Sunny interlude

Walking west from White Rock beach, I left a trail of goodies for the crabs and hermits. I couldn't help it; the stones and rocks are crowded with barnacles; at every step, I heard the crunch of another dozen crushed shells. Barnacle steaks, ready to eat as soon as the tide covered them.

Once the tide comes in, with or without my clumsy footsteps, the barnacles are in danger. Whelks drill through their shells and eat them, crabs pry their protective plates off, starfish evert their stomachs over them and digest them even inside their little castles. Flatworms ooze inside to eat them. Even the vegetarian limpets bulldoze the new homes of the youngest barnacles.

It's better out in the sunshine. At least they can sleep in peace!

Barnacles and miniature periwinkles on a rock face. Most of the barnacles have been eaten already.

There's safety in numbers; the odds of being missed are greater. But building sites are hard to come by.

When acorn barnacles are crowded, they grow tall, reaching for open water. And then other barnacles grow on their tips.

Barnacle scars on a stone, all that's left of somebody's dinner. There's enough meat in one of these large ones to interest a gull.

The rock face again. More barnacles and periwinkles.

Zooming in. Barnacle scars, empty barnacle rings, and a few sleeping barnacles.

Billions of barnacles and nary a sign of starfish or whelks. But wait 'till the tide comes in; they'll be there, ready for supper.

There and back again

I walked from White Rock almost to Kwomais Point, looking for purple starfish and Lion's Mane jellies.

Kwomais Point, from the Southeast.

I was aiming for that big squarish rock near the point. It has always been loaded with interesting critters, including a family of purple and pink starfish. Unfortunately, by the time I got there, stumbling over rolling rocks in unfamiliar wading shoes, it was unreachable;

Starfish Rock

I did see two Lion's Manes, both very dead. No starfish.

On the way back, following the easier path at the top of the tidal zone, I collected a big bagful of plastic and styrofoam. If I'd had more bags, I could have filled them, too. What is wrong with people?

Green fishie on dried eelgrass. Probably left behind by mistake.

Unwelcome bedmate

I love spiders, but not in my bed, please! This one woke me up in the middle of the night by tickling my cheek.

A very small jumper, with green eyes.

He loved the camera; one big, round, shiny eye, as round and glittery as his own.

Except that he's got more of them, even in the back of his head.

While I went for a container to trap him in, he disappeared. I went to sleep the rest of the night in a chair.

Stones and jelly

Stones under water:

Near the high tide line, Boundary Bay

Stones under jelly:

Lion's mane jelly, Cyanea capillata. A small one. The first I've seen washed up this year.

It's the end of the Lion's Mane's life cycle; they've raised their young, and now they drift, dying, onto the nearest beach.

The female jellyfish carries its fertilized eggs in its tentacle where the eggs grow into larva. When the larva are old enough, the female deposits them on a hard surface where the larva soon grow into polyps. (Wikipedia) 

The jellyfish are pelagic for most of their lives but tend to settle in shallow, sheltered bays towards the end of their one-year lifespan. (

The top few metres of the intertidal zone along the southeastern coast of Boundary Bay are stony and a bit steep (in comparison to the rest of the tidal flat plain.) Jellyfish that get tossed up here are often shredded before they arrive. I must go down to the flatter shore east of White Rock, to see how many are coming in this year.

Black and yellow

Busy bee on tansy

"All those big platters full of pollen! So little time! Hurry, hurry!"

Srevotfel, redux

A month's worth of aquarium pix; the odd shots taken while I was stalking something else.

One of the smaller hairy hermits, wearing a live barnacle on his shell. On Barnacle Mountain.

Young proliferating anemone. They live on their mother's column until they feel ready to leave home, then detach and float off to a new site. There are about half a dozen scattered around the tank, and another few still clinging to Mom.

Flatworm on the wall, carrying a small snail. Supper's cooking!

Making a snail taco.

A mouthful of snail meat. The shell has been dropped. A new outfit for a small hermit!

