Hey tweets, yesterday at the Montlake Fill was one of the most glorious
ever. I just love these late fall days when the sky hesitates between gray
and blue, and the sun, if it appears at all, comes veiled in mist. On such
days, the rank weeds take center stage and birding is best done by
stilling the restlessness of our modern lives. In other words, time to
squat and let the birds come to me.

I did this on the lagoon south of the secluded pond in the southwest
corner of the Fill, where birders have beaten down an entrance through the
reeds. There I set up my camp stool and waited for who knows what?
Green-winged Teals like this lagoon, as do many other dabblers, but my
favorites are the Wood Ducks and Hooded Mergansers, both in breeding
plumage now. As I was admiring these showy ducks - who always look to me
like they really belong in the court of some Oriental potentate, not in
the Goth-plummaged Northwest - a movement on the mud island caught my eye.
It was a Wilson's Snipe, coming out to the edge of the island to forage. I
had the privilege of watching it catch worms for more than half an hour,
no more than 30 feet away. Through my binoculars, I could see every
feathet. The bird was a symphony in browns - beige stripes on the back and
face, chocolate scapulars and coverts fringed with white, and a bright
chestnut slash of a tail.

I was so close that I occasionally managed to see it bend the last
half-inch of its bill as it tweezered up a tasty morsel. Although snipes'
bills look stiff, the tips are flexible. Snipes can control the tips so
that when they feel some prey deep down in a hole, they can grab it. I've
read about how snipes can do this, but I've never seen them do it.

Even more amazing, though, was the way this snipe bobbed. Not like a
Spotted Sandpiper, which bobs its rear end. No, the Wilson's Snipe bobs
its whole body up and down, like a Los Angeles low-rider three-wheeling to
the sky. The snipe would take a step, put its feet together, and turn on
the hydraulic actuators. Then it would poke its bill into the mud, pull
out some food, and repeat. I nearly cracked a rib trying not to laugh,
knowing that if I did, the show would likely be over.

Eventually, a couple of Bald Eagles flowed by, and the snipe froze into
invisibility. I left to watch the eagles do their thing. They were
seriously hunting American Coots on the lake. The pair herded a flock of
several hundred coots closer and closer to shore. As the flock became
dense, the eagles lowered their landing gear and tried to grab one or two,
but the sheer numbers seemed to confuse the hunters. Finally, the eagles
focused on one lone coot who had become separated from the flock. The coot
kept ducking when the eagles flew by, but it was getting very tired. So
were the eagles, who were flapping constantly, something eagles dislike to
do. It became a contest of who had the most breath. The coot did, and the
eagles ended up perched at the point, where they panted with tongues out.

Watching the contest along with me was the biggest river otter I have ever
seen. It had hauled out on one of the mud islands just south of the main
pond. It was so big, I thought it was a seal lion at first. The fishing
and mussels must be good right now because later I saw two more otters in
the bay.

Also notable: a late Common Yellowthroat was foraging south of the dime
parking lot (E-5), and the Western Meadowlark is still active. - Connie,
Seattle

constancesidles at gmail.com