That kind of day

It all started back at the highway, when I saw the Rock Bay sign and said, "Why not?" And now the road had led me to another sign: arrows pointing ahead, behind, and one down the hill into the bush. "Little Bear Bay," it read. Why not? It was that kind of day.

The last time I was here, that bit of road was nerve-wracking. A steep hill, a bumpy track coated with slippery mud, no room for evasive manoeuvres. But again, why not? At least now, everything was dry. And it wasn't bad at all; only once did the car slide a bit. And there was the bay. And a rocky beach, at low tide.

Rocks, rocks, rocks. And on and around those rocks, feisty little rock-dwellers. And besides, rocks that looked alive. More or less.

Limpets and barnacles.

Several of the limpets were slightly lifted off the rock, as if they heard (smelled, felt?) the tide coming in and were preparing to start looking for lunch. When I touched them, lightly, they clamped themselves down to the stone again.

One of the almost-alive rocks. He's been sitting on the shore so long, a tree is growing out of his shoulder. A Vancouver Island sphinx?

Gotcha!

Crabs and snails.

These are purple shore crabs. These ones are not so very purple, but the species is recognizable by the purplish dots on their pincers and legs. And by the smooth upper legs. The green shore crab, Hemigrapsus oregonensis, is a look-alike, but they have hairy legs, which aid in swimming. The purples have only a few hairs near the tips of the legs, hence their Latin name, H. nudus: nude.

This little guy saw me and immediately challenged me to a duel.

The snail is a checkered periwinkle, Littorina succulata. He's a bit far down the beach for his species; they drown if they're in water too long. He'll probably hurry up to the shore as soon as the tide reaches him. Marine snails can travel faster than land snails; he'll make it in time.

Next: dessert in the bush.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Todo empezó allá en la carretera, cuando vi la salida hacia Rock Bay y me dije — ¿Y porqué no? Y ahora el camino me había traído a mirar otro poste con sus flechas, apuntando adelante, atrás, y bajando un declive hasta perderse entre el bosque. "Little Bear Bay" estaba escrito en esa flecha. Y de nuevo: ¿Porqué no? Un dia para seguir el capricho del momento.

La última vez que tomé ese camino, ese tramo de camino era de crisparte los nervios: Un declive empinado, una ruta pedregosa cubierta con lodo resbaloso, y sin espacio para hacer maniobras delicadas. Pero, ¿porqué no? Por lo menos, ahora todo está seco. Y no fue tan espeluznante, después de todo; solamente una vez se me deslizó el coche, y eso muy poco. Y llegué a la bahía. Y a una playa rocosa, con la marea baja.

Piedras, piedras, piedras. Y encima y debajo de esas piedras, una comunidad de animalitos valientes. Y además, rocas que parecían ser seres vivientes.

1. Lapas y bálanos. Algunas de las lapas se habían levantado un poco sobre la superficie de la roca, como si oían (o olían, o sentían las vibraciones de) la marea que ya venía subiendo, y como que se preparaban para salir aprisa a buscar su alimento. Cuando les toqué, muy levemente, de inmediato se apegaban firmes a la roca.
2. Una de las rocas casi vivas. Pero ha estado esperando allí tanto tiempo que le ha crecido un árbol en el hombro. ¿Sería la Esfinge de la Isla?
3. ¡La atrapé! — dice el tronco.
4. Cangrejos y caracoles marinos. Estos son los cangrejos costeros morados; no tan morados como la mayoría, pero se conoce la especie por los puntitos morados en los quelípodos y las patas. Y por la escasez de pelos en las patas. El cangrejo verde costero, Hemigrapsus oregonensis, es muy peludo, y esas patas peludas le ayudan a nadar. En cambio, estos, que aparte de eso son casi idénticos, solamente tienen algunos pelos en los extremos de las patas; por eso llevan el nombre científico de H. nudus, el cangrejo desnudo. 
5. Otro cangrejo, que en cuanto me vió me retó a un duelo. El caracolito es una Littorina succulata, un cangrejo de las zonas altas de las playas; aquí fuera de su zona. Estos caracoles se ahogan si permanecen por largo tiempo bajo el agua. Probablemente cuando la marea le toca, se apresurá a subir a terreno menos peligroso. Estos caracoles marinos se deslizan más rápido que los caracoles terrestres; llegará a tiempo.

Mañana, un postre cosechado en el bosque.

