Black Oystercatchers at March Point

Two Black Oystercatchers amble along the shore of Padilla Bay enjoying the last afternoon sun on this winter day. (G. Thomas Bancroft)

Two Black Oystercatchers amble along the shore of Padilla Bay enjoying the last afternoon sun on this winter day. (G. Thomas Bancroft)

“Oh, look, two Black Oystercatchers are in the rocks,” Craig said. One bird stood on a seaweed-covered rock a foot above the water. The other waded in the shallows; the gentle swash was only coming an inch up its tarsi. My three buddies and I had been scanning Padilla Bay for 20 minutes, watching the Surf Scoters, Common Goldeneyes, and Buffleheads that were feeding offshore. Our three spotting scopes had been straining to find a loon, murrelet, or grebe while right, almost at our feet, were these two black birds that blended into the rubble in spite of their long red bills.

The Black Oystercatcher rests on one foot along Padilla Bay. (G. Thomas Bancroft)

The Black Oystercatcher rests on one foot along Padilla Bay. (G. Thomas Bancroft)

The Oystercatchers moseyed toward the right. One stopped to bathe in three inches of water, then flew to a small rock where it started to preen. The other ambled around the edge, probing into the debris but without putting much energy into it. They both seemed to be enjoying the late afternoon sun on this 45-degree February day.

Mt. Baker presides over Padilla Bay. (G. Thomas Bancroft)

Mt. Baker presides over Padilla Bay. (G. Thomas Bancroft)

Glacier Peak shows among the closer mountains. (G. Thomas Bancroft)

Glacier Peak shows among the closer mountains. (G. Thomas Bancroft)

Mt. Baker rose in the north above Padilla Bay and had overlooked our journey like a god watching the peasants work. “We should get a picture of the oystercatchers with Mt Baker,” Bruce said. Craig already down on one knee held his phone vertically and was snapping amazing photos. Their red bills glistened while the volcano sparkled in the distance.

“Look, there’s Glacier Peak through the gap,” Craig pointed east across the water. A white pyramid rose above the Douglas firs on the east side of Padilla Bay. “The Peak is way back and only visible in a few places.” We had been discussing all the snow-covered peaks on this cloudless day; my friends knew them while I was working on learning their names.

Our gaze returned to the Oystercatchers who had drifted another dozen yards down the surf’s edge. “Let’s stop at one more place around the point before we head back,” I said. Bruce, Gordie, and I had left Seattle early this morning and birded the Stillaguamish Flats before heading north to meet Craig on Fir Island. Identifying fifty bird species had warmed our souls on this chilly winter day.

 (G. Thomas Bancroft)

(G. Thomas Bancroft)

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