Reflections at the Fort Macon Jetty...

The Jetty.  

Emblem of man's eternal struggle against the forces of nature. 

Impertinent sea! Incorrigible sand! 

Can't you see we've built a fortress here?! How dare you move it?! 

Come along now, waves, let's see what you do with ten thousand tons of granite!

Amorphous island shaped by the seas for countless centuries welcomes the unyielding granite boulders, rough edges already worn smooth in a few brief decades by the relentless caress of millions of tons of water and salt and sand, by the barnacles, and mussels and oysters and still more sand. 

Tides surge forward, then relent, hour after hour, day after day, as they've moved for millennia by the moon's sleight of hand. 

Wind and rain play no small part, as the ancient mountain