An up channel wind sweeps the Sheep Creek Delta. Normally this wind brings clear weather but today it only chills. In a slow motion race with the incoming tide, the little dog and I walk toward the navigation aid that shelters, as usual, a bald eagle. A small murder of crows tries to ignore our approach. They seem dispirited by the wind and grey weather. Probably they are just conserving their strength for a search of the delta when the tide recedes.
Out of synch with the chilly air and opaque sky, candles of yellow-green leafed-out poplars brighten the spruce forest covering the flanks of Sheep Mountain. While Aki tears across a sandy stretch of beach, I try to count the mountainside candles, thankful for their color.
This trail to the Wetlands wanders along a gentle contour line through spruce and hemlock trees to the beach. Aki and I have it to ourselves on grey but dry morning. Perhaps remembering all the birds and seals we have seen on the beach in the past, she pushes ahead, ignoring spats of white eagle spoor and down scattered on the understory plants. The big birds use the forest as a waiting place. Today, with the beach exposed by a minus tide, they must be there.
Keeping up with Aki’s breakneck pace I reach the beach in minutes and find nothing but a diminished river flowing to the sea. No shore birds hunt on the clam flats and no waterfowl pass us on the river. Even though it’s time for the chum salmon to move up river in their green and red spawning stripes, none break the water surface.
What was once a theatre has become a library so I concentrate on stories written on the rocks and beach grass. Above the high tide line a collection of rocks sport orange lichen and white eagle spoor. Nearby grass white/gray gull feathers and one of an immature bald eagle lay trapped in the tall beach grass. The faint tracks of a wandering snail mark flat beach rocks. God could use the tracks to communicate with His people but I can’t decipher the message, which will soon disappear under the incoming tide.
The last lesson lays in the a small “V” shaped cove where the line between wet and dry gravel marks last’s night’s high tide. In the trees above ravens begin a strange song that starts with a low croak and cascades up in a short series of harmonious notes. Then an eagle breaks from a beach side spruce. Looking beyond we spot the birds.
There are eagles, of course, and little waders. Two mature Bald Eagles perch on separate drift wood snags and look toward shaman Island. A gang of gulls feed near the river’s edge. To reach them we have to cross a large sand flat infested with clams. Some squirt water over the sand when we start walking toward the gulls. Getting closer I am pleased to discover they are Bonaparte’s. The petite black headed guys look toylike on this beach dominated by ravens and eagles. Aki must respect them too for she doesn’t chase the gulls even when they fly a low trajectory away from us down the beach.