beaks on a rock

On a big rock near the shore today, a small flock of oystercatchers huddled together against the cold, keeping to the downwind side. It was a warmish afternoon, barely below freezing, and the sun sometimes peeped out briefly from behind the clouds, but not enough, never enough to warm that big rock. All the oystercatchers were standing on one foot (each), keeping the other one warm.

30 oystercatchers and one two-footed gull.

Zooming in. I think one of the birds, centre back, is changing feet.

After an hour on the beach, my fingers were aching, and I was holding a hand over my frozen nose. How do these birds handle bare feet and long noses, standing out in the cold all day and all night? 

Wait, wait!

There's an artificial tidal pool just down the road from my place; all rocks, no sand, no seaweeds, difficult walking on either steep, sliding banks, scattered logs, or rocks that may roll underfoot. I was heading south to better beachcombing grounds, when I noticed the birds out on the breakwater.

Stones, logs, rocks, black birds, white birds.

The pool was created by the Rotary Club some years ago, to provide a safe place for kids to swim, because the tide here is so strong, racing along the Strait at 35 km/hr, and so cold. The rocks soak up the heat of the sun at low tide, and slow down the current, going and coming. And warm the birds' feet while the tide is too high for foraging.

A bit of the breakwater, with gull and 4 oystercatchers. And guano.

I heard the oystercatchers before I saw them; while they sat on the breakwater, they were silent, but every so often, a small flock would lift off and head south, calling as they went. "Weeep, weeep, ..." is how I heard the call, but they may have been saying, "Wait, wait, wait!"

They fly low over the water, and very fast.

Zooming in on a pair.

The tide was going out. When I arrived on the beach, the breakwater and island were thick with birds, black and white. When I left an hour later, they were accessible on foot (with some difficulty), and only a few gulls remained.

Critters on this beach tomorrow.

Black Oystercatcher

We ventured down to Point Roberts for the day. If it were not for the long wait at the border, going both ways (half an hour going south into the US, about 15 minutes coming home; very slow, for a small crossing), we would plan on visiting often. Next time, we'll go on a weekday; the line-up may be shorter.

Point Roberts is a small spit of land, a snippet cut off from Canada and allocated to the US, because of inadequate mapping before the boundary was agreed upon. The line across the continent goes straight from the Great Lakes to the Georgia Strait, where it bends to leave all of Vancouver Island inside Canada. It wasn't until this was ratified that the Tsawwassen area was surveyed, when it was discovered that the very tip was below the line. This has produced some odd effects; for example, school buses take children from Point Roberts to school in Blaine, crossing the border twice enroute.

It's sparsely populated; the lots are enormous, and there is room to breathe between clusters of homes. Most of the population in the summer are Canadians. In winter, there are fewer than a couple of thousand residents. On the southwest, the land is bare and flat, sloping down to a clean, stony beach; there's forest on the east, cut off from the sea by tall sandstone cliffs. (The geology is interesting; see Wikipedia.)

It's the first time we've been there on our own, so we followed our noses, taking whatever turn appealed to us, exploring, ending up skirting the coastline from the marina to Maple Beach, across the street from our usual parking spot in Canada, and back to customs along the border, looking at all our landmarks from the backside.

The tide was in, but we spent an hour on the beach, watching birds and boats, and the blue, blue horizon. A flock of surf scoters dived in unison, coming up again all together in a close circle. This is the first time I've seen that behaviour; most diving ducks come up singly.

We saw, from a distance, a flock of dark ducks with white underparts at the rear. In flight, they flashed a startling white V at the tail. I haven't been able to identify them; any hints?

Rear view

And turned around, facing us.

*Update: in the comments, Amie Roman identifies them as Brant geese. Thanks, Amie!

And this topped off the day; a lifer! Oystercatchers.

"Peep!" A loud "PEEP", not the shy "peep" of the yellowlegs and sandpipers.

Black heads, dark brown bodies, pinkish legs, big feet. And those amazing beaks; long and heavy-looking, and a fiery red. The eyes are yellow, with a red ring around them; jet lag eyes. They poked among the rocks just at water's edge. I didn't see them find anything, but they eat limpets, mussels and clams. And oysters, of course.

Standing on one leg, warming the other toes.

A minute or two after they flew away, a small flock of sandpipers rose up from the same area, and sped away, "peep, peep, peep"-ing as they went. We hadn't even seen them, we had been so engrossed watching the oystercatchers.

We'll be back; we want to see those cliffs from the shore side again, and we will eventually visit the marina. If the border crossing isn't too bad on the cliff excursion, that is.