26, 28-31 October

26 October

eBird data:  https://ebird.org/checklist/S153118088 

weather:  10:00 am, 2C wind calm,  2:00 pm 7C wind N6 initially frosty and scattered clouds, then clear

tide:  12:30 pm 2.2m, rising

28 October

eBird data:  https://ebird.org/checklist/S153271311

weather:  9:30 am 1C, wind calm,  1:00 pm 7C wind NNW8,  partly cloudy, patchy frost

tide:  11:30 am 2.4m, low tide, turning

30 October 

eBird data:  https://ebird.org/checklist/S153425219 

weather:  10:00 am 6.5C,  2:00 pm 9.6C

tide:  11:00 am 3.7m falling

31 October

eBird data:  https://ebird.org/checklist/S153484921

weather:  9:30 am  1C wind calm, 12:30 am 9C wind E3

tide:  10:30 am 4.5m falling

Although the mornings have been chilly, the Estuary has been at a peak of glory these past days.  The river is high after last week's heavy rains, the maples and cottonwoods are in golden splendor, and the winter bird population --both songbirds and waterfowl--is growing.

The cottonwoods line the river with gold.

If the above photo is enlarged, the dark dot near the shore will reveal itself as a dipper.  

There were two of them on the morning of the 28th, the first I've seen this season.   This one had found a delicacy--a salmon egg that had washed down from the upstream spawning area.  

The trees across the river grew brighter as the sun rose higher.

Further downstream, a bank of cottonwoods lines the far side of the river.

The eagles at the lower end of the river have returned and are beginning their autumn nest renovation.

It appeared that they took a break and watched the world from a nearby fir tree.  They do look to be chatting, don't they?

A great blue heron watched the tidal marsh attentively.

Offshore, despite a low tide, the waterfowl population is increasing.  There were mallards and wigeons and four little green-winged teal.

Mount Arrowsmith is beginning to be snow-clad.

The season's sentinel--the stand of bitter cherry trees--is almost bare of leaves.

The other sentinel bitter cherry is also almost bare, affording a view of the snow-clad massif.

A  steller's jay harangued me from a fir tree near the observation mound.  

Even at mid-day on the 28th, the pond near the Mills Street entrance was partially frozen over.  A pair of mallards tried to land in the water, and were startled when --

--QUACK!!! SURPRISE!!!  They had expected a splash, but instead had a splat.  They both quacked loud protests at the condition of the pond.  It looks in this photo as if Madame Mallard has found some open water.  Like the ducks, I was surprised at the amount of ice that had formed, but I hadn't thought in terms of a swim.  

It was a fine pair of mornings, but  I was happy to have left-over turkey soup awaiting my return to warm up.  

30 October

Another chilly but glorious morning.  I had a somewhat late start--somehow I couldn't find my binoculars when I set out.  They re-appeared eventually, and the timing of my visit to the ERE granted me a couple of interesting events.

John Muir wrote of the dipper's song:

"[H]is music is that of the streams refined and spiritualized. The deep booming notes of the falls are in it, the trills of the rapids, the gurgling of margin eddies, the low whispering of level reaches, and the sweet tinkle of separate drops oozing from the ends of mosses and falling into tranquil ponds."  

Once again, Muir provided a perfect description.  Although they look rather nondescript, dippers are simply wonderful singers, and this morning, I had a fine serenade.

The sun was still quite low, providing the singer with a golden backdrop.  

I stayed for some time, listening, then started to move upstream for a better vantage.  Suddenly there was a loud crack, almost like a gunshot, and then an alarming mix of creaks and crunches as a first alder fell, then brought down several other trees.  I wasn't sure initially where the trees were coming down, but they missed the paths (and me).  

The fallen trees reminded me of a giant's game of pick-up sticks. (Remember those?  I don't know if kids still play it, but it was a favourite in my family.)  There wasn't any wind, but there have been several trees come down recently.  I gather that the dry summer has weakened them.  

There were four Bewick's wrens hopping about in the shrubbery and sword ferns.  One posed nicely:

They're seldom so obliging.   I thanked it and went on my way.  

Two female mergansers relaxed beside the river.

The eagles sat on a stump near the edge of the Straits, looking as though they were discussing deep subjects.

 The waterfowl migration is growing steadily.  

In addition to the usual mallards and wigeons, four buffleheads swam about happily this morning.  They always seem to be enjoying themselves.  Their numbers will increase as the season advances.  

A pair of downy woodpeckers worked busily in the trees by the observation mound.  

To the north of the mound, a doe and her almost fully-grown offspring browsed.

31 October

As noted above, dippers are known for their song.  They're also remarkably loud for such little birds, who live in rather noisy environments--rushing water.  This morning I could hear dipper song from about 200 metres from the riverbank.  That may sound like no great distance, but when I reached the bank, I could see that the bird was another 200 metres upstream.

(The dipper is visible just about in the middle of the above photo, just to the right of the rocks where the stream branches.)  

This photo, taken from the riverbank, shows the vegetation that is visible at the lower right of the photo above.  I hope it gives a sense of the distance of bird from bank.

The song continued for some time--possibly five minutes.  Then it changed to the "jik" note that dippers use to signal alarm and annoyance, and sure enough, it flew downstream toward a second dipper and drove the intruder downstream.  I hadn't known that dippers were so territorial, but reading the American dipper entry in the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, they are indeed territorial, and sing to announce their territory, especially in late autumn and winter.  https://birdsoftheworld.org/bow/species/amedip/cur/introduction   

I find them a fascinating species.  The only aquatic songbird in North America, fine singers, tolerant of really cold conditions, actually fly (sort of) underwater.  Nondescript little grey bird:

mostly monogamous, although there are some accounts of females getting into terrible fights over a male, in one case pulling feathers, clawing, pecking, and washing over a dam.  Very strong characters.

The river was very calm, possibly because it was a high tide, which backs up the stream.

Along the river, the path was illumined by the rising sun.

Downstream, the eagles' autumnal nest renovation was well underway.  With apologies for anthropomorphism, on their nest, the pair looked to be considering what needed to be done.  The leaves in the foreground are new cottonwood, apparently recently gathered and installed.

The male left.  I think I heard a branch crack downstream, and then he returned, carrying construction material.  I think he looks satisfied.   (It isn't easy to read eagle emotions.)

The two continued at their project.  I made my way down to the benches overlooking the Straits.  

At the duck-counting bench, the high tide showed an abundance of returning waterfowl.

There was a great tweeting of wigeons and loud quacking from the female mallards.  Offshore, sea lions created their own commotion.  

Looking inland, Mount Arrowsmith remains snowy--more will fall in the coming days.

It's now evident that we're seeing the arrival of late autumn.  The coming days are forecast to be wet, and less cold, but still definitely the onset of Mid-Vancouver Island winter.