Seward, Alaska
Sunrise 6:25 am, sunset 9:39 pm for a total day length of 15 hours and 13 minutes. Tomorrow will be 5 minutes and 18 seconds shorter.
100% chance of rain does not necessarily mean that it will rain all day. 99% humidity only means the sensor is limited to two digits. 53ยบ does not mean the thermometer is stuck, though it may seem that way.
For the past ten days, squall after squall of heavy rain grudgingly paused briefly for an intermission of light mist or miraculous no precip. More rain, including up to 1 ½” on Tuesday, is forecast for the rest of August. Gray, gray, gray.
Armed with raingear and an umbrella, I headed out, eager to check the beach scene. Several SAVANNAH SPARROWS popped out of the dripping vegetation. One posed obligingly on a seed-spire of Arctic wormwood then flew off as another briefly landed below.
Many ducks, including GREEN-WING TEAL, PINTAILS, AMERICAN WIGEON, and MALLARDS tipped up in the pond and dabbled in the flats. For the first time in many decades, they will not be hunted come September 1. In June, DOT purchased the privately-owned parcel including most of the pond and beach, and decided to not allow hunting anymore. Yay, for the waterfowl!
At the edge of the receding tide, 25 BLACK TURNSTONES chittered as they flipped small rocks and picked through the shallow puddles. Six days ago, I was pleased to find 7, and 18 on July 22, but 25 was a new fall high.
A bit farther along, a single RUDDY TURNSTONE in non-breeding plumage, sporting a black bib, industriously demonstrated its rock-flipping technique. Tiny water droplets beaded on its back. I guessed it was a juvenile due to the bright outline of its feathers. A WESTERN SANDPIPER kept it company.
Several handsome stop-start SEMIPALMATED PLOVERS fanned out on patrol, closely scrutinizing the algae and nooks for marine worms and other invertebrates.
A small flock of about 25 peeps rose and fell along the edge, disappearing immediately among the drab rocks and mud. Two GREATER YELLOWLEGS fished in an intertidal stream.
Suddenly, a MERLIN landed on a driftwood perch near a couple of silent RAVENS. Almost instantly, another Merlin appeared and both zoomed off, apparently not the best of pals, closely circling each other, until I lost them in the clouds.
Just as I reached the car, the heavens again opened. Well-satisfied, it was a perfect time to retreat.
Carol Griswold
Seward Sporadic Bird Report Reporter
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