Seward,
Alaska Sporadic Bird Report
The Great and
the Small
Sunrise 9:45
am, sunset 3:53 pm, length of day 6 hours, 8 minutes; tomorrow will be 2
minutes and 25 seconds shorter.
Today's
palette is mostly monochrome with an excess assortment of grays.
Weather: 100%
low clouds, south wind, temperatures in the mid to high 30s. Heavy snow showers
completely obscure the surrounding mountains and most of the bay. A scruff of
crusty snow covers the ground, but greenish grass patches show under sheltering
spruce. It's tricky walking without ice grippers as the snow conceals a lot of
ice.
The weather
is channel surfing, rushing from biting winds and subzero temperatures to rain
on ice like a Zamboni, then a sunny, calm, mid-20s respite complete with
brilliant stars, moon, and Jupiter at night, switching to a dash of snow
showers to hide the ice and challenge optics, and repeat in random order.
The beach at
Lowell Point today featured wet snow plastered onto my glasses, binocs, and
camera. The two resident SONG SPARROWS hopped around in their favorite corner
of the beach, rummaging though the seaweed, blending in with the dark cobbles.
A BALD EAGLE cruised up and perched on the lookout at the top of Pinnacle Rock.
A COMMON LOON and a female RED-BREASTED MERGANSER heedlessly chose to ignore it
and continued fishing close by. One HORNED GREBE, one PELAGIC CORMORANT, and a
few GLAUCOUS-WINGED GULLS bobbed on the waves, barely visible in the slanting
snow.
Up by the
beach houses, several DARK-EYED JUNCOS flitted among the Mt Ash trees and on
the ground, their white outer tail feathers flashing. A MAGPIE stopped by to
boss them around a bit. A good supply of Mt Ash berries remain on the ground,
but sadly, no Redwing to gobble them up.
Back towards
town by the waterfall, an eagle ripped into a freshly caught sea duck
(goldeneye?) with gusto, dark feathers falling like snowflakes. One dies so
another lives.
Robin C
reported two PACIFIC LOONS feeding in the boat harbor.
Tuesday,
December 6, 2011
Ah! The day
of respite! Sunny, calm, mid 20sº. The short trip over to Fourth of July Beach
on the east side of Resurrection Bay turned back the clock. Here, the sun does
not rise over the mountains until well after 11 am, more than an hour later
than town. Just as we arrived, the sun lit up that corner of the bay. Transient
tendrils of golden yellow mist curled up and wafted seawards, the delicate
balance of air and water temperatures suddenly disrupted. Inch-thick polygons
of clear ice decorated the beach, stolen from the creek by the outgoing tide
and just as casually discarded.
A flash of
dark feathers caught my eye. Ah! A DIPPER paddled about the outlet of the
little pond. As I approached, he flew, but towards me! Unconcerned, he stood on
the nearby ice, totally dry. His bare pinkish legs and feet reminded me of a
teen wearing shorts in the winter. After regarding me for a second, he plunged
his whole head underwater, and peered around, short tail pointing skyward. Then
he dove in the water and snorkeled, paddling around with his long skinny,
web-free toes, resembling a very tiny, gray duck. After that short exploration,
up he flew to perch on an ice-covered rock in the outlet waterfall, and leaned
over to look under the murmuring water. Then up a bit higher to a dry rock to preen
and adjust his remarkable dry suit, and finally back up again to the open water
of the pond by the outlet. After a brief headlong dive off the ice edge, he
caught a fine stickleback, repositioned it, and down it went, headfirst. I left
him, dipping on the ice, completely content in his liquid and frozen world.
By now, the
pale sun warmed the air just enough to absorb the ephemeral mist. Suddenly my
son called out. A small whale surfaced just offshore! The water seemed
inconceivably shallow to contain a whale of any size. Twin vapor clouds shot
from its paired blowholes, then hung in the air, followed quickly by a craggy
dorsal fin and a tight arc of its dark back. Then nothing remained but wisps of
the blow. As they faded, another great exhale and shallow dive! It traveled
quickly from one side of the bright sunbeams to the other. I snapped photos as
fast as I could, dodging around the smiling sun.
We drove back
to town, but now the sun raced ahead and it was almost twilight at 2 pm on the
west side of the bay. What a time machine! As soon as possible, I emailed
photos to marine mammal expert Kate Wynne. She identified it as a humpback
whale, possibly a calf or juvenile that remained in northern waters while the
adults migrated to Hawaii to breed and give birth. This theory has not yet been
proven, but makes sense. And there it was, definitely a small humpback. She has
observed whales swimming in water less than 20' deep and less than 20' from
shore. Kate wrote that humpbacks love sand lance and it may have found a good
supply there. How interesting that the diminutive dipper and the great whale
were both feasting on tiny fish!
Happy
Birding!
Carol
Griswold
Seward
Sporadic Bird Report Reporter
Seward Sporadic
Bird Report Reporter
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