A lazy spring afternoon

The sun was shining, the sky was mostly blue. There was a bit of a breeze, barely enough to ripple the water. In the estuary, the tide was turning; a pair of seals were cruising about. And many birds.

Three buffleheads.

A pair of cormorants were fishing. They spent more time underwater than on  the surface.

A group of kayakers approached, and all the birds nearby took to the air. This one's a bufflehead male.

On the seaward side of the spit, all the birds were over on the opposite shore, off Quadra Island. Until I reached the northern tip; here there was a lineup of gulls, out at the edge where river water meets the salt chuck. They seemed to be sitting on a submerged sandbar, one that would soon disappear as the tide came in. They weren't resting; the whole line vibrated, with gulls seeming to hop about, flapping their wings, and sometimes lifting off to fly inland.

Gulls in a row.

I sat on a log and watched them  for a while. A few at a time, gulls would leave the line, fly up and circle about in small groups. Then they would head upriver, pass out of sight. At first I thought they were slowly moving to their next stopping place, but no; here they came again, passing over my head, circling, circling, before settling in with the group again. Not going anywhere, just enjoying the warmth of the sunlight. And the next bunch would soar up, taking their turn in the sky.

Gulls do this during windstorms; riding the wind, yelling, tumbling, soaring, rolling, like falling (noisy) leaves in a gale. Or like kids on a toboggan hill under fresh snow. Just plain having fun. This was like that, but slower, gentler, quieter. A celebration of spring.

Coming back to rest.

A Skywatch post.

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Hacía sol, y el cielo estaba, por la mayor parte, azul. Soplaba un viento suave, apenas suficientemente fuerte como para producir onditas en el estuario. La marea estaba baja, pero al punto de empezar a subir; una pareja de focas esperaba, dando vueltas lentas. También los pájaros aprovechaban la tranquilidad.

    1. Bucephala albeola. El macho es el de la corona blanca.

    2. Un cormorán pescando. Estos se pasaban más tiempo sumergidos que visibles.

    3. Se acercaba un grupo de kayakistas, y todos los pájaros se echaron a volar. Este es un Bucephala albeola, macho.

En el lado de la lengua de tierra que da al estrecho, todos los pájaros se habían congregado en la costa opuesta, cerca de la isla Quadra. Hasta que llegué al punto más al norte; aquí se enfilaba una bandada de gaviotas, en medio del agua, donde el agua del estuario se enfrenta con el agua salada del estrecho. Las gaviotas parecían estar acomodados sobre un banco de arena sumergido, un banco que pronto se perdería al subirse la marea. No se quedaban tranquilos; toda la fila parecía vibrar; las gaviotas saltaban, agitando las alas, a veces echándose al aire para volar rio arriba.

    4. Una hilera de gaviotas.

Me senté en un tronco en la playa para observarlas. Unas cuantas gaviotas a la vez dejaban su puesto, iban a dar vueltas en el aire.  Luego, se dirigían hacia el estuario hasta desaparecer en la distancia. Creí, al principio, que ya llegaba la hora en que la bandada se iría a su posadero próximo, pero no; aquí venían otra vez, cruzando sobre mi cabeza, girando, girando, hasta bajar a sentarse con su bandada de nuevo. No se iban a ninguna parte; solamente disfrutaban del calor del sol. Y el próximo grupo se levantaría, tomando su turno en el cielo.

Las gaviotas hacen esto durante los ventarrones, montándose en el viento, gritando, bamboleándose, subiéndose en alto, cayendo, rodando; parecen hojas de otoño en una tormenta. O como niños con sus toboganes divertiéndose en la nieve. Estos vuelos se parecían a aquellos, pero más tranquilos, más lentos, casi en silencio. Vuelos para celebrar la llegada de la primavera.

    5. Regresando a su banco de arena.

Clouds, water, birds.

A brief stop at the mouth of the Campbell River estuary on a winter afternoon. Daylight colours at this time of year are subdued, leaning heavily towards the blues, mixed with grey. As I arrived at the Tyee Spit bird blind, a couple stopped to tell me a pair of swans had been there a few minutes earlier. "They're gone now." the woman said. But there were sleepy mallards and hurrying gulls, so that was ok.

3:15 PM. Sunset is just after 4.

Against the light. Mallard male, not quite a silhouette.

The far shore, with the tail end of a flock of gulls heading back to their evening roosts.

The same gulls, 20 seconds later, overhead.

