Category Archives: Birding Disasters

I saw a bird, today, in the water, by the seawall. It wasn’t a goose, a mallard, a cormorant, or a gull. It wasn’t anything I’d seen before. Of course, I was very interested in this bird, and possibly willing to venture beyond my usual, eh…sphere of influence? Comfort zone? Prison of terror? …on its behalf. Possibly willing. It took a while to decide. I waited around, for a bit, where Bucketwheel gives way to Leg In Boot Square, putting my foot out, pulling it back, putting it out, pulling it back, till I realised I looked weird, and started walking.

I got to the “Caution: Sewage” sign, and waited some more.

I got to the “No Littering” sign (or is it a “No Dog Dirt” sign?), and paused again.

I kicked myself in the shin, and kept shuffling. I got all the way to…well, there weren’t any more landmarks, after the dog dirt sign. I got to…a point about fifty yards beyond the last boat docked at the marina, and maybe another fifty from the bird. I was getting there. I was going to make it. I was SNAPPING that bird, and adding it to my list, in a flourish of bird-spotting triumph.

Then, a great boisterous dog came, barking its way down the seawall, and — phoosh! — off went the bird, to the safety of deeper waters.

The bird.

Dogs are the worst. Cowardly birds are the worst. Not having a boat is the worst. Not having a birding scope is the worst! Birding is the worst, other birders who’ve seen more birds than I have are the worst, and windy days are the worst: my ears hurt, from getting blown in.

Ah, right; that’s the spite out of my system. Back to the bird: for some reason, I’d got it into my head that it must be a grebe, of some sort. The colours, I think — they reminded me of grebish winter plumage. But the shape was all wrong, especially round the head. Sheepishly, I went to the bird forum for help, and (egg on my face!) it’s a Pacific loon! Here’s the worst part: I knew there were loons. I’ve been looking for loons. A lady I met in the garden, while Mother was visiting, even TOLD us there were loons. But I got mired in a great snarly welter of grebey thoughts, and missed the obvious answer.

I’m the worst birder ever! Ha, ha, ha!

(Also, that loon is on notice: it and the cormorants. They can fly; they can float, but they can’t hide forever. They will be photographed, and crisply. Eventually.)

Larry David the bald eagle, that is, not Larry David the bald…baldy.

While I was pursuing this eagle, I trod in a pothole that contained a puddle — a deep enough puddle to fill my shoe to the brim, and splash my trouserleg. Several passers-by laughed, chortled, or giggled, leading me to wonder why, as they were clearly watching my progress, none of them thought to sound the warning. The real Larry David might’ve appreciated that.

It’s becoming rather frustrating, this pursuit of eagles. They like to stay high in the sky. It’s hard to watch the eagle and watch one’s step, at the same time. And one can end up walking farther than intended. I haven’t managed to get lost yet, but I probably will, if I carry on this way.

In other news, there were six cormorants on the perch across the water, today, but no cormorants on my side.