A flurry of snow birds migrate to a wintry wonderland of abundant seafood

This could be a misplaced article from the Tucson Times or maybe the Baja Insider, a story about those northerly people looking to escape chilly winters for a bit of southerly warmth. The idea is correct — the location and species aren't.

This is about snow birds.

Sea Witch, our 66-year-old wooden sloop, left the dock with a load of folks on a chilly but sunny winter afternoon. If it is 45 degrees Fahrenheit, sailing into a 10-knot breeze makes it feel like it's really 32 and, so far this day, it hadn't reached 45. We were on a mission to find snow birds — not the people who spend winters in Arizona, but real birds who escape the frozen Arctic to spend winters in the (relatively warm) Pacific Northwest.

As we passed Port Townsend's picturesque downtown and headed northeast, we knew exactly where to go. As planned, it was the end of an outgoing tide, and ahead on the left, the bell buoy at Point Hudson was clanging away, the typical crowd of seals fighting for space aboard No. 2. Here, we turned slightly west and rode the tide toward Point Wilson, where the Strait of Juan de Fuca meets the waters of Puget Sound.

How to begin

Birding routes

Beginning birders can find the best places for bird watching by following the Great Washington State Birding Trail, detailed in a series of free maps issued by Audubon Washington. The first three routes, currently available, are the Cascade Loop, Coulee Corridor and Southwest Loop. Maps include information on best seasons to visit different sites, what birds to look for and detailed driving directions. Order maps by calling 866-WA-BIRDS (866-922-4737), or by using an online order form at www.wa.audubon.org.

Birding gear

Guidebooks, spotting scopes, checklists and other gear to get you started are available from the Seattle Audubon Nature Shop, 8050 35th Ave. N.E. in northeast Seattle. Open 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Saturday. 206-523-4483.

In the Strait of Juan De Fuca, a 7.2-foot tide at Cape Flattery will reach Port Townsend 3 hours and 40 minutes later and increase in height to 7.9 feet. The tide will reach south Puget Sound one hour later and increase to 13.5 feet. Extreme high tides of 18 feet have been recorded in Olympia. Simply put, that's a lot of water moving about.

Four times each day, on each flood and ebb, millions of gallons of water push past Point Wilson lighthouse, like the juggernaut of Puget Sound, creating an upwelling, mixing and funneling of nutrients that bring fish and other creatures to an aquatic smorgasbord. And here we had come to watch the diners. (We actually didn't need the boat; the lighthouse is close enough to the action that binoculars or spotting scopes could provide close viewing, too, but then why have the boat?)

Tide rip-roaring action

We weren't disappointed. In the first tide rip, a pair of Pacific loons looked sleek in satin gray winter plumage. Once thought of as the same species as the Old-World's Arctic Loon and smaller relatives to the common loon, this pair was diving together and coming up with fish each time. Ahead we could see many more. These birds nest on tundra lakes far to the north (I mean really far to the north) near the Arctic Ocean, yet Puget Sound and the Strait of Georgia have one of the highest winter concentrations in the West. In some places, you might see 100 of these birds in a square mile. In the Strait of Georgia, rafts of up to 1,000 have been seen.

Anything but common, common loons were here, too, and difficult to miss. These are big heavy birds, streamlined for swimming underwater after fish, yet almost unable (like most loon species) to walk on land. A beloved bird of the far north, these loons have almost legendary status among naturalists and Native Americans. Whoo,oo,oo — who doesn't recognize the call of the loon, that ethereal chilling cry that epitomizes the word "wilderness"? I wish I could better describe the haunting beauty of that red eye and silver spotted necklace, but I'd get mushy about it.

Information

Tide tables: To check tides at Port Townsend and other locations, see www.saltwatertides.com

There suddenly were other birds here, too, some of the highly migratory grebe tribe. Grebes — well, think "little submarines." Like loons, grebes have solid bones, allowing them to sink straight down beneath the water's surface. With some, like the pied-billed grebe, a head might suddenly appear, periscope around to check things out and then sink to vanish again with almost no action at all. Western grebes, their long graceful necks supporting a head sporting a yellow bill and red eyes, nest in the Canadian prairies, yet winter on the coast from Alaska to Baja. In spring, rafts of 100 birds just hang out in our backwater bays. In Port Ludlow one spring, we witnessed the western grebe's amazing "spring dance," when several pairs launched into a ballet involving a long light-footed sprint across the water's surface. Red-headed grebes, a similar species with a more compact body, white cheek-patch and dark eyes, also were here in the tide rip. These birds nest in Canada and Alaska, too, and winter on east and west coasts. And, like most grebes and loons, as their offspring mature, they ride on their parents' backs, using feathers as soft car seats.

Watch — and learn

Bird watching! So what's the big deal? Let's see if I can explain it. To watch, really watch, these birds is to witness something we've lost in our daily urban lives. It's bringing the scent of wilderness right to us. That these birds have flown thousands of miles, have the ability gained from thousands of years of refinement to find their way from their distant homes to our back yard, is to witness something fresh. Watch their eyes, the centers of their avian souls, the eyes of wilderness, as they go about their search for food or social exchange. Notice the shy look of that female as she appears to not be interested in a possible mate for next season. Check out the male in the beginnings of a possible love affair that will try his abilities to the limit. Look and learn, and you'll probably see something very akin to your own blunderings in that arena.

Get a bird book. Grab a pair of binoculars. Then, on a boat or afoot, spend some time this winter checking out the snow birds.

Larry Eifert is a painter and writer whose works include interpretive paintings for many national parks. He lives in Port Townsend and can be reached at www.eifert-art.com. Readers might recognize Sea Witch as the boat formerly used by Seattle's Jo Bailey in the "Gunkholing" series of cruising guides.