The gulls crossed the Spit, 150 m. across at this point and headed out over the strait. Next stop, Quadra Island, 3 km. away. Is this where they spend the night, or do they veer south to Mitlenatch Island, 20 km. over empty water, where thousands of them breed? I wonder.

Another Skywatch post.

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Mientras no llovía, hice una parada breve en el estuario del rio Campbell. Eran las 3 de la tarde, una tarde invernal; los colores en esta temporada del año se inclinan hacia los azules, siempre mezclados con gris. A brief stop at the mouth of the Campbell River estuary on a winter afternoon. Daylight colours at this time of year are subdued, leaning heavily towards the blues, mixed with grey. Cuando iba llegando al observatorio de aves, una pareja se detuvo para decirme que habían visto allí, hace unos minutos, dos cisnes. "Pero ya se fueron," añadió la señora. Pero había patos durmientes y gaviotas; era suficiente.

1. La vista desde el observatorio. El sol se pondría en una hora, un poco después de las 4.
2. La luz sobre el agua, con un pato ánade macho, casi en silueta.
3. La orilla opuesta, con las últimas gaviotas de su bandada, camino a donde pasarían la noche.
4. 20 segundos más tarde, las mismas gaviotas cruzaron la lengua de tierra. Aquí solo hay 150 metros de tierra firme; siguieron adelante, cruzando el estrecho. La próxima tierra en esa dirección es la isla Quadra, a 3 km. de distancia. ¿Será aquí donde pasan las noches? ¿O se desviarán hacia el sur, para llegar a la isla Mitlenatch, a unos 20 km, donde miles de gaviotas pasan el verano y hacen sus nidos? No lo sé, y las gaviotas no nos dicen.

Everyone behaves except for the gulls.

The file was labelled "assorted birds". But then I decided to add a moth, since it was all alone in its file. So now it's a collection of winged beasties seen in the last week or so.

The moth. Sleeping on blackberry leaves. One of the Noctuinae, cutworm and dart moths. It's late in the season for these.

Gull. Just a gull. Behaving.

Gulls misbehaving. Being gulls.

I had been watching a gull argument for a bit before I remembered the camera. They were on the far side of the river, disagreeing over possession of that guano-stained rock. One would sit on the rock, and the other would attack, chase his rival away and claim the rock for himself. The dispossessed one would then sit on the other stone for a brief moment, (Catching his breath? Considering the angles? Muttering gullish imprecations?) then leap to the attack. This was the fourth round that I saw. They were still going at it when I turned and headed down the trail again.

Harlequin male, Kitty Coleman PP.

Great blue heron with golden reflections. Kitty Coleman creek.

More activity on the far side of the river. A small flock of mergansers (8 or 10) were slowly heading upstream, with occasional stops to do a bit of fishing.

Red-breasted merganser, female. Off Kitty Coleman PP.

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El archivo tenía el título "pájaros, varios". Pero decidí añadir una mariposa nocturna, porque era la única foto en el  archivo apropriado. Estos, entonces son el conjunto de los animales con alas que vi en las últimas semanas.

1. La mariposa nocturna. Una de las Noctuinae, las mariposas, etapas adultas del gusano cortador. Es un poco pasado el tiempo normal para encontrar estas polillas.
2. Gaviota. Portándose bien.
3. Gaviotas, portándose mal, como de costumbre. Había estado observando esta "discusión" por unos minutos antes de acordarme de la cámara. Las gaviotas estaban en la orilla opuesta del rio, disputando sobre la posesión de esa roca manchada con guano. Una se sentaba en la roca, y la otra atacaba, forzando su enemigo a abandonar el puesto, y entonces declarándose la dueña. La que perdió se posaba unos momentos sobre la segunda piedra — ¿Recobrando el aliento? ¿Considerando los ángulos de ataque? ¿Refunfuñando? — y luego saltaba al aire y volvía al ataque. Este era el cuarto "round" de los que vi. Cuando me di vuelta y seguí mi camino, todavía estaban peleando.
4. Un pato Arlequín, macho. En el Parque Provincial Kitty Coleman.
5. Una garza azul, con reflejos amarillos.
6. Otra vista a la orilla opuesta del rio. Una bandada de serretas (unas 8 o  10) nadaban rio arriba, contra la corriente. Lentamente, pausando de vez en cuanto para buscar presa en el fondo.
7. Una serreta mediana hembra. Estas no tienen la división marcada entre cabeza y pecho.

Forever hungry.

 Normal fall weather; rain, wind, fog. I watched a couple of gulls from the shelter of the car.

The mother.

And her huge chick.

