Saturday, September 5, 2020

Ah the Joys of a Big Sit

Now that September is upon us, peregrinations are front of mind, the sort that occur annually at this time of year as birds that have raised broods in Canada—from our region of the country all the way to the faraway Arctic—decide it is time to head to wherever it is they like to make their winter home.

Once upon a time—oh, as long as four decades ago—I was a crazed practitioner of the birding Big Day wherein two or three keeners get together to see how many species they are able to find in  a given window of up to 24 hours. Hereabouts early May is a good time for a Big Day; so is early-mid September. The thing about a Big Day is that it is a very intensive, rushed affair not conducive to relaxation, peace, quiet and tranquility. 

Even as a young buck I was aware of an alternative to the Big Day, namely, the Big Sit, an option that involves no running-around at all, but a nice leisurely settling-in at some well-selected site, preferably in comfortable folding chairs, a lovely picnic lunch at hand, chilled beverages waiting in the cooler, all gathered at a site commanding excellent views over an area likely to be traversed by a variety of birds. Despite its manifest attractions I was never much drawn to the Big Sit when I was a young fellow. That has now changed.

Jan and I decided that a Big Sit was just the thing for a blithesome early September morning. We went to Tower Point which commands an expansive view over Juan de Fuca Strait all the way to the Olympic Mountains of Washington State. Jan decided it was a capital idea, one she bought into with extra fervor when I promised to make my world-renowned pesto sandwiches part of the deal.

We arrived at our destination a little past 8, pleased as usual to be greeted by a soundscape dominated by waves lapping at the rocky shoreline, Garry oaks soughing in a gentle breeze, harbour seals contentedly grunting from the islet just off the point. Human-made noise was happily absent. There were birds to see right off the bat—surfbirds and turnstones foraging for breakfast among the offshore rocks. Legions of gulls gathered too: old-reliable glaucous-winged gulls, even bigger numbers of a lovely gull whose numbers peak at this time of year, a species that for some reason always brings Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys to my mind—California gulls.

My better half and I were well equipped for observing birds and recording anything special that might fly into our view plane: two binoculars, spotting scope, two cameras. Off to the west we saw a crowd of gulls—two hundred or more—gathered on a sand bar at the entrance to winsome Witty's Lagoon. I turned the spotting scope to the sandbar, soon gathered that the majority of the gulls were Californias, the sort evoking Brian Wilson. 

Then I spotted something else, on the beach beyond the sandbar: naked women. Once upon a time, back when I was as hardcore a Big Day practitioner as ever was, I might easily have been distracted by women naturists assembled on a beach. It is perhaps a sad marker of how much has changed over the years that I was hardly distracted at all. No, there were birds to identify; I was bound and determined to identify them.

Our principal birding targets were phalaropes and jaegers—seagoing birds that provide the best, albeit rare, viewing possibilities at this time of year. Well, to kill the suspense, no, we saw no phalaropes. We saw no jaegers. We saw container ships pass slowly by, too distant to hear the thrum of the ships' engines. In the distance zodiacs packed with whale-watchers also raced past, everyone on board keen for close encounters with orcas, perhaps even a humpback. We saw no whales.

Onshore just behind us, there were landbirds to hear and see: a towhee here, nuthatch there, a warbler or two, a little gang of bushtits, a flicker. In the result we fell short of the hundred-plus count that might have once been assured in a September Big Day. We listed barely a couple dozen species. Feel no pity. The pesto sandwiches, washed down with herbal tea, were every bit as brilliant as promised. On the way back to the car we filled two containers with blackberries. The berries will provide the filling for the pie we'll share tomorrow evening with Jan's Dad. What could be finer? 

Despite the paucity of phalaropes and jaegers it was a Big Sit to remember. I can hardly wait for the next one.

 

 

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