Among the rocks

The tide was low at Brown's Bay, a lot lower than I'd ever seen it before. It makes no difference to the communities living on the floats under the docks; their habitat rises and falls with the tide, keeping them at always the same depth. But after I'd done the rounds of the docks, I drove to the far end of the bay, to where the last human construction ended. Here, I have sometimes climbed down onto the rocks reaching out into the channel. There are tiny, fat-leaved stonecrops growing just above the water line and the runners and white flowers of trailing blackberry. Once I found a garter snake sunning himself on the warm rock.

Now, at low tide, a great mass of rock was exposed. I climbed down to a flattish spot near the water's edge.

Halfway down, looking south towards the entrance to Seymour Narrows.

These rocks plunge steeply into the channel, following the pattern of the hills around the bay. The whole rock mass is scrubbed almost bare, with only scattered shreds of brown algae here and there, going on down as far as I could see underwater.

Seymour Narrows is ... known for strong tidal currents. ... For most of the length of the narrows, the channel is about 750 metres (820 yd) wide. Through this narrow channel, currents can reach 15 knots (28 km/h; 17 mph). ... It was described by Captain George Vancouver as "one of the vilest stretches of water in the world." (Wikipedia)

Quite a difference from the quiet waters of the bay only half kilometre to the north!

View of a section of rock from near the water's edge. The yellow stuff on top is lichen.

There was life there; there's always life. I turned over a few of the smaller rocks and found a couple of green shore crabs, very dark, almost black. There were a few barnacles, more limpets, a few periwinkle snails. Nothing more that I could find, but the limpets and snails must be finding something edible on the rock.

Limpets sheltering under the shade of a rock. And a bit of brownish algae.

And the rocks are green.

Green and black rock, with limpets.

More green rock, with limpets and snails.