The youngster stood by the car, begging, begging. As young birds do. I tossed out a small bag of leftover cat food that the cat had refused to eat on the grounds that breakfast leftovers are inedible at lunch time. The gulls aren't so persnickety.

But the young gull kept up his begging "peep!" the whole time, even as he cleared up the last of my goodies. I even added a few sesame seed crackers. And he still peeped, in between mouthfuls. Typical teenager!

I had forgotten that I'd turned off the sound on the camera. Sorry about that.

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Era una tarde típica del otoño; lluvia, viento, neblina. Observaba dos gaviotas desde las ventanas del coche.

1. La gaviota madre.
2. Su hijo, ya bien grande.

La gaviota joven se acercó al coche, pidiendo comida, más bien mendigando, como lo hacen los pajaritos en sus nidos. Yo le di una bolsita de sobrantes de comida de gato, comida que la gata se había negado a comer, pues, afirmaba ella, los sobrantes del desayuno ya no sirven a mediodía. Las gaviotas no son tan quisquillosos.

Pero el joven siguió con su "pio, pio", aun mientras se saciaba con comida de gato. Hasta le dí, además, unas galletas de semilla de ajonjolí. Y siguió pidiendo más, entre bocado y bocado. ¡Adolescente típico!

Video: las gaviotas.

How is a cuke like a bear?

 I have to confess: I broke the rules. My own rules.

See, the story is, I saw this gull on the beach poking at something red. Red and shiny and floppy. Not a red urchin, not a red chiton. When I walked closer, the gull picked it up and flew a short distance away. I followed. Again, the gull carried his treasure a few metres farther down the shore. And again.

What's that you've got?

I gave up; I really wanted to see what the gull had. So I yelled and ran towards him, waving my arms. It's not something I would normally do, but it wasn't as if I was going to steal his food, just look at it; he could come back for it once I'd seen it. And that's how gulls behave among themselves, isn't it; screaming and shrieking and chasing each other to claim some treat? My excuse.

Anyhow, the gull flew away this time, leaving his prey behind.

A sea cucumber, the giant red sea cucumber, Parastichopus californicus.

It looked alive. I could find no sign of injury, so I carried it to a trench full of water, and left it to recover. Sorry, gull!

Cucumber in water, with sea urchins, arm of purple starfish.

It was moving slowly. I watched for a while, then left it to recover.

This is a strange beastie; it sleeps without eating all winter, like a bear. But it goes the bear one better; in the fall, it digests its own organs and starts the new spring off with all fresh innards.

Parastichopus californicus feeds as it moves randomly along the bottom; in one study, P. californicus moved up to 3.9 metres in a day. The mop-shaped tentacles of P. californicus are pressed onto the substratum and small particles adhere to the sticky surface. As the tentacle retracts toward the mouth, the edges curl in to grasp larger particles. The tentacle enters the mouth and releases the particles. The animal gets its nutrition from the organic material in the sediment, mostly bacteria and fungi. As with many sea cucumbers, Parastichopus californicus ceases feeding and becomes dormant from September to early March.

From late summer to March most specimens have no obvious internal organs. Early workers thought that the internal organs were eviscerated through the cloaca. Recent evidence, however, indicates that the animal resorbs the organs during the dormant phase, and regenerates them during the winter. (From E-Fauna BC)

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Tengo que confesar; desobedecí las reglas, y fueron mis propias reglas.

Así fue la cosa; vi una gaviota en la playa, y tenía una cosa roja, de un rojo fuerte, brilloso y flexible. No era un erizo de mar rojo, ni un quitón rojo. Cuando me acerqué, la gaviota tomó su tesoro y voló uno pocos metros más adelante. Le seguí. Otra vez se levantó, llevando esa cosa roja. No lejos. Yo le seguí. Y otra vez se fue.

Primera foto: la gaviota con su presa.

No me servía nada más seguir la gaviota tranquilamente; grité y corrí, agitando las manos al aire. Esto no es algo que haría normalmente; la playa les pertenece a los residentes; no es mi lugar. Pero no es que le iba a robar su comida, nada más la quería ver, y luego la gaviota podría regresar a recogerla de nuevo. Y por cierto, así es como las gaviotas se llevan entre sí, ¿no? Gritan y chillan y se persiguen, tratando de robar la comida de las otras. Es mi pretexto.

Bueno, al final del caso, la gaviota se alejó, dejando su hallazgo en la piedra.

Segunda foto: un pepino de mar, Parastichopus californicus.

