Wedge of blue sky.

The day dawned calm and hazy. Temps in the 20s (F), a sky that seemed unable to decide whether to stay cloudy or let the sun shine through. Early on, I heard the single squeal of a winter robin out back, then the friendly voices of chickadees, then the soft call of a white-breasted nuthatch. From my desk in morning I could see crows alighting in the crown of a great oak down the road a ways—the same tree whose foliage, in summer, takes on the shape of a human head or face. The crows would alight, then leave; then they’d return, then they’d leave again.

Great black-backed gull.

I’d had all the desk work I could stomach by about 3:30 p.m., and so decided to head out the breakwater to look for the king eiders rumored to be hanging out on the bay side these past couple weeks. I’ve only ever seen common eiders there, but you never know. After a quick trip to town—herring and ring-billed gulls, rock pigeons, the usual—I turned down and parked and grabbed my gloves and scarf. The temperature had warmed to slightly above freezing, but I’ve learned to respect the raw exposure you feel out on the granite stones. Still, I stuck my gloves in my pockets at first and didn’t zip my parka.

Not much wind really. The usual collection of mallards by the shore. On the island side of the breakwater, I saw black ducks and common goldeneyes; on either side were loons.

Maybe a hundred yards out, the wind rose suddenly. I pulled on my gloves and zipped up. A solitary gentleman I often meet returning from his walk warned me of ice out toward the lighthouse. A loon rose as by magic from the swell not a dozen feet away.

Great cormorant.

He was right about the ice. I had to keep closer tabs than usual on where I put my feet—and you generally have to pay attention to your footing out there, lest you step between the stones and break an ankle (a fairly common occurence)—and a couple times slipped and slid. Once I looked up surprised to see a great black-backed gull floating above me maybe twenty feet or so. Wings out, motionless in the wind. Taking its photo proved a challenge, however, as it was pretty close for my telephoto lens. I’d focus, it’d move; I’d focus, it’d move. It hovered directly above me for quite a few seconds—to the point that I wondered if I’d get pooped on.

Then the gull did an odd thing: at once it veered into the waves, plunged its head in, and when it emerged it had what looked like a long worm in its mouth—I couldn’t tell if it was eating the worm or trying to spit it out. In fact, I wasn’t entirely sure it was a worm. Perhaps it was some kind of string or line, or maybe the gull’s long tongue. (Except I can’t imagine gulls have tongues that long.) Maybe it was dining on saltwater worms. The tide was semi-low, and it looked like it was hunting.

I saw a single great comorant. I saw no long-tailed ducks. And this is noteworthy: I saw no eiders at all, let alone a king eider. I can’t remember the last time I headed out the breakwater in winter without seeing at least a dozen or so.

Sunset over Rockland.

I made it to the end and turned back. The sun was setting. The light in the sky was lovely. On my return, I met a young couple headed out and said, motioning behind me with a smile, “Kind of precarious.”

“We’ll be careful,” they said, as if I were a parent.

My cheeks grew numb in the wind. Loons and cormorants and goldeneyes dove for seafood. A great black-back gulped down worms—or not. And as I stepped off the breakwater and returned to my pickup, I saw a solitary duck, a female common eider, floating in the protected cove at gloaming and swallowing what might’ve been a mussell or other shellfish. She was the only eider I saw today.

Today’s List

American robin
Black-capped chickadee
White-breasted nuthatch
American crow
Herring gull
Ring-billed gull
Rock pigeon
Mallard
Common loon
Black duck
Common goldeneye
Red-breasted merganser
Great black-backed gull
Great cormorant
Common eider

The bay.