Aki and I hear wave strikes when we are still in the old growth forest. In a minute we will learn that the sounds are made by small waves that have been driven ashore by the north wind. Aki won’t bother or even acknowledge the presence of the thirty mallard ducks or sixty gulls that stand on the beach just beyond the splash zone.
I think that the birds have been penned on the exposed beach by wind and waves until one of the gulls snatches a small fish from wave foam and gobbles it up. Rather than refugees, the gulls and ducks are exploiters: efficient feeder that let the wind and waves deliver breakfast.
After paralleling the feed zone, the trail takes us through woods to another beach where a scattering gulls stand about looking like you might when waiting for a bus. One patrols the splash zone, turning from time to time to face the waves. It doesn’t flinch when a leading wave crashes toward it or step back when surrounded by rising foam.