Birds on the rocks

Rocky shore, with a few distant birds.

See him?

Getting closer.

It took over 15 minutes to get close enough, stepping softly. One slow step more, and he flew away. A Belted  kingfisher, male.

Bald eagle.

Gull on a rock. Quadra Island across the water.

Peep. I think it's a plover.

At least these were close.  Peep tracks.

More tomorrow, not quite so far away.

A Skywatch post.

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 Una playa con rocas. Y pájaros en la distancia.

1. ¿Lo ves?
2. Me estoy acercando.
3. Me tomó más de 15 minutos llegar tan cerca, caminando despacito para no asustarle. Un paso más, y voló. Un martín gigante, Megaceryle alcyon, macho.
4. Un águila calva, Haliaeetus leucocephalus.
5. Una gaviota sobre una roca, con la isla Quadra en el fondo.
6. Un pájaro playero pequeño ("peep"). Creo que es un chorlito gris, Pluvialis squatarola.
7. Por lo menos, estas huellas las pude ver de cerca. Huellas de algún "peep".

Thoughts on a rocky shore

I love a rocky beach.

Polished rocks, a sprinkling of barnacles

The current runs strong along the eastern shore of the Georgia Strait, and the tides pound in and drain out quickly. Many of the rocky areas are like this; water-polished rocks, with very little life visible. Turning over stones at low tide, I find more smooth stones. No crabs, no hermits, no worms. They must be there, but have retreated to deeper, safer hideouts.

Sometimes there are barnacles, in flatter areas thickly covering the stones, in other spots clustered on the sheltered sides and bottoms of the rocks. There are spots where none are to be seen, where the rocks shine as if they were waxed and buffed.

Down near the lowest tide line, seaweeds cover the rocks. It's dangerous walking; the weeds are slippery, and the rocks move underfoot. No matter how carefully I step, I'm always a twisted ankle away from a spill. But here, the crabs and other critters find a refuge. From the waves, from hungry gulls, and also from me, as I usually gingerly skirt the greenest areas, keeping an eye on the water's edge, ready to hurry towards land when the tide turns; I don't want to be caught in seaweed over stones as the water races in. Too risky.

A flatter spot, in the lower intertidal zone, with small erratics and tide pools. More barnacles here.

Coming towards a tide pool, I see ripples and splashes at the surface. By the time I get there (and sometimes I sneak up from the far side of the rock) there is nothing. The pool looks empty, just more clean stones with clear water. Even the tiny fish have hidden underneath the stones.

But there are always snails. Tiny, and tinier snails, dotting the rocks, basking in the warmth or resting in a tide pool. Most are pinhead size, some as "big" as a grain of rice. They hold on tight, or don't provide enough resistance to the waves to be washed away. Maybe their shape helps; smooth and rounded, with a sharp tip.

Under an inch of water in a tide pool, rice-grain snails and a few limpets choose the warmest rock.

Everywhere else, where I find tiny snails, a good half of the shells house miniature hermit crabs. Not here. I think I saw one leg poking out of a shell; otherwise, every snail shell is full of snail. Hermits can easily be bowled over by a wave and swept away.

The tiniest snails are a worry for me. In some spots, every decent-sized stone is covered with them, like sprinkles on a donut. I can't put my foot down without stepping on some. I try to brush them aside, but risk tripping myself up as the stone shifts. I am glad my shoes have deep ridging; at least some of my footprint is safe for tiny critters.

Sand is safer, for the snails, and for me.

These toes are made for walking

I followed a great blue heron down the beach, trying to get close enough for a clear photo. I was walking on sand; he waded over drowned rocks, through tidepools, and over the dry rocks - big ones. While he was at it, he caught and ate several fish. And after an hour of patient stalking, I finally got close enough. For two whole minutes.

3:11:10. In rocky water. He's noticed me.

5 seconds later. He's faster on rocks than I am on sand.

35 seconds later. He's stopped to check for fish. And to show off his long rock-walking toes.

And then he flew away, complaining as he went, about nosy people cluttering up his stomping grounds.

Beach contrasts

Stories beach at low tide is a wide, sandy stretch, perfect for walking, making sand castles, sunbathing, watching the sky ...

Looking northwest, to the coast mountains.

But this afternoon, I turned south, to the seaweedy, slippery, treacherous rocks. That's where the critters live.

Long dikes mini-hogbacks* of sculpted sandstone, interspersed with fields of melon-sized rocks.

Correction sent to me via Messenger from a geologist friend:

Geologically, the sandstone ledges are strata, not dikes, which would crosscut the layers (by definition), and are usually igneous. Because the sandstone layers are at an angle, they could be called mini-hogbacks or cuestas.

Thanks, Jenny!

That green sea lettuce is slippery. I fell once, in spite of extreme caution. But every stone hides a new community.

Sometimes the rocks seem to have been tossed randomly on a flat sandstone table. By giants.

The sandstone mini-hogbacks hold tidepools well above the low tide level. And there are fish in the pools.

Just out of reach, two harlequin duck couples stand watching me.

And yes, there were critters, new and old. And a few mysteries. That's for tomorrow.

A Skywatch post.