The gatehouse is surprised I
showed up for my shift, but I figured if it wasn't
raining at 8:00 AM that meant I should go. The visibility
is practically zero. The two front end loaders working on
the town beach to the north have their headlights on. I'm
not sure what they're doing. All I can see is the
headlights and a vague surreal view of the vehicles
themselves. They seem suspended in the mist.
Weird.
A few minutes after I set up my
chair and get my binoculars out, a piping plover walks
right up to me, well not all the way, it stops about 8
feet from me, stares at me for a minute or two, and then
resumes walking around pausing to peck at things in the
sand. It stays within naked eye range for close to 45
minutes before it moves further south and I have to watch
it through binoculars. It ignores the mixed flock of
black bellied plovers and ruddy turnstones immediately to
the north of me. Even when the black bellieds take off
and fly over us, the piping plover pays no attention and
goes on pecking at things I can't see.
I lose sight of the piping plover.
The black bellieds return to their original spot along
with the ruddy turnstones. A small flock of least terns
starts diving into the water very close to shore. They
make lots and lots of noise. Some common terns are diving
further out. They call too but not as often or as
insistently as the least terns. I'm watching the least
terns to see if I can make out what they're catching. Not
that I have a field guide to tiny bait fish of the Gulf
of Maine or anything. In any case, I never get a really
good look at any of their prey.
The common terns take off together
and head someplace over the dunes (the salt pannes maybe?
the river?). The least terns stay around. For a long
time, it's just me and the least terns. Then a guy with a
Texas accent and binoculars around his neck arrives with
questions about piping plovers. He's really interested
and enthusiastic about them and thrilled that we're going
to such great lengths to protect them. I love talking to
people who are so interested. Three more people who are
accompanying him show up and ask more questions. They
want to know what unusual birds are being seen on the
refuge. Then they want to know where the common terns
nest. I tell them they nest on islands and I'm not sure
where around here except that I know there are a lot of
them nesting on the Isles of Shoals, which I point toward
as if you could see them in this fog. Actually you can't
see the Isles of Shoals most days from here but sometimes
they are just visible on the horizon. We have a good
laugh about my pointing into the fog and then they ask
about the front end loaders, which are looking even more
surrealistic now that the fog is thickening. I have no
idea what the front end loaders are doing. They're not
coming near the refuge.
The Texas people leave the beach to
go in search of warblers at Hellcat and I'm alone with
the least terns again. A pair of Bonaparte's gulls lands
on the sand directly in front of me, too close for
binoculars. They don't stay long, maybe five minutes. The
black bellieds and the ruddy turnstones return to their
same spot just north of the refuge boundary (like inches
north). Then it starts to rain. Well, not really rain,
just heavy mist. At first I think my binoculars are
fogged up, then I realize I'm getting wet.
A few minutes later, it starts
raining for real and I pack up to leave. The gatehouse
and staff are amazed I stayed out there as long as I did.
Really, it didn't seem that bad to me until the rain got
serious. I loved talking to the visitors because they
were so interested. I loved having 45 minutes of
uninterrupted piping plover watching time. The least
terns were fun too.
