~ but first, an announcement ~
Book Moments is launching next week! Book Moments is a serialized project for my paid community, featuring weekly installments of my published works. Each series includes bonus notes & commentary and concludes with a full .pdf version available for download. If you’d like to receive Book Moments, you can visit your subscription and upgrade to paid for $5 a month or $50 a year. I hope you’ll join me on Thursday, January 4th for Sea Glass Portraits: Part 1, Tumbled and Broken!
~ now, back to ~
Sandy, with a chance of Pipers!
They are tiny. Tinier than you’d think, actually. And sand-colored. Also moreso than you’d think.
In fact, they are so tiny, and so sand-colored, that if you’re just minding your own business, having a pleasant stroll in the warm sun, enjoying the white noise of lapping waves, scanning sandy vistas for tiny treasures, it’s entirely possible to obliviously walk right up to a flock of shorebirds.
You’ll know when they unanimously rise in an indignant cloud of precision and rush out to sea, hugging the surface of the water, wheeling in a broad, tight, controlled curve and coming to rest, in a huff, at a far-distant section of shore where they hope you will have learned your lesson.
I’ve learned my lesson dozens of times now. On this particular day, I was quite busy being grateful for an unseasonably warm fall that was allowing us to enjoy one last beach day in October. (This is absolutely unheard of in our seven years in Maine - August is typically last call for anything like a warm beach day.)
I had been soaking up all the joy of soft sandy footsteps and sunshine-y shoulders, searching for sea glass while the background melody of laughter and splashing drifted on a still-summery breeze, watching my kids swim while I delicately ventured into lapping waves that I considered almost warm enough to stand in knee-deep.
I was also very aware that this was the time of year when the little pipers and plovers¹ often visit these shores, scouring the beach for tasty tidbits in preparation for their upcoming migration. I had already startled some on our way in, camouflaged as they were in piles of seaweed, and me all excited-energy launching into a bonus beach day. I was now hoping, against all odds, to encounter them again on our way back.
As I neared a jumbled pile of stones, I slowed. I was sure there ought to be little feathered friends tucked in amongst, but then, should I really be so lucky?
A flash of motion…A tiny shape darted across the sand towards the receding waves, and I knew.
Once you see one, you begin to see them all. “They’re here, they’re here!” I started pointing them out to my family and, sure enough, they were suddenly everywhere. Flashing across the sand. Swerving amongst the seaweed. Nestled into every rocky hollow.
For some fascinating reason, the same birds who will launch into a frenzy if you walk towards them slowly do not see you as a threat if you’re sitting down :) So I sat! I slowly sank into the warm sand, camera-in-hand, scootching gently closer until I received some pointed stares. An alarm for one is an alarm for all, so having reached the tolerance margin of the most sensitive members, I settled in to become absorbed by all the delightful comings-and-goings of this little social circle.²
There was the aloof clique of sun-bathers, each claiming his own rock, variously watchful, snoozy, preening. I watched a plover studiously ignore his piper-neighbor’s feather-maintenance. But you could see an uncomfortable awareness of his own hygiene growing. He held out as long as he could in order to give the impression that the whole thing was his own casual idea, but soon enough, he was preening, too. Peer pressure, am I right?
And then there was the industrious clique of foragers, darting in and out with the rhythm of the waves. These, of course, were my subjects of primary interest, because they were on the move, and the longer they ignored me, the greater my chances they would draw near! And one piper in particular did not disappoint. He drew near, then nearer.
Eventually, he drew so near that he was inside the focal length for the closest setting on my lens. Too close for me to photograph anymore. Just close enough for me to set my camera down and turn all my attention to simply delighting in him. All part of the plan, no?
Close enough for me to look into that one inquisitive eye that he intermittently fixed upon me, and see all his intentions towards me reflected in a still moment. You seem all right, but I’ve got my eye on you. These little bite-sized bugs are delicious, and you’re nice and still and low to the ground, you know, like a rock, but one wrong twitch and I am so outta here. Deal?
Deal. A moment sitting in the sand among sandpipers stretches out amorphously. I honestly don’t know how long this moment lasted - it was a bit of forever, a bit of the blink of an eye, all magic, holding my breath in the presence of such enormity of life in such tiny feathered parcels, warm sun shining on both of us alike.
¹These particular shorebirds are Semi-palmated Sandpipers and Semi-palmated Plovers, who often flock together. And this is what they are primarily after - tiny beach crustaceans like this amphipod, which live entire, complex life cycles underneath-and-in-and-out-of the sand beneath our feet!
²I don’t have an especially long lens, so I can only capture close-up portraits of animals that are undisturbed by my presence. To be able to sit quietly while wildlife approaches is a great privilege, and should always be balanced with knowledge and respect to prevent harm. For example, approaching large mammals like Moose is dangerous; photo-mobbing popular animals like Snowy Owls causes them stress; approaching nesting sites for certain birds like Piping Plovers or Ovenbirds can cause the loss of nests or even entire colonies. There are so many beautiful opportunities to draw near to wild things ~ just be sure to do so responsibly :)
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Great photos. I met some sandpipers in South Carolina this year. They are a joy, how they run and dodge and chirp incessantly.
Yes! I love the tiny shorebirds. And it is true, if you sit fairly still they are unbothered. I watched some one day not fly while two guys out a boat in on a small boat ramp. They could’ve been 10 feet away. I also don’t carry that long of a lens, so to get close-ups I have to be still and not be bothering the birds, which is as it should be. What a lovely experience. I hope we always have shorebirds to enjoy, they really are having a tough time with climate change.