ConSynPro

Nothing much planned today – just monitoring the Westside while my friends explore the island. After a brief walk at low tide, we picked some wild blackberries and raspberries as my friends waited for the shuttle. Since their departure I’ve been wandering the camp areas, watching the activity on the Strait like a sentry. On this second, sophomoric annual migration, I’m beginning to think devices to record audio and daily notes could be key. 2:15pm – orcas Southbound with audible anchored tail slap. 4:15pm – orcas Southbound with splash from breach. Text from AC said they saw orcas at Lime Kiln. The next morning I saw my friends off in a small prop plane. Afterward, I went hiking back on the land reserve. Beautiful and peaceful, I encountered only deer out here, feeling like one of them as I evaded the sounds of oncoming cars by bolting into low wooded areas. I reached Deadman’s Bay for a panoramic view of the open straits, then headed back to Lime Kiln, checking out the interpretive signage, compostable toilets, and gift center. The sign read all pods out to sea – no transient sightings. Kind of felt a bit empty and desolate with pods and friends gone. I did enjoy having the place to myself, however, taking long pauses to contemplate. Slept in this morn, and saw the magic blue and yellow boat zip past. This boat seems to anticipate the occurrence of those black and whites… Soon I saw an orca through the glass window of the ranger station, and sprinted up the trail to a lookout point, noting noon as orcas passed Northbound, much closer than usual. They were spread out, foraging – occasionally turning in the opposite direction, perhaps when sensing prey. A pair approached close to a kelp bed, and a salmon leaped madly out of the water four or five times. At 12:34pm there were tail lobs and a pectoral flipper slap by the next set in the pod. I sent out some texts with links to the Orcasound hydrophones, soon receiving an I hear whales reply text from AC, now in San Francisco. After another half hour of foraging, the pod had passed. I returned to the tent to drink wine, whittle away at the provisions, and prepare for August and the Games of Lugh. Twice eagles flew by, sending black oyster-catchers fluttering away from the tiny offshore island. The second time, several oyster-catchers opted to perch on a log traveling on the current rather than return to the little island.