Baying

A reported Little Gull along the beach in Del Haven brought a few of us scrambling to the bayshore this afternoon. The tide was out, and the flats stretched brown and soggy towards the receding water, littered with shorebirds and gulls. From the frenetic activity, it was obvious that there was plenty to eat out there. There were plenty of interesting patterns on those flats, as well.  And yes, we saw the gull.

Looking west from Miami Beach

A gang of Dunlins checks out the shrinking pools

Sandy ridges on the flats

A hardened ring of mollusks. Did someone plant them here?

Tracks

I spent a fabulous sunny late afternoon on Cape May Point's beach today, with 60-plus degree temperatures making it feel positively spring-like. Various tracks caught my eye: tracks of wind-blown grasses, of birds, and water, and skunks and even of airborne humans.

Alias Smith, no Jones

I was in the shower when the text came this morning, saying that the Smith's Longspur had been seen again at Stone Harbor Point. Mike hammered on the door, imploring me to hurry. I did take a few minutes to dry my hair  (it was well below freezing, after all) and then we raced across the back bays. By the time we arrived, the troops had already marshaled, and we could see distant birders swiveling and pirouetting as the bird moved around them. A few minutes quick march, and we joined them on the frozen, gale-blasted beach, training our binoculars and scopes on the prize -- a rather nondescript little brown job shuffling along through the sand and snow. I feel a little sorry for it; this certainly isn't anything like the balmy lower Mississippi River valley where it normally overwinters!

Cold

Every summer for the past 17 years, I've made a pilgrimage to the far, far north -- beyond the Arctic Circle to the very edge of the continent. Even in June, the pack ice often hugs the shore there, stretching to the horizon, unbroken except for a few narrow leads. These days, the Delaware Bay is looking more than a little like Barrow! This was the view today near dusk -- and yes, that ice did extend out as far as I could see.

Back bays and beaches

I was right -- it is hard to come back to the cold after a balmy week in Mexico. But a sunny morning beckoned, so we bundled up and went out anyway. Our target was a reported Smith's Longspur, a bird normally found far to the west of New Jersey. We didn't find it, despite much tromping around, but there were plenty of other things to enjoy.

At this time of year, the dunes are studies in tawny browns. On breezy days like today, the vegetation flaps like tattered flags. 

An "Ipswich Sparrow" pauses in its efforts to pry tiny Seaside Goldenrod seeds from their cases. This pale bird belongs to the subspecies "princeps" of the Savannah Sparrow. It breeds only on Sable Island, a tiny, narrow crescent of land located more than 100 miles off the coast of Newfoundland, Canada. As its world population numbers fewer than 6000 birds, it is considered to be a subspecies of "Special Concern".

This bizarre cloud formation is a "fallstreak hole"; the trailing tail is made up of falling ice crystals.

We finished the day at the Avalon seawatch, where thousands of sea ducks floated just offshore. The eerie, high-pitched whistling calls of the courting male Black Scoters -- and the distinctive "A ha lek" calls of the courting Long-tailed Ducks -- filled the air.

A walk on the beach

I love being one of the first people along the beach after a day of rain. The sand was pristine, unmarked except for the spatter patterns left by the raindrops, and the scattered signs of wild things that got there before me -- a trail of rabbit footprints, the barely-there scratchings of some bird among the dune vegetation, the sweeping circular traces of a windblown grass stem. Fog still lingered first thing this morning, rendering the sea invisible, though the surge of the tide against the jetty carried clearly, as did the eerie whistles of the courting Black Scoters and the faraway ping of the Cape May canal's fog horn.

 The battered, molted shell of a horseshoe crab. In a few months, the live ones will be spawning on our beaches again.

 I can't imagine how frustrating it must be to be a mole tunneling in the sand! Yet, judging by the number of trails I found, they must do quite well here.

 The runoff from yesterday's rain left traces like those of the braided rivers that flow out of glaciers.

 The storm left piles of these little sea plants scattered on the beach.

 Another tiny creature, left stranded by the tide. 

 A string of whelk eggs, which appear to have hatched successfully.

The Cape May Light, nearly invisible in the fog.

Baywatch

Late this afternoon, I headed over to the Delaware Bay to look for a vagrant gull that had been reported earlier in the day. My friend Vince had already arrived, and had scanned through the flock on a nearby sandbar; the target bird was centered in his telescope. A quick peek yielded the gull, snoozing contentedly among a host of its cousins, head tucked firmly under one wing. And as an added bonus, we had the "coming soon" preview of another painted sunset.

Sadly, I couldn't get any pictures of the Black-headed Gull, a species that was abundant around our former digs in the UK; it was too far away for my little camera. Instead, I had to be content with this American Herring Gull, which was rummaging along the tideline, looking for tidbits. It looks like the red spot on its beak is already starting to color up a bit. That spot is a cue for its chicks while they're still being fed by Mom or Dad; the chick pecks that spot when it's ready to be fed, and the parent barfs up whatever it's carrying in its stomach (dead fish, McDonald's french fries, baby birds -- whatever). Gross, but an effective means of transporting things when you don't have hands to carry them with!

Snow(y) Day

The Cape May beaches in January stretch for mile after empty mile, with nary a beach umbrella or towel or beach chair in sight. For much of the day, we had the strand to ourselves, though a few truly crazy surfers bobbed offshore, clad head to toe in thick neoprene wetsuits.

I read a quote once (which I can't find now, of course) about surf rushing to shore like galloping horses, and that's certainly what the lines of swells reminded me of today, particularly where the wind caught the tops of them. With a bit of imagination, you could almost see heads nodding and manes streaming.

Of course, the day's prime targets were birds. "New" birds. Birds we hadn't seen yet this year. And I, at least, wasn't disappointed. On the stone jetties edging the entrance to Cape May Harbor, busy gangs of Purple Sandpipers and Ruddy Turnstones gleaned among exposed mussel beds. Just offshore, hundreds and hundreds of sea ducks swam and preened and snoozed and courted. But the real gem of the day -- and the reason for the title of this blog post -- was the gorgeous Snowy Owl we found guarding his prey (an unfortunate Black Duck) among the dunes. What a fine finish to the weekend!

Purple Sandpiper

A male Black Scoter does his very best to impress a passing female.

A Long-tailed Duck catches its breath between dives.

One of our long-staying Snowy Owls, after a successful hunt.