One of my tiniest hermits. These are sometimes orange, sometimes dark brown and white. I don't think they're hairies; they don't get much bigger than this.

Face shot of a small red shrimp

Snowy, again. Growing up, getting braver. His eyes are green now, his body a bit speckled.

Snowy molted. And I found his carapace before it crumbled.

I've been trying to determine his species; it's difficult, him being so small and so elusive. So I was glad to get an entire carapace, to see the shape and count the teeth. And I'm still not quite sure, but I think he's a baby red rock crab.

The carapace of adults is deep brick red in color and has 5 teeth that protrude anteriorly between the eyes.  Nine teeth that line the edge of the carapace lateral to each eye have a somewhat fluted appearance, like pie crust.  Carapace shape has been described as being fan shaped or shaped like the letter “D”.  The pinchers have black tips.  Juvenile red rock crabs are quite variable in carapace color and pattern, the patterns sometimes being quite exotic. (WSU BW)

5 teeth between the eyes: check.
9 teeth along the edge: probably; hard to see clearly.
Fan-shaped carapace: check. It's bumpy, too; the Dungeness crab has a smooth carapace.
Black-tipped pincers: looks like that's where he's going; there's a faint purplish tinge to the tips now.

Small bubble shell, wearing green algae.

Limpet, pooping.

Every batch of eelgrass comes home with a fair number of limpets, mostly quite small. They trundle about, cleaning the eelgrass, cleaning the walls, sometimes sleeping for a day or two. As long as they stay stuck to anything, they do well; if at any time they lose their grip and fall to the sand, they are eaten within minutes. The hermits hold them in one pincer, open side up, like a bowl of stew, picking out the meat with the other pincer.

With a sea star or two in the tank, things change; only on the eelgrass are they safe. Wherever the sea star can get a solid grip, he can rip the limpet away from his base. This large one (above) only lasted a few days.

Powder blue tail

Aka Whitetail.

Names of living critters are funny things. The more specific they are, the less they seem to correspond to the actual individuals, maybe because life doesn't like being put in boxes.

The Common Whitetail skimmer has a brown or blue abdomen (not tail; that part of the name is wrong, too), depending on its age and sex. It is also known as the long-tailed skimmer, although its abdomen is relatively short, less than the wingspan.

Common whitetail male, mature. Plathemis lydia

The young males and the females have brown bodies, with white or yellow side stripes. The mature males are a chalky blue, getting chalkier as they age. In full sunlight, some of them do look almost white, which explains the name.

They catch their food, mosquitoes and other flying insects, by hovering or skimming over the surface of calm water. At least that part of their name fits.

Fashion statement

Ma Shrimp, now that she's done with raising a family, has become quite the flashy dresser. These days, she's showing off a slinky, speckled skirt, green and black, with white stripes and a black and grey lacy frill down the front; striped leggings; a green and yellow patterned coat. And I love her new vest!

Sitka shrimp

As she was, back when she had youngsters to deal with:

In berry, last May

The other three shrimp that came home with her have all turned red as they grew, with the largest being the reddest.  All four are semi-transparent against a bright light. In the wild, that gives them double-duty camouflage; they're dark and mottled, as a fish would see them from above, and blend into the patterns of the sea floor. Seen from below, as by a crab, they match the light from the sky.

Katy

... did drop in to visit.

She slept in the angle of the ceiling and wall above my desk for two days, then went about her business.

Drumming katydid, female*, Meconema thallassinum

These insects drum on leaves with their hind legs. And they hear their song with an organ that functions like our ears, with a membrane (the typanum) stretched over an air sac. Except that the "ear" is on the front leg, just below the knee.

Front leg, with tympanal organ.

"Do you mind if I drum on your wall?"

*The female has a long, pointed ovipositor at the end of the abdomen. The male has two curved pincer-like appendages instead.

The speaking gaze

A hermit, looking me straight in the eye, seems to be saying, ...

"Are you listening? This is important!"

Unfortunately, I can't hear him.

Do underwater invertebrates communicate with sound at all? Fish and whales do, I know. Land-based insects do. Even slugs detect some sounds. How about crabs and shrimp? Hermit crabs?

