Reconnecting to the tides of life
Waves crashed against the rocks at the beach, docks were swamped in the harbor and the estuary was flooded, all the birds forced onto tiny islands of pickleweed. The King Tide was here.
I saw that moon, large and glowing that they call the Beaver moon, and I have no idea why. It was enough to be able to view it clearly in the sky on a night that was for once not foggy on the Central Coast of California. This moon brought with it the highest tides of the year and in the morning students from California Polytechnic University gathered at the Natural History Museum in Morro Bay, there to view, photograph and study the result of the tide, a flooded estuary and inner bay. Normally I would have been with them, camera in hand, but I yearned for the period of outflow late in day with the slant of the sun and the exposed mudflats.
This terrain looks lifeless, but I know from firsthand experience photographing a project for the Morro Bay National Estuary Program that deep within its mucky presence there is an abundance of life. These minute, small creatures are the basis of the diet of some favorite birds of mine, the shorebirds.
Every year they fly in from places far away, sandpipers, curlews, and godwits to spend the winter months feeding and resting in our estuary.
With scientists recognizing that creeks in the watershed were bringing too much sediment down into the estuary and suffocating it, local advocacy saved this special place in 1995 by obtaining acceptance into the National Estuary Program. This gave scientists and volunteers the ability to work on special projects to turn the tide for the estuary. Only 2,300 acres in size, the Morro Bay estuary is the second smallest estuary in the program but of significance due to the National Audubon society classifying it as an Important Bird Area.
For me, it is vital to my psyche to spend time outdoors viewing shorebirds as they go about their daily routine. On the mudflats each bird finds its own favorite morsel of food. Watching them it is impossible to see exactly what they find as they probe with their bills.
The smallest of these birds are Least and Western sandpipers. These little brown birds look so similar it is often difficult to identify them. Both have black bills that droop or turn downward at the tip, the Western having the longer of the two. Other than size, the biggest difference between them is that Least sandpipers have greenish-yellow legs and Western sandpiper legs are dark. I watch them pecking away at something only they can find among the wet fronds of eelgrass.
It is easier to distinguish the larger sandpipers, Marbled Godwits, Willets, and Long-Billed Curlews. Among this group the Long-Billed Curlew stands out with its extremely long curved bill. Willets in winter plumage appear rather dull grey overall, but in flight their striking black and white wingtips show.
The mudflats are feeding grounds for all these birds and watching them I see how each one finds its prey without encroaching on one another. Bill size is the clue along with the type of animal in each level of the mud.
Marbled Godwits have a long bill that is mostly strait with a slight upturn and orange coloring at the base of the bill. As they probe for food, they insert that bill deeply into the mud and find exactly what they are looking for at the exact depth for them.
As the tide receded that day, I found the group from the university still out there searching through the eelgrass covered mudflats. As my day ended and I prepared to leave, up from the water flew a flock of shorebirds and I watched them as they went winging above the estuary. My spirits were lifted just as they lifted high and swirled around. I will be out there now; every day and I wonder what tomorrow will bring me.
Published in The New Outdoors on Medium.com November 2024 - find Ruth Ann Angus at
Also find Ruth Ann's essays at ruthannangus.substack.com
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