Aki is the smart one. Rather than fight the wind blowing down Sandy Beach, the little dog is moving through protected woods on a parallel course. When she does join me on the beach, the breeze flattens her fur against her face. Less than a minute later she is back in the woods.
Left alone, I scan the channel waters for life. But no ducks or even gulls float there. The two eagles that often perch on the roof of the old ventilation shaft are also absent. In a few weeks killer whales might be just off shore hunting the king salmon returning to their hatchery. But during my walk only a Coast Guard pursuit/rescue boat appears on the water.
I press on to the collapsed glory hole where the grouchy belted kingfishers hang out. One flies across the water-filled glory hole to chit in anger at the little dog and I. After putting us in our place, it returns to its alder perch.