Hey tweets, My thanks to Bill Shelmerdine for confirming the sighting of a
juvenile curlew sandpiper at Bottle Beach yesterday. You should know that
Bill braved a stupendous lightning storm while he waited for the tide to
come back up and bring the birds back in. Meanwhile, my husband and I
chickened out and fast-walked back to our car!

We had arrived at Bottle Beach about an hour earlier when the tide was still
going out. It was not a big tide, though, so we hoped for something
interesting. At first all we noticed were a few semipalmated plovers
scurrying around in the pools and sea grass. And *then* I saw a sandpiper
among them that looked like nothing I had ever seen before: smoothly curved
but slender bill, blackish legs, finely striped crown that was darker and
separated from the neck, finely marked breast washed with buff. Could it be?
A CURLEW SANDPIPER!! I wasn't sure. First of all, I've never seen a curlew
sandpiper before. So I had to rely on my book. What threw me off was that
the bird's upperpart feathers looked a bit scaly but not as scaly as the
book described. I tried to get closer.

Luckily, the plovers nearby weren't scared off. I got within 15 feet of the
sandpiper and had great views of everything except the white rump, as the
bird fed, crouched down flat into a depression, then stood up, stuck its
bill in its back feathers and took a nap. When it awoke, it began to feed
more vigorously, making its way in the direction of the Johns River. I
trailed after but still could not see its rump. Then it hooked up with a
larger flock of plovers, who disliked my presence intensely. Whenever I got
within 50 feet, they scurried away. Eventually, the whole flock took to the
air, along with the sandpiper. Cursing my lack of birdlike appearance that
had unnerved the plovers, I followed and managed to relocate the sandpiper.
Meanwhile my husband John circled ahead so that, like a pair of Harris's
hawks, we could flank the bird in case it flew. Unluckily, something scared
the plovers, and the whole flock jumped into the air, just as a big log
obscured my view. I never did see the bird's rump. Neither did John.

Glumly we walked back to the trailhead. I don't know how Harris's hawks feel
when the partnership screws up and lets the target get away. Do they glare
at each other and mutter caustic remarks about incompetence? Do they go so
far as to disregard our President's advice and play the blame game? Or do
they philosophically shrug their bird-shoulders and try again? Maybe they
don't even have feelings, although that seems like a stretch to me.

In any case, John and I have a policy of relentless cheerfulness at such
times. Now that we're in our fifties, we believe that throwing tantrums like
two-year-olds is a bit unseemly. But yesterday tried out resolve to the
breaking point. After all, we had driven down to Westport at 2 a.m., John to
go surfing and I to go on a pelagic. The pelagic was turned back by high
seas, and John said the waves were too chaotic for surfing. Busted on both
counts. Then we headed out to Tokeland to see the bar-tailed godwit. Bupkus.
No terns or odd gulls at North Cove. Sheesh. No incoming tide at Bottle
Beach. Fine.

And then, and then, we got our little hopes up at the sight of that strange
shorebird, only to have it fly away before we could definitively identify
it. "Par for the course" might be a calm way to sum up how one feels on the
outside, but believe me, inside I was a seething, boiling mass of
superheated steam ready to explode. Reading the signs, John said he was
going back to the car to take a nap. Meanwhile, I sat down next to Bill and
told him about my day. We chatted about birds, and gradually, the day got
brighter and brighter. Few pleasures exceed those of trading stories about
birds. Even the sad stories become funny if you're sharing them with a
fellow birder.

I don't know if the thunderstorm that drove John back to the beach to get me
ever reached Bill - when we left, Bill said he was hoping the storm would
head out to sea. We drove into the teeth of it on the way home, and it was a
doozy.

I'm glad that Bill stayed safe. Before I left, he had opined that the
sandpiper might work its way back to Bottle Beach as the tide came up.
Yesterday afternoon proved that Bill was spectacularly right. There's
nothing like expert knowledge to magnify good fortune, and Bill is one
superb birder. Washington State is lucky to have him.

I hope anyone going to Bottle Beach today to try for the curlew sandpiper
does see it. It's truly a beautiful, elegant creature. - Connie, Seattle

csidles at isomedia.com