Wings against blue sky

A cold wind blew away the clouds on Tuesday, leaving the sky clear and ice-blue. We layered sweaters and jackets and went to White Rock.

The gulls were all down on a far section of the beach, crammed together, waiting for something. Me and my bag of bread, maybe. As soon as I tossed a couple of small pieces onto a picnic table, one in the air wheeled and headed my way; the rest took off and followed him.

Too many gulls! I couldn't keep up with the rush. I kept breaking off smallish bits, so as to give everyone a fair share, throwing some on the table, some on the grass around and behind me. One gull, smaller than most, hovered over my head like a hummingbird, instead; I threw a piece in the air, and he snatched it before it fell. So I threw more, and all his siblings and cousins joined him up there.

None of the larger gulls tried this; they stood not-so-patiently on the table and grass, watching.

I gave up being fair; the lazy gulls could pick up the pieces the hoverers missed. The rest of the bag of bread went up, not down. At the end, the braver of the gulls were holding their place in line less than a foot in front of my head, so close that I kept automatically ducking and closing my eyes.

Laurie stood there, against the light, and took photos of the gulls in the air. I loved the shapes of their wings, black and white against the clear sky.

There are four pieces of bread in the air.

I've lightened this photo up, to show the ring on the bill, and the yellow eye.

As far as I can tell, these are ring-billed gulls; a medium-sized gull with a black ring around the bill, but no red spot with it, yellow feet and eyes, grey back, and black-tipped wings with two white spots near the end.

A Skywatch post.

Against the light

Rule #1 in the photographer's manual: Never shoot directly into the light.

Sometimes you just have to ignore the rules.

White Rock Beach,  last Friday.

The mystery of the yawning gull

A long log reached from above the high tide line on the White Rock beach, and far into the water. Gulls came and went on the wet end; I sat on the dry end, with Laurie beside me on another log.

Four of the gulls stayed, but they bunched up down at the far end.

Tallying them up: 4 brown heads, 3 brown gulls, one white and grey. 3 black bills, one yellow bill with a black spot. Pinkish legs, as far as I can see. (This is important, really.)

Bills: black, black, yellow, black (not visible, but trust me; it's black).

And then one yawned. First, I was surprised by how far he opened his beak. The bottom half is almost vertical, as if it were about to fall off.

But what is that red thing, just behind the beak? Here, I'll zoom in:

Only 3 heads are visible, but there were still 4 tails; all 4 gulls are there. But the red bit is between the second and the third gull. I thought it just might be a foot (up there?), but it's too red.

Or is it? Is that final foot red, or brown?

What do you think?

This I'll remember

Laurie brought along a heel of bread to feed the gulls. (No cholesterol in this, Kirk!) He handed me the bag; "You do it better," he said. So instead of scattering it wholesale, I broke off small pieces and put them, one by one, on the railing of the pier.

Several gulls grabbed the bait from the air, and flew off, as they usually do. But two gulls came and stayed.

"Hello! Is that for me?"

Unflinching stare.

The owlish look.

Isn't he beautiful? He was a bit skittish; perched at arm's length, and dashed in to get his bite of bread only after I'd stepped back a bit. But he didn't mind the camera, as long as I moved slowly.

The next gull, a big brown-eyed youngster, was more confident:

Settling down gently.

He landed close to me, for a start, and then allowed me to approach to within a few inches without flinching. He stayed with me for maybe ten minutes.

There we were, we two, eye to eye, barely moving except when I slowly broke off another bite of bread to share. The camera clicked from time to time, but mostly we stood in companionable silence. It was all very meditative, very Zen. Humbling, too, that this wild thing, this squabbler and shrieker, consented to stand quietly with me, trusting me.

I took dozens of photos, until the bread was all gone. As I packed up the empty bag, Brown Eyes screamed once, and flew away.

Very dignified.

Looks like a tourist photo: "I was here!"

Speaking of tourists, a group walked past, stopped, and doubled back to watch me. More cameras came out. Now there are photos out there of people taking photos of me taking photos of the gull.

I've posted a few more photos of these gulls on Flickr.

Thanks, Brown Eyes! (And Yellow, too!) I'll never forget!

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Screeeeeech!

And it's a surprisingly loud screech when you're only a few inches away!

Hungry gull, White Rock pier

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Afternoon in blue-grey

On White Rock beach:

Silvery sea, and a sleepy bird or two.

Gentle wavelets, suitable for wading

Waiting for supper

Loon, caught between dives

Periscope head.

The sunlight behind the clouds paints a flying angel

A hint of pink

A Skywatch post

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Beach, with reluctant seagulls

Pool of prospective photo models on the White Rock beach:

"Well, go away already! I want that cheese, but not while you're sitting there with a camera!"

"Hah! I got the cheese, and you missed me!"

"Can't catch me, either!"

"And I'm hiding and you can't see me ... You can? Oh."

The smaller critters -- co-operative critters -- will wait until tomorrow.

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Yes, I've got my head on backwards.

Is there a problem with that?

Swivel-top gull, White Rock beach.

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Where the Nicomekl meets the sea

It's been a while since we visited the inner corner of Crescent Beach, adjacent to Blackie Spit. I wanted to see what was happening around the pier. Around, on, and under, really.

We found plenty to look at (in no particular order):

View from the end of the pier, looking out to sea.

"This is heavy water!"

Off in the distance, an eagle on a post.

Seaweed on rock at low tide.

Pigeon on protruding pier plank.

Gull. On post.

The pier, looking inland

Rusted out stair railing.

Light fixture.

Barnacles and mussels coat the pier supports.

Conference.

Rock, with barnacles.

A couple of boys were jumping off the end of the pier. A couple more didn't dare.

"Water for my crab!"

Sailing upriver.

Bag A Clypse. That's what it says. What it means, I don't know.

What I was hoping to find (and did find), next post.

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