Maybe they do.

Although marine invertebrates do not hear in the same way vertebrates do, it is thought they are able to sense vibrations and movements associated with sound production. Some marine invertebrates that produce sound in air have specialized sensory organs that can detect acoustic pressure changes in air. However, marine invertebrates in water are known to detect only particle motion. External sensory hairs and internal statocysts aid marine invertebrates in sound detection.  (From Discovery of Sound in the Sea.)

There's always more to learn and be amazed by.

All the sky glows

I found myself yesterday evening at the entrance to Garry Point Park, on the southwest corner of Lulu Island. The shoreline was crowded with people on logs, on chairs, on benches, on rocks, apparently all there to watch the sunset. So was I, but I walked around the shore to the westernmost point, where Scotch Pond emerges to Georgia Strait.

From the south side of the point, and with my back to the sun, the sky was just beginning to take on a pink hue; the water was still blue.

(I'm posting the photos in chronological order to show how the light changes.)

Entering the south arm of  the Fraser River, heading for the docks in Steveston. 7:55 PM.

Goofing around with Picasa, and a photo that was too grey, I ended up with this: the tide coming in, swamping beach grasses and rearranging driftwood. Some of the pink hue stayed in.

When I turned to face west, the colours changed; everything was orange or black.

One of the many photographers already set up waiting for the magic moment.

The camera sees more orange than I do. My eyes are more flexible; I can squint into the too-bright light, without it affecting the whole scene.

From the outlet of Scotch Pond, looking directly west. There's enough reflected light from the slough for some of the green to show up.

All those poles! A few, farther out, are light beacons, but the rest are rotting pilings. In 1899, a cannery was built here (the Scottish Canadian Cannery, which gives its name to Scotch Pond). Rather than build on solid ground, the owners put it, with the workers' housing and net racks, all out on pilings on the tide flats, a good quarter of a mile outside the dike. It was still occupied as housing for Japanese families until 1942. The buildings have been gone for over a half century now, but the pilings remain, serving as perches for gulls and cormorants. There are two in this photo, or are those eagles?

From almost the same spot, looking north, over the Lulu Island tidal flats. What is that round thing? There's a row of them, all along this coastline.

10 minutes later. The sun is almost at eye level now.

While I waited, I' prowled around, looking at plants; beach pea, blackberries, some orange and yellow asters, a few lupins, gone to seed already, and purple loosestrife, struggling to keep its foothold. And there, below the point, on the rocks, were a couple of fishermen with their poles. Backs to the sun, intent on their lines, they stood almost immobile until the lines jerked; then they reeled in their catch and dropped it in a mesh bag at their feet in the water.

Peamouth chub, about 6 inches long. Everything is blue, because my back is to the sun.

I thought the orange fins and tail were an effect of the sunset, but no; that's their real colour.

These shallow bays are usually productive because when the tidal current is strong, most residential fish hide in them. Next time when fishing at Garry Point Park, instead of chucking a large chunk of worms into the fast water, try fishing close to the rocks with a float. Peamouth chub and some incredibly large northern pikeminnow usually rest by the rocks waiting for you to feed them. (From Fishing with Rod.) 

These are small fish, not especially good eating, but plentiful and easy to catch. They are a freshwater fish, but also live in brackish waters, such as this slough. While I watched the two fishermen caught a half-dozen fish, all small.

20 to 9. The sun is still there. A couple of kayakers head back inland, in an orange sea.

8:45. Just about sunset. The fishermen are still at work; those are their poles, angling across the slough.

Another photographer, waiting with his tripod and zoom lens on the high ground, told me that the best time to catch the sunset is about 10 minutes after the sun has dropped past the horizon. All the sky glows, he said. I should wait for it.

But the mosquitoes had found me, and they were vicious. I was slapping my head, my ankles, my ears, my wrists, my ankles again, my neck ... Too much; I turned off the camera, snapped the lens cap on, and hurried away.

