Mid-tide beach.
It’s easy to forget just how married to the sea we are. We go about our business inshore, along the paved roads, traveling to and from the bank and post office and supermarket. We feel lucky to be able to catch a glimpse of the bay and islands. On foggy nights, we hear the mournful horn. But our history here in coastal Maine is maritime. Lacking sail, or fish, or the winds to carry the timber and lime to the great northeastern cities to the southwest of us, no one would’ve noticed the scenic beauty that brings visitors here in summer, or the “leaf-peepers” in fall.
Bald eagle.
Today, our thaw continued. Oh, ice had slickened the parking lot early, as the temperature dipped below freezing overnight, but then the sun shone and the earth warmed and all began to melt again. By afternoon, when I got to feeling footloose, I had a mild, 42-degree (F) day to set out in. By then I’d seen (or heard) only crows, and a solitary herring gull had flown by.
For some reason I headed for the Owls Head Light. Lighthouses get built in exposed places overlooking water, and that’s just the kind of place I felt like visiting. Maybe I’d get a glimpse of a rare winter duck or something.
En route, in town, I spied more herring gulls, ring-billed gulls, rock pigeons, and a few European starlings. Shortly after turning east toward OwlsHead Harbor, I passed a road-killed gray squirrel. As I approached the lighthouse road, a blanket of cloud approaching from the west came between the sun and the landscape—this, after a brilliant sun all day. No matter: the light along a shore contains magic.
The ocean churned at the base of the cliffs as I walked the trail to the light. You could hear the deep-voiced rumbling of the water against rocks below. I heard—then saw—a few black-capped chickadees in the wind-sculpted spruce. I spotted a small group of common eiders in the waves below.
Red-breasted mergansers (pair).
I reached the light. From the high overlook, I scanned with fieldglasses but saw no birds in flight, few ducks—certainly no rare ones. More eiders, a couple red-breasted mergansers. A herring gull floating in the swells nearby. Then I caught a motion toward the southwest, off near a navigation aid, in the direction of the Rockland Breakwater. A bald eagle, a mature adult. I got a long-distance photo.
The hills loomed dramatically in the west. From a height, the water seemed wide and deep and wild. No notable birds, though—no guillemots or dovekies or Bonaparte gulls that I could see.
On the way back I took the little side trail to the protected beach beneath the lighthouse promontory. A wilder-looking vista I can’t imagine. It’s here I thought how married we are to the sea. Red-breasted mergansers took flight. The coastal hills stood blue in the distance. As I walked back to my pickup, from somewhere behind me, an angry red squirrel scolded me.
Late tonight the temperature remains well above freezing. But it’s January still, and I shall not fall for tomfoolery.
Today’s List
American crow
Herring gull
Ring-billed gull
European starling
Rock pigeon
Common eider
Black-capped chickadee
Bald eagle (ad.)
Red-breated merganser
Common loon
Bufflehead
Looking south from Owls Head.
Tags: American crow, bald eagle, black-capped chickadee, bufflehead, common eider, common loon, European starling, herring gull, red-breasted merganser, ring-billed gull, rock pigeon