Parecía estar vivo, y no pude hallar ningún daño, así que lo llevé a una grieta llena de agua y allí lo deposité para recuperarse del susto. ¡Lo siento, gaviota!

Tercera foto: el pepino en el agua, con unos erizos de mar verdes, y el brazo de una estrella de mar.

Estos son unos animalitos bien extraños. Duermen todo el invierno sin comer, al igual que los osos. Pero en contraste con el oso, este pepino de mar digiere sus órganos interiores en el otoño y empieza la nueva primavera con un conjunto totalmente nuevo.

Del sitio E-Fauna BC: lo siguiente: —Parastichopus californicus come mientras se mueve al azar sobre el substrato; en un estudio,P. californicus caminó hasta 3.9 metros en un dia. Los tentáculos en forma de melena se ponen en contacto con el suelo y pequeños objetos se adhieran a la superficie pegajosa. Mientras los tentáculos se vuelven a la boca, se doblan, agarrando partículos más grandes. El tentáculo entra a la boca y suelta lo que capturó. El animal obtiene sus nutrientes de la materia orgánica en el sedimento, por la mayor parte hongos y bacteria. Como es el caso con muchos pepinos de mar, Parastichopus californicus deja de comer y se mantiene dormido desde septiembre hasta principios de marzo.

Desde el final del verano hasta los principios de marzo, la mayor parte de estos pepinos no tienen ningún órgano interior visible. Estudiantes del organismo antes creían que los órganos se desechaban por medio de la cloaca. Pero datos recientes indican que el pepino reabsuerbe los órganos durante la etapa de estivación y los regenera durante el invierno.

A quibble

I must go down to the sea again,
To the lonely seas and the sky,
And all I ask is ...
(Apologies to John Masefield)

A dose of reality: that loneliness is deceptive. The sea has no space for loneliness. Under that apparently calm surface are teeming multitudes of busy lives.

And the sky; from here, we don't see the mobs of mosquitoes, flies, butterflies, ballooning spiders, and the like. The swallows see them though, and dart through the clouds collecting supper for the little ones.

I had gone down to the boat ramp to get new water for my aquarium. The day was cool and grey, welcome after a taste of summer; as I left, it was starting to rain. The tide was turning and everything, air and water and rocks, seemed momentarily in stasis.

One "lonely" crow.

But there were crabs and jellyfish in the water at the foot of the ramp, snails and barnacles on the rocks. And that crow is watching a quarrel, a horde, a squabbling, shrieking, greedy melee of gulls, fighting over the cat food I had just left at water's edge. (The cats had rejected it. I think they read the labels and refuse to taste anything other than the most expensive brands. But it was full of fish and chicken innards and ground corn and fish oils; ideal gull food. They had left all their perches on the rocks around to come to the party.)

A few seconds later, the crow joins the fun.

Fishing harbour seal, leaving the school to come and see what was going on on shore.

Every so often, out in the channel another black head would pop up. Harbour seals, following a school of fish. I counted four heads up at the same time: no telling how many were down there feasting.

One of the gulls on the boat ramp, taking a breather. The food's almost all gone, anyhow.

... And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

Can't argue with him there!

On approaching birds on the beach

Killdeers are worrywarts.

There's no need; I never see them until they rise up in a panic and fly away, peeping frantically.

Gulls are calm (about people, not about food found by rival gulls), and think about my approach for a while before they decide to leave.

"Is it worth the effort to give up my nice, cosy rock?"

Mallards, off-shore, are impervious.

A peaceful afternoon paddle with the neighbours. Life is good.

Life of the party

The bird blind on Mitlenatch Island looks down over a rocky cliff painted white with gull guano. There's a plank bench big enough for 4 people, and a plank (the same one?) removed from the wall, leaving a gap to peer through. The gulls don't seem to notice us, only a few feet away, and go about their important business unperturbed.

One of the gulls on the nearest rock was showing off, repeatedly opening his mouth wide as if to screech, but soundlessly, unless his call was beyond human ears' reach. The others didn't seem too impressed.

Our guide explained that this is courtship behaviour. I Googled it and found no more info, so I'll have to translate the proceedings as best I can.

"Check out my tonsils!"

"Good one, eh?"

"He actually thinks he's funny," says gull 2.

"Hee, hee, hee! Chortle!"

Face palms, gull style. At least the clown is happy. And silent.

Far below us, in the water, seals were swimming, birds were diving. We left the blind and went on down the trail.


(3rd in a series of 9 Mitlenatch Island posts. #1, #2, #3, #4. #5. #6, #7, #8)