(The mosquitoes followed me, and got their fill. I lost my glasses on the way across the park and had to look for them in the dark, to the great delight of the whining horde.)

A Skywatch post

Climbing the walls

The leafy hornmouth snail collects sand grains around the edges of his shell, and carries them up the wall to help with his scratch making*. This time, he has another attachment, as well.

Can you find the barnacle molt?

*I am ever so careful with the outside of the glass, to keep it clear for taking photos, but the critters inside constantly frustrate my efforts.

999,957

Almost a million!

Blogger tells me that's how many page views they've counted for this blog. Almost a million!

I know, it's just a number. And it may not even be all that accurate. And some silly YouTube videos reach that number of views in a few days, whereas I've been blogging here for over 9 years.

Still, it's sort of exciting. Like a milestone on the highway that you stop to take a photo of, with you sitting on it, or parking your mascot on top, or gazing off into the distance, pretending not to have set the camera on auto-timer.

And then you get back in the car and go on; it's just a marker, and you're going somewhere more interesting.

Which I'm doing now. Can't stop here. Back in the car, and off we go! There's more to be seen ahead!

Climbing Barnacle Mountain. There's a ways to go, yet.

The tank and all

It's not a pretty sight.

I've been asked, several times, to post photos of my entire tank and setup, so here they are, with some notes on contents and operation.

Once upon a time, I got a book on tank decoration and studied it carefully. Unfortunately, my critters can't read. And they have their own standards of what's proper, besides. Anything I arrange, they manage to undo overnight. The hermits swing on the eelgrass, bear it down to the sand. The crabs overturn shells and rocks and uproot the vegetation. Worms collect things and glue them together in knots.

So I've aimed, instead, at comfort; what makes my critters happy? And like children with a room full of toys, all on the floor, they like a mess.

The tank as it was a week ago. A Mother Hubbard week.

(Warning: long post. Details, details. If they'll bore you, scroll down to the bottom before you leave.)

I fill the tank with eelgrass, and the hermits swarm all over it for a few days, until they reduce it to half the amount. Then they gradually eat away at it until there are only a few blades left and I go back to the beach for more.

The tank is a small one, approximately 20 inches by 10 by 2 high. It holds 10 gallons of water, full to the top. (Which I never do, because the snails like a patch of bare wall to sleep on.)

I loaded it with eelgrass last week. Yesterday, I changed the water again (I do this weekly) and re-planted what remains of the eelgrass. I should have taken a photo then, but I was tired and put it off. In the morning, the eelgrass had all been plastered down to the bottom.

As it was this afternoon. I see they've knocked the abalone shell on its back. A crab's doing, probably.

I numbered some of the contents to identify them for you.

Numbers in red. You may want to click on this for a full-size view.

• #1 is an abalone shell that has been in the tank since the beginning. All my critters love it, for climbing, for sitting, for hiding under the lip, or for privacy, burrowing down behind it. It looks bare in the photo, but there's a green shore crab under the lip, a family of anemones on the floor, one on top, and a few hermits wandering about. The mottled starfish is sleeping on the back.
• #2; A clamshell loaded with barnacles that I brought back for the leafy hornmouth snail. Most of the barnacles have been eaten, but the other critters love the empty barnacle cases, so I've left it to them.
• #3: You can't see it, but a purple sand dollar buried himself here last night.
• #4: A stone with barnacles. The starfish eat these, too. When it's done, I'll remove it.
• #5: The pump/filter intake.
• #6: The pump output, always making bubbles.
• #7: Red bladed algae. It was a small leaf or two growing on a clamshell when I brought it home, and it keeps growing and growing. I've pruned it several times. Everybody climbs through this; hermits, snails, crabs, anemones, assorted worms, the shrimp (taking their colour from it.)
• #8: One of the shrimp, in the background.
• #9: That annoying white crab.
• #10: (Back up on the left) The air pump intake. The bubbler is hidden behind the abalone, making the secret cave behind it even more interesting to the animals that live back there.
• #11:(On the right again) You can barely see a hint of the big burrowing anemone back here. Whenever I move her to a more visible spot, she moves right back.
• #12: Eelgrass, all plastered down.
• #13: The last shred of green sea lettuce. I haven't found any on the beach for a while. Mostly the crabs and a few of the worms eat this.