After searching through my rock book at home, I realize that I'll have to go back and get a better look. Is there algae on that rock? The black stuff; is it black tar lichen, or just rock? Can it be scraped off? Is that what the limpets are eating? I was in too much of a hurry to get out of the sun; next time (next really low tide) I'll head for the rocks first.

~~~~~~~~~~~

La marea estaba baja en Brown's Bay, muy baja. A los organismos que crecen en los flotadores bajo el muelle, no les importa; su habitat sube y baja con la marea. Pero cuando acabé mi vuelta buscando criaturas, fui al extremo al sur de la bahía, a donde terminan las construcciones humanas. Aquí, en un punto de roca, al borde de la zona intramareal, he encontrado las plantitas "piedra" de hoja gorda, Sedum divergens, y los tallos y las flores blancas de la mora nativa, Rubus ursinus. Un dia encontré un serpiente Thamnopsis sirtalis asoleándose encima de la roca.

Ahora, con la marea tan baja, una masa grande de roca se presentaba a la vista. Descendí con cuidado hasta un sitio algo plano cerca del agua.

Foto #1: Desde un punto a la mitad de la bajada, la vista hacia el sur y la entrada del estrecho Seymour.

Estas rocas caen abruptamente al mar, siguiendo el modelo de los cerros alrededor. Y toda la masa entera está limpia, tallada por las corrientes, dejando solo unas pocas algas, muy pequeñas, fijados en algunas superficies y así sigue aun bajo el agua hasta donde la luz fallaba.

Seymour Narrows ... es famoso por sus corrientes fuertes. ... Por la mayor parte de la longitud del estrecho, el canal mide aproximadamente 750 metros ... de anchura. Por medio de este canal angosto, fluyen corrientes que alcanzan a 8 nudos (28 km/h ...) El Capitán George Vancouver lo describió como "uno de los trechos de agua más horribles de todo el mundo." (Wikipedia)

¡Muy diferente de las aguas quietas de la bahía apenas a medio kilómetro de distancia!

Foto #2: Vista de una parte de las rocas, desde cerca del agua.

Había vida allí; siempre hay vida. Volteé algunas de las rocas chicas y encontré dos cangrejitos verdes, Hemigrapsus oregonensis, los dos casi negros. Había unos cuantos bálanos, más lapas, algunos bígaros. No vi más, pero las lapas y los bígaros tiene que estar hallando que comer sobre las rocas.

Foto #3: Unas lapas escondiéndose del sol bajo una roca.

Fotos #4 y 5: Las rocas son verdes. Aquí con lapas y bígaros.

En casa, después de buscar en mi libro guía sobre las rocas, me doy cuenta que voy a tener que regresar para examinar todo con más atención. ¿Hay algas sobre la roca? ¿Esas partes negras: puede ser el liquen "chapopote negro", Hydropunctaria maura, o solamente roca? ¿Se puede separar de la roca? ¿Es eso lo que comen las lapas? Se ve que tenía demasiada prisa para escapar del sol; a la próxima vez (que será con la próxima marea baja) voy directamente a las rocas.

Inside the breakwater

The breakwater at Oyster Bay is a line of large rocks, barely underwater at high tide, fully exposed only at the lowest tides. The rocks are clean, scoured by currents and wind-blown waves; barnacles crust a few of the more protected ones; here and there along the landward end patches of lichen grow on top.

At the lower tides, at the outer tip of the breakwater, I find anemones nestling in the cracks at the base. And in between rocks, in the blackest corners, there are barnacles.

I tried squinting down one of the cracks between rocks; too dark, too narrow, too hard even to get my head in position. My hand fitted, with the little pocket camera. I set it on flash and took photos blind. Here's what the camera saw.

Mussels, barnacles, limpets, green and reddish algae.

Barnacles and algae. Tar spot (Ralfsia sp. maybe?)

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El rompeolas en Oyster Bay consiste en una linea de rocas grandes amontonadas, apenas cubiertas con las mareas más altas, totalmente expuestas en las mareas bajísimas de verano. Las rocas están desnudas; las corrientes y las olas impulsadas por el viento las mantienen limpias. En algunas, más protegidas, crecen unos pocos bálanos; en el extremo más cercano a la tierra, hay manchas de líquenes.

Cuando la marea está baja, encajonadas a los pies de las rocas en el extremo exterior, encuentro anémonas. Y en las grietas aquí, se ven los bálanos.

Quise ver lo que había en las grietas oscuras entre estas rocas. Pero allí no hay luz, el sitio es demasiado angosto, no logré acercarme suficientemente. Pero cabía mi mano, llevando la cámara chica, la de bolsillo; armé el flash, y saqué fotos a ciegas. Esto es lo que vió la cámara.

Fotos: 

1. Bálanos, lapas, mejillones, con algas rojas y verdes.
2. Más bálanos, y algas. El alga negra tal vez puede ser Ralfsia sp. (mancha de chapopote).

Photobombing fly

On the underside of a rock where I was looking at starfish, I noticed a lineup of limpets wearing barnacles and sea lettuce.

I count 28 limpets here.

Looking at the photos at home, I discovered a couple of flies.

Limpet with low tide seaweed fly.

These flies were everywhere at the lowest tide line. Where do they go when the tide comes in? I don't see them at high tide, but here they were, on every wet rock, on the seaweeds, flying in my face while I walked at the edge of the water, making a nuisance of themselves.

I'll look for them on BugGuide.

UPDATE: That was quick! BugGuide identifies it as Limonia marmorata. The Limoniines are a group of flies that live in damp environments. 

