9 November 2020

 eBird data:  https://ebird.org/checklist/S760566864C

Weather:  9 am:  4C  wind SSE 4kph;  1PM 6C wind ESE 15, gusts 27 kph

Tide:  9:30 am 3.3m, rising

It is possible that I'm going into hibernation.  I was in bed and asleep by 9:30 last night and, although I typically waken at 6 am, I awoke at 7:30 this morning.  I had slept through the whole night, which is unusual.  

It seemed very cold on arising.  The Weather Office said it was 3, and there was no frost, but it felt quite chilly.  

I had arranged to visit friends in Victoria today, but there was a forecast (which hasn't materialised) of snow on the Malahat, so we postponed.  

In fact, I found I was reluctant to set out on my morning circuit of the Estuary.  It just didn't look inviting out there.  

Still, I set out, and it was one of the better days I've had, despite the fact that I had recurring thoughts of cream of tomato soup and toasted cheese.  Sometimes I thought of putting the soup into my boots...

The beginning of the path leading out to the Estuary travels between marshland, bordered by large patches of brambles and roses and a row of homes.   Many of them have bird feeders.  There is one particularly well-kept garden that I've admired every time I passed it.  Today I finally met the gardener, who came out his back gate and drew my attention to a dead alder tree that looks as though it could come down any time.  I'd noticed it last week and walked past quickly.  

We took some time to chat.  He's been in the area for some time, it seems, and says they chose the place because of the birds.  He told me about the eagles, who he says actually tear the tops of fir trees so the branches grow out flatter.  This may be the case.  There are several trees that have flat tops, and that I've noticed were popular roosting places for eagles--often in pairs.  Often there are scraps of duck or quail beneath the trees.  

There were big flocks of siskins this morning.  It's hard to do a count, but he guessed "thousands," I'd be more conservative.  Still there are a LOT of siskins.  I've never seen so many, anywhere.

This is just a small sample--the nearby trees were similarly full.  From what I've seen, they really like the seeds from fir cones, but this is a pacific crabapple.  You can't see the fruit in this photo--they're small, but they, too, attract birds.  (And bears, to judge from the bear scat I've seen occasionally, but that's another story.)

As I walked along the forest, I could hear what I thought was a pileated woodpecker.  Sure enough, there he was--near a tree that he or his cousins had worked over thoroughly.  I'd noticed it before.  Now he's starting another tree, it seems.

 I've noticed before that pileated woodpeckers can get very engaged in their pecking and don't seem to mind at all if I come quite close to photograph them.  This one hardly seemed to notice me at all, but stayed at his work.  

There's a controversy among birders:  "Pill-e-ated" or "Pile-e-ated."  "You say tomaito, I say tomahto--" as the song goes.  I tend toward Pile-e-ated myself--anglicised Latin rather than European.  It means a woodpecker wearing a cap, in either case.  Big deal.

There are still rafts of ducks offshore.  I sat at the bench provided by some good soul, as usual drinking very welcome hot coffee and munching a granola bar, and studied the ducks.  Nobody exotic, but a nice pause.  

Then on to the Englishman River, and what for me were interesting times.

I think I've finally figured out common mergansers.  I knew that the adult males were typically black and white, unlike the red and grey females who look quite a bit like the red-breasted mergansers.  Today I found two transitional males among the females and adults.  Clarifies matters considerably for me.

The male in the lower photo has bits of orange feathers sticking out of his black merganser head.  Leftover from his youth...  Aha!

Further along there was a commotion in the river as a sea lion was hunting salmon.

Once again, not a good photo, but maybe a sense of what was going on.

A bit further upstream and there were two otters chowing down on salmon.

 One was obscured by shrubbery but this guy is pretty clear.

And then yet further upstream, the dipper has returned as the river has subsided.  I never saw him, but I heard his song and saw dipper droppings on a log that was until recently submerged.  I expect to see him shortly.

There was also a harbour seal diving after salmon.  He didn't cooperate at all with photos. 

Home to hot soup-- Fish sticks for dinner--what else after watching all these critters feeding on salmon?