All the rocks and shells and greenery change position constantly, and are removed as they wear out or rot away. The only permanent part of the whole shebang are the pump, the air bubbler, and the abalone shell.

Now: the whole setup, as it is today, warts and all:

Yes, that's a Van Gogh print. Just because.

I've had the tank in various locations, but finally moved it to the kitchen counter to be near the fridge and water. It would be nice to have a separate space for it; a laundry room or garage, but that's not in the cards. So here it is; it works for me and the critters.

Around it are the lights; a 100-watt spot overhead, moveable. LED lights on the side and overhead. An LED gooseneck lamp for highlighting what needs to be seen. There's a flashlight in the cupboard above, for midnight checks. The rest of the lights are on timers.

While the hot weather lasts, I keep a fan on all the time, to help keep things cool. (That's also the reason I don't use normal fish-tank lights; they're too close, and they shut in the heat.)

Behind the fan are a couple of little pots holding tools: an eyedropper, tweezers, toothbrushes, paintbrush (for catching delicate tinies), a thermometer.

Behind everything is a big mirror, mostly to hide the tangle of wires, and also to add some backup light. It always gets spattered with salt blow-back from the pump.

The air pump is in the cupboard overhead. So are all the containers, food, microscope, trays, salinity meters, etc.

And the plastic container on the right contains two whelks and a big flatworm that came home hidden in the eelgrass or a clamshell. They are all hungry hunters, and too good at what they do. They're going home to the beach with me on the next trip. I've given them a few barnacles for meanwhile.

These are all intertidal invertebrates, and they like it cool. In this weather, and inside a house, that is difficult to manage. I keep the bottom shelf of the freezer full of containers of water. Several times a day, I put one in the tank, remove an equal amount of water, and replace it in the freezer. It works, and is less intrusive and 'way less expensive than the commercial aquarium coolers, if more time-consuming.

Periodic iceberg.

Water currents mingling; thawing saltwater ice, with warmer water.

So that's that. Any questions?

Dancing anemone

I've been asked for photos of my entire setup. I'm working on it, but it's easier said than done. This is part of the reason why. I get sidetracked.

The big brown anemone that came home on Canada Day stands front and centre, more or less. Usually less; he's sulking. If the water's too cold, or too warm, or too old, or too slow, he sulks. If a hermit steps on him, he sulks. Sometimes, for no reason that I can see, he puckers up his mouth like a baby tasting a pickle, hunkers down, and sulks for hours.

And in between those times, he sometimes dances.

Lift those skirts!

Siamese anemones?

For a few minutes, I thought he was going to split in two, but no, he slid entirely off the shell he came home on, flapped his skirts a few more times, then slid back onto the shell and stood there sedately. He's there now, tall and glorious.

I'll post the whole kit and kaboodle tomorrow, I think.

All the little mouths

They bite.

Close view of a starfish's busy coat.

Solid white spines, translucent gills, and the biting pedicellariae; all those little open jaws.

I've been spending time sitting in front of the tank, chasing an annoying white crab, and noticed interactions between the mottled star and the other residents. The starfish wanders about slowly, minding his own business (finding something more to eat), ignoring anything not edible. He can afford to be complacent; he's wearing his own security guard.

A hermit crab passes him, and touches - just barely - an arm of the star, and immediately yanks away his pincer and backs off. The little annoying crab swats at anything that comes near him, like a kitten does. Unless it's the starfish. He raises a pincer to hit it, remembers, changes his mind, and goes to hide under a shell.

I watched as a few grains of sand fell onto the back of the starfish. They immediately started to move up over the arm, and off the other side.

The pedicellariae are at work.

More on the crab, later. I'm trying to get a photo of the shape of his carapace, but I'm sure he recognizes the camera already; he runs away as soon as he sees it.