9 February 2025

Archive for February, 2010

Aftermath

Friday, February 26th, 2010
Dichotomy, Rockland Breakwater, Rockland, Maine, 26 February 2010.

Dichotomy.

The wind roared last night. Roared. Steady, constant, loud. Dimly I remember awakening in darkness to a particularly strong roar—the wee hours, most likely. But when dawn broke and I looked at my bedside clock, the digital time display didn’t flash, so the power hadn’t gone out. And when I checked the sky, I saw blue. And when I stepped out on the deck for the first time today, the air felt positively warm—40-something degrees.

Crows flitted around during the day. I heard the song of titmouse and house finch. But then the clouds moved in again, and the wind picked up again, and the sky began to spit mist and spray.

In afternoon, I drove to town and saw no gulls or pigeons in the places they usually frequent, like the roof of the old stitching factory, now a local college. I did see some herring gulls floating in the empty gray sky. Off in the harbor, the line of the breakwater extended visibly from north to south, and I decided to walk the length of it.

Black guillemot, Rockland Breakwater, Rockland, Maine, 26 February 2010.

Black guillemot.

The bay side had waves and whitecaps and wind-whipped mist; the harbor side had calm swells and a few red-breasted mergansers. The wind and spray quickly soaked the left side of my jeans on the way out, and I nearly turned back—but I didn’t, in part because of the crazy divergence of the height of the tide on either side of the breakwater. The tide was rising, I knew, and had reached about middle height. And the bay side seemed maybe five or six feet higher than the harbor side. Was this an illusion, perhaps the result of the chop on the bay side? Or was this in fact the case—did the incoming tide perhaps take some time to move around this long granite boundary?

As I wondered this, small groups of long-tailed ducks began flying on rapid wing-beats over the breakwater out toward the islands. Over the course of several weeks of walking out here—at usually late afternoon—I’ve notice the long-tails take up and head out late in the day. They must have special places out in the bay where they lay up overnight, then head back to feed at the rich, calm harbors and coves near mainland during the day.

Then I spotted a solitary black guillemot. A nice surprise. It’s plumage seemed closer to its summer attire than its winter wardrobe. In the minutes I watched it, it never dove.

As I approached the lighthouse, its fog whistle began to blow. The ferries to and from the island passed, as they do, I’ve learned, this time of day. The gray, the wind, the waves, the foghorn—I felt enveloped, surrounded, even protected by a wet, chilly marine world.

On the way back, I saw more long-tails flying eastward, as well as a big flock of gulls also heading that way. A male and two female eiders floated on the harbor side, preening.

Walking back up to my truck, I listened for a minute to the wind—and saw a pair of mallards at the shore.

Today’s List

American crow
Herring gull
Tufted titmouse
House finch
Red-breasted merganser
Long-tailed duck
Black guillemot
Common eider
Mallard

Surf off the Rockland Breakwater, Rockland, Maine, 26 February 2010.

Surf off the Rockland Breakwater, Rockland, Maine, 26 February 2010.

Storm

Thursday, February 25th, 2010
Surf spray, Rockland Breakwater, Rockland, Maine, 25 February 2010.

Surf spray, Rockland Breakwater, Rockland, Maine, 25 February 2010.

Not so many birds today. A lot of weather, though.

First, I heard the blow. Then I saw the day was gray, when first I peeked out the blinds. Wet, too—blustery, dark, wet. Rivulets ran rapidly down the open, green February grass in the neighbor’s lawn. Three crows lit in the grass and began stalking about, pulling and tossing last fall’s matted leaves and sipping water from the rivulets.

The weather didn’t deter the jogger. I counted nine crows and a herring gull waiting for whatever he scattered on the parking lot across the road.

Toward the end of the day I took a quick trip to town. The wind lifted spray from puddles and rocked my pickup on its chassis. I saw not a single bird. On the way back, I decided to see what kind of surf was kicking up at the breakwater.

Two crows, Glen Cove, Rockport, Maine, 25 February 2010.

Two crows, Glen Cove, Rockport, Maine, 25 February 2010.

Big surf, as it happened. I had to lean into the wind even to get down there. On the island side, great waves broke and white spray exploded high into the gray sky before quickly blowing away into nothing. I began snapping photos down the length of the breakwater—but had trouble keeping steady. In fact, I had trouble standing up at all. I’d guess the wind speed at a steady 45 or 50 miles an hour.

I did see a raft of common eiders rocking in the whitecaps on the harbor side.

By the time I returned to my truck, my backside was soaked from being turned toward the weather. On the short trip home, a small passerine flew across the road in front of me, but I couldn’t get a good ID. (Looked like a robin.)

All night it blew. The power stayed on, but my bandwidth conked out. Crazy that yet again great snows shut things down to the south of us, whereas we’re getting nothing but rain.

Today’s List

American crow
Herring gull
Common eider

Penobscot Bay surf, from the Rockland Breakwater, Rockland, Maine, 25 February 2010.

Penobscot Bay surf.

Liquidity

Wednesday, February 24th, 2010
Clam Cove, Rockport, Maine, 24 February 2010.

Clam Cove, 24 February 2010.

After that final little snow squall last evening passed, then came the drizzle and rain. It drizzled and rained all night, in fact, and by morning light it seemed like Mud Season had arrived a month early. The temperature? Mid-30s (F). Wind? Chilly. Birds? Hunkering down.

I did hear a chickadee off somewhere. And the voices of crows filtered down.

I felt stuck to my desk all day, but the weather didn’t exactly lure me out. Finally, perhaps an hour before dark, I headed to town. No gulls, no pigeons. Only humans felt obliged to move around—in their fossil-fuel-powered vehicles, of course—in such wet, sloppy weather. However, along one stretch of Route 1, I saw a robin flying fast across the roadway. The highlight of my day.

Just before sunset, at just about high tide, I stopped my pickup at Clam Cove, not a couple hundred yards from me. Rolled down the passenger window. Snapped a couple photos of the evening blue. And down below I saw a pair of black ducks floating and rolling in the waves.

Today’s List

Black-capped chickadee
American crow
American robin
Black duck

 
Bird Report is a (sometimes intermittent) record of the birds I encounter while hiking, see while driving, or spy outside my window. —Brian Willson



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