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Estaba mirando estrellas de mar debajo de una roca, y encontré un grupo de lapas, todas decoradas con bálanos miniaturos y lechuga de mar. Cuento 28 en la foto.

Y luego, mirando la foto en casa, descubrí un par de moscas.

Estas moscas volaban por todos lados en la zona más baja intramareal. Se congregaban en cada roca mojada, en las algas marinas, y dando vueltas a mi cabeza mientras caminaba a la orilla del agua. Algo molesto.

Pero: ¿adónde se van cuando sube la marea? No las veo nunca, aparte de las horas de mareas muy bajas.

Las voy a buscar en el sitio BugGuide; tal vez las puedo identificar.

Y se ha identificado, en BugGuide. Es una mosca Limonia marmorata. Las Limoninas es un grupo de moscas que viven en sitios húmedos. ¡Los de BugGuide siempre saben!

What the camera saw

Many (most?) of the animals that live in the intertidal zone hang out on the underside of rocks, or when the tide goes out, under stones. So I flip stones to find the crabs and the whelks and all the myriad scrambling creatures. Or I kneel and prop myself on my elbows to look for starfish under the big rocks.

Sometimes, I can't get down far enough. Then I shove the camera under the rock and take blind photos; you never know what's under there!

For example:

A normal mix. Limpets, barnacles, periwinkle snails (but some may house hermits). And something orange.

Another shot, closer to the rock above. Barnacles, periwinkle (and I'm pretty sure the second from the top has a hermit inside). And those orange and white balls. What are they?

Cropped and zoomed in.

So what are those orange and white balls? Eggs of some critter? And the white one with a hole would be one that's hatched? I checked Buzz's collection of eggs; scroll down to three photos that look like a match.

They look most like the singing toadfish's eggs, both the size and shape and the location, although they were completely out of the water at low tide, and there was no father fish to be seen. (It's the fathers who babysit the eggs until they hatch. And sing to the females; nice guys!)

I found one of these, eggs and all 9 years ago on Boundary Bay. There, the eggs had fry inside. And there were hundreds of eggs. And this was in July.

Midshipman (singing toadfish) eggs, with fry, 2012.

Or they could be whelk eggs, except they're too perfectly round. Herring roe is due about now, but it's cream coloured, and comes in with the tide.

What do you think?

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 Muchos, o tal vez la mayor parte de los animalitos que viven en la zona entre mareas se la pasan pegados a la parte inferior de las rocas grandes, o cuando baja la marea, los animalitos pequeños se esconden debajo de las piedras. Así que para encontrar los cangrejos y ermitaños y toda la multitud de criaturas que pululan en esta zona, ando dando vueltas a las piedras, o poniéndome a gatas, rodillas y codos en las piedras, para buscar estrellas de mar debajo de las rocas grandes.

Y a veces, no puedo hacerme tan chica, y entonces meto la cámara debajo de la roca y saco fotos a ciegas. ¡Quien sabe que maravillas la cámara va a descubrir!

Por ejemplo:

Primera foto, tomada debajo de una roca del rompeolas: lapas, bálanos, conchitas de mar (aunque varios de ellos tal vez estén ocupados por ermitaños muy pequeños). Y una cosa anaranjada.

Segunda foto, con la cámara más cerca: bílanos y caracoles; uno contiene un ermitaño; y esas cosas anaranjadas y blancas. ¿Pero qué son?

Tercera foto, recortada para ver esas pelotitas.

Y ¿qué son? ¿Huevos de algún animalito? Y la pelotita blanca, ¿será uno que ya nació? Fui a mirar la página de Buzz, que ha coleccionado muchos huevos de la zona entre mareas cerca de aquí. Y hay tres que parecen similares.

Se parecen estos por el tamaño y forma, y también por el lugar, a los huevos del pescado "sapo cabezón", al que aquí llamamos pescado sapo cantante, porque el macho le canta a la hembra. Pero estaban completamente fuera del agua con la marea baja, y no vi a ningún pescado cerca. Y cuando los he encontrado antes, era en Julio.

Los vi en la playa de Boundary Bay, hace 9 años; un macho con sus centenares de huevos amarillos, en los que ya se veían los pescaditos adentro. (Cuarta foto.) Son los machos que guardan los huevos hasta que nazcan. Y antes, cantan para atraer a las hembras. ¡Buenos compañeros!

O tal vez podrían ser huevos de un caracol marino, aunque no conozco ninguno que los pone así, cada uno solitario, y perfectamente redondos.

O tal vez sean huevos de arenques, ya que es la temporada para estos. Pero los huevos de arenques son de un color cremoso y se depositan con las olas en gran número, montones y montones en toda la playa.

¿Qué opinas tú?

Rainbow under rocks

The Willow Point beach is rocky; hard, round rocks, mostly cemented into the substrate. In the lower intertidal zone, they are often covered with green sea lettuce and rockweed. Where there is sandstone, it is pitted with green anemone holes. And everywhere there are barnacles, scuttling crabs, and tiny black snails. At the water's edge while the tide was turning, I flipped rocks and combed my fingers through the rockweed. Slow going, but worth the effort.

Here are some of the beasties I saw, in no particular order.

A flatworm, flatworm eggs, and two amphipods. This flatworm kept flipping her edges up towards me, instead of slithering along, as they usually do. It almost seemed as though she were defending her eggs.

A small kelp crab. This one's not wearing the seaweed hat. There was another with it, wearing the hat, just one patch of green algae growing near the top of the head. It ran away before I could get down to their level.

