Mute swan

The Campbell River estuary is a waterfowl haven, with the Tyee Spit reaching out to protect it from the currents and winds of the Discovery Passage, and the many small islands dotting the delta providing food, nesting and resting sites. Ducks, both dabblers and divers, Canada geese, loons, and gulls spread out over the water, usually too far away for my camera's lens. Inshore, near the docks and a viewpoint, a flock of mallards and wigeons hang out, hoping for handouts from visitors to a small park.

I had been told to watch for swans with the mallards; a couple of trumpeters and a mute swan. I met the mute swan a couple of days ago.

The mute swan, Cygnus olor, is easily identified by the black bulge above the bill.

Swan and female mallard. The swan grows to about 5 feet long, with a 6-foot wing span.

The trumpeter swan is slightly larger, has no lump on the forehead, and prefers to hang out in flocks. The mute swan is a loner.

The raised wings may be a defensive or aggressive display.

Unfortunately, local residents have taken to feeding the swan bits of bread, not a good addition to its diet. Here, it's waiting for the latest handout.

I'll keep on looking for the trumpeters; they are rumoured to have a nest in the area.

A few big birds

Tidying up the computer, I found a few birds I'd meant to post and forgot. These are from mid-October.

Black-crowned night heron. We saw him return from an errand, and he hadn't had time to fade into the background yet.

Young swan below the Westham Island bridge. Black bill, buff and grey plumage.

Black and white; swan and sunlight on water.

Peaceful, but alert. A resting mallard at Reifel Island.

Sometimes things just go right

Whatever the weather; rain, gumbootrain, or raingearrain; we were going to get out of the house. So we promised ourselves Monday night. "It'll be fun!" I said. So when Tuesday dawned with no rain, even a hint of sunshine, we were pleased, and maybe a bit relieved.

Still, we carried our rain capes and umbrellas, just in case; you can never trust BC weather to live up to its promises.

A weekday, a grey day sandwiched between rainy ones; nobody else would be at Reifel Island. A good day for birding. And the sightings started long before we got there, too.

Immature bald eagles in Delta farm land

These eagles looked odd to me. I thought they just might be young goldens. Something about the shape of the head, or maybe the beak, the sleekness of the feathers, the golden crown ... Here's a cropped and enlarged view:

So I spent a few hours looking them up, and finally decided that yes, they are immature bald eagles after all. The distinguishing mark is the leg; the immature golden has feathers right down to the toes.

Coming in for a landing

We stopped, as usual, at Westham Island bridge. There's an eagles' nest high in a tree just across the street, in use this year again. One eagle was standing guard, half hidden behind branches. Above him, unheeding, a flock of starlings perched, occasionally bouncing off to wheel and land again. The eagle took no notice of them.

Below the bridge, a flock of mallards and wigeons dawdled in the shallows. A coot and a grebe were diving for fish. Camouflaged against the patterns of brown mud and grasses, ...

Look at the length of those bills!

... dozens of peeps slept. A few were wading; otherwise we wouldn't have seen the flock at all.

I have almost as much trouble with these as I do with sparrows; they could be anything from yellowlegs to dowitchers.

Pretty, whatever they are.

And these, I am almost sure, are green-winged teal, judging by the couple of green heads I can see, and the vertical white bar just in front of the wing. I don't know what the dark brown duck is.

And there were mute swans!

So elegant!

I love the contrast here; the sharp blades of grass, the broken sticks, and the white softness of the swan. And that downy head!  It makes you want to touch it. (But I wouldn't dare; I want to keep my fingers.)

Curves

And going from the sublime to the spiky, a heron hiding on the bank of an irrigation ditch.

Armed and dangerous

On to Reifel! (And it still wasn't raining. Fingers crossed ...)

More tomorrow...

Mute swans and a not-so-mute heron

I love mallards. They're beautiful birds, and funny, too. Even when there are hundreds of them, all quacking at once. Even when they mob me for a few seeds, and I have to push them aside with my feet to walk. Even when I have to inch my car through the parking lot, and they don't see the need to move until the front fender almost touches them. (They remind me of range cattle in the Chilcotin, that way.)

But after you've taken a couple dozen photos of mallards, the cameras get clogged with green head feathers; they crave variety. And on this last visit to Reifel Island, that's what they got. We saw so many different birds that I haven't been able to even sort through all the photos until tonight. And there are too many for one blog post.

May as well get going:

Eagle's nest in the mist.

The fun started even before we got to the bird sanctuary. At the bridge to Westham Island, we parked and walked over (and back). The fog limited our vision to the near at hand:

River's mouth

On the Ladner side, Laurie checked out the eagles' nest we saw last year; one eagle was standing guard. At the river's edge there is a marshy area, enclosed by a log breakwater. A white goose dabbled in the mud there.

It always amazes me how they stay so bright and shiny, digging through all that goop.

Nice clean goose.

Double-crested Cormorants lined up on the breakwater.

Western Grebes, downstream.

One of a pair of Mute Swans. More unspottable white.

We drove on. Passing the last farm before the entrance to Reifel, we stopped again, to watch a heron in the ditch, and startled a hawk. I managed to get a photo, very tiny, very misty:

I think it's a Harrier.

We had interrupted its dinner.

More white feathers, still bright in spite of the situation.

Another hawk was in the trees nearby. I don't know what this is. The more I search through my books, the more confused I get. They don't even look the same from one book to the next, let alone from one time of year, age, or sex to the next. Help!

Sitting raptor. At least that much I know.

On to the heron:

Through the branches.

He wasn't in the mood for photos. Laurie got a bit too close, and the heron took off with the loudest, angriest, harshest, longest "Graaaaaaak!" I had ever heard. Sorry this next photo is blurred; I was laughing too hard to hold steady. If you look closely, you can see his open beak.

"Graaaaak!"

Another heron, standing one-legged, looking like an old woman in a shawl.

Next: we finally get to the starting point.
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