Limpet, periwinkle snail (or hermit in a periwinkle shell), two flatworms, and a pretty orange-striped green anemone, without the green.

Three limpets. Limpets wander about, lifting the forward edge as if to see where they're going. As soon as I touch them, they clamp down and cement themselves to the rock. These ones are still on the move.

Limpets, a whelk, and 6 of the tiny yellow or orange hermit crabs in periwinkle shells.

I haven't been able to identify these hermits. They are always tiny, and brightly coloured. I had at first thought they were greenmark hermits, Pagurus caurinus, which are the right size, but they have unbanded antennae; these little guys have green and white bands on their antennae.

Catching a few rays: there's a starfish, or maybe several starfish under this rock.

A fat ribbon worm. At the upper right, there's a small polychaete that I didn't see until I blew up the photo.

A two-toned polychaete.

This was the highlight of my afternoon. This worm has a blue front end, but the rear half is a bright pink. If you look closely (click on the photo to enlarge it) you can see the four eyes on the head. It's about 18 inches long. (More or less, these worms shrink and stretch continuously.)

There's a wandering ribbon worm, Paranemertes peregrina, with its purple back and cream belly, at the lower left, and a tiny greenish worm at the lower right.

Empty shore?

It looks bare, but it's full of life.

Gulls, rocks, worms, rockweed. And mist.

But the sand is full of worms, and their hopeful feeding tubes.

Walking over this "bare" sand, every few steps, I get sprayed by an invisible resident just under the surface, reacting to the vibration of my steps and retreating quickly to a deeper level.

The stony end of the beach, colour-coded.

The bright green areas are sandstone with maybe half an inch of green algae on top. Brown areas have about an inch of another seaweed; brownish green is rockweed, maybe two inches deep. And the tan areas are sandstone, the only safe place to put down a foot.

The green algae are as slippery as wet ice; the brown algae is worse; it's like wet ice with a coating of slush on top. Rocks roll; they're just loosely scattered on the sandstone. Stepping a bit more confidently on a patch of rockweed - silly me! - I slipped and ended up sitting in a hollow in the rock, which luckily halted my fall before I twisted anything major.

It's not a human-friendly location. But there are tiny fish in every pool, crabs under the rocks, barnacles and limpets and tiny snails everywhere.

Limpet and barnacle community on the sheltered side of a rock.

The underside of the rocks are bursting with life. Here, a large striped whelk, with a little periwinkle on its tip, a dead clam wearing a pair of limpets, assorted seaweeds, barnacles, and everywhere you look closely, more periwinkles. If you look inside that empty clamshell, you may find a surprising assortment of critters; hermits, crabs, worms, amphipods, limpets, you name it. On the deep underside of the rocks, a few starfish cling, and plumose anemones dangle loosely, waiting for the water to return.

Around the drier rocks, a swarm of tiny flies flitted and danced, almost never stopping. (How do they eat, if they never stand still?) Whenever I stopped to look at anything, the flies moved over to circle my head, tickling a bit, but never landing.

I tried to find one stopped to get a better look, but finally gave up and shot several dozen photos of a spot where they were congregating. I caught two of them:

Long legs and it seems that the wings are striped, or spotted.

And maybe a striped abdomen as well.

I don't know what they are. Nor where they go when the tide comes in. Do they sleep on the bare rocks of the breakwater until the water leaves again?

Toothy skirts and a hat for spring

The advantage of glass walls is that sometimes you get to see a limpet on the move.

Lifting her skirts to run.

It seems odd that the limpet manages to negotiate curves and 90 degree angles, with a shell that we usually see clamped tight to a flattish surface. But they are capable of lifting the shell enough to get a grip on the new wall and from there, its a simple matter to slide on up, carrying the shell like an umbrella.

This one's decorated nicely with stripes of green algae and fanning barnacles. Some of her relatives wear hats:

Limpet (3/8 inch across) with her flamboyant spring bonnet.

(The long tube in the top photo is limpet poop.)

A quiet place to sleep

Limpets are amazing critters. Like their cousins the snails, they trundle along, waving two white antennae cheerfully, scrubbing away at stones, seaweeds, old shells, and, in the aquarium, the glass walls. Comes low tide, and they pull in the antennae, clamp themselves to those walls and stones, and go to sleep. Some have homes they go to: indentations in the rock, carved out with their teeth, spikes on a ribbon-like radula, scraping away at solid rock. Determined little beasties.

Limpet species can sometimes be identified by the shell pattern and shape. Not so easily when they're old, though; the surface gets battered and broken. The limpet inside is fine.

Young limpet, wearing a pale checkerboard pattern. Note the off-centre peak. Possibly a shield limpet, Lottia pelta*. And, lower left, an elongated, more delicate limpet.

In the aquarium, I can push sideways, gently, at a limpet on the glass. Its grip is weaker on this smooth surface, and I can slide it down to a spot I've already cleaned, without removing it from the glass. On a stone or shell, it's fixed in place; I can't move it without killing it.

On the beach, at low tide, they may as well be part of the stones they're clamped to.

The top limpet, a young'un, is probably the Mask limpet, Tectura persona. In the centre, a baby clam. I don't know what it's doing there.

A bashed, cracked,porous limpet shell. The peak is well to one side; the owner may be a slippersnail.

Another oldster. The pattern is almost gone, and the peak is off-centre. Another Mask, possibly.

The green colour is painted by algae. There's still a few hints of the original checkerboard pattern.

All these limpets were found in an area a few steps wide on the shore of Tyee Spit. I replaced the stones exactly as I found them; most of the limpets were hiding in the shade.

*Any of my limpet ids are extremely tentative.

Butter side up

The world under water is swarming with predators small and large, and to survive, an animal must be fast, poisonous, armed, encased in body armour, or securely fastened inside another structure. Limpets have opted for the body armour on top, with a solid attachment to a rock or other solid structure beneath.

They amble along, scraping away at their green dinners, unmolested under their domed roofs, ignoring the world around them. If I come across one moving and touch it gently, it immediately clamps itself down to the rock, and becomes immovable. Crabs pick at their shells hopelessly then; they can't break through.

But occasionally, a crab is fast enough to grab an edge before it is sealed to the rock, and tough enough to pry it up. The limpet tumbles to the floor beneath, and becomes dinner on the half-shell.

It's rare that a limpet survives the meal. But this one did.

And here he is, broken shell, torn mantle, and all, peacefully eating algae on the glass.

I don't know how he managed it: any time I've seen a dropped limpet, it was toast.

Rotting cement, upside-down tables, and a handful of limpets

From Campbell River to the south, the highway winds along a coastal plain, dotted with farms, towns, resorts, and light industry. To the north and the west, the situation changes. A terrain map shows what my Mom called an upside-down tableland; many tables, all with their legs in the air.

Google maps: terrain, mid-section of northern Vancouver Island. Campbell River is just off the map, to the lower right.

Here, the roads follow river valleys, keeping as far as possible to low ground, out of the grip of ice most of the year. And here, human settlements are small and widely scattered. Sayward is "large", with 400 people. Kelsey Bay holds 120. Woss, there in the centre of the map, is home to 200. In between, beside some of the lakes, there are a few campsites and inns; a house, a cabin or two, and nothing more. Near the northern tip, where BC Ferries has a terminal, Port Hardy boasts a large population of 4000.

"Port Hardy (population: 4,000) is the last bastion of civilization in the remote and wild north end of Vancouver Island." (Yes, they actually said that. Here.)

Along this coastline, even where there is access, human influence is attenuated. Shipping; cruise ships, fishing boats, log booms, and barges pass, leaving their wash and smoke; logging trucks roar by on the highways; and, of course, there are all the general effects of climate change. Apart from those, land and marine animals and plants go about their business mostly unobserved.

Kelsey Bay is one of the spots where we have left a deeper footprint. It used to be the southern terminus of BC Ferries' Inside Passage, before the road was pushed through to Port Hardy. The bay is full of rusting hulks, crumbling cement, abandoned wharves, interspersed with the usual activities of a northern port; a small-craft harbour, a log dump, parking lots full of machinery and trucks.

Old BC Ferries' ramp supports. High tides reach to the top of the exposed metal.

View from the end of the road, towards Mt. H'kusam. With marina, and several rusting hulks.

On the tiny beach, besides the dead sea urchin, I found shreds of a variety of kelps; the big bull kelp, a curly, wide-bladed kelp, and others too torn to identify. Rockweed is well-entrenched, growing firmly on the cement boat launch; I pawed through it, looking for small critters, and found beach hoppers. On the rocks, mostly too big or too wedged in to flip, barnacles and limpets waited for the water to come back.

Empty limpet shell.

An unusual pattern. This one's alive, and holding on tight.

Limpet on a stone.

Row of mask limpets (Tectura persona) on a rock. With two slipper snails, and another, possibly a ribbed limpet. Lottia digitalis. I had to move a rock to get at these.

All along the coastline, around the marina and the rotting remains of abandoned equipment, the tops of a bull kelp forest floated, their holdfasts still attached below.

The tide is low; at high tide, only the floating blades will be seen.

Keeping a few metres shy of the rocky shore. The water's pink, looking south, towards the setting sun.

From the old BC Ferries' dock, looking north. "My" tiny beach is in the shelter of that big rock on the left. Bare rock marks the high tide line. I was actually trying to take a photo of a loon, who, of course, dived just as I pressed the shutter. There's an eagle on one of the trees, though.

I won't be heading farther north from here until spring; I've been warned of an icy hill, just beyond the Sayward Village turnoff from the highway. Meanwhile, I pore over maps and aerial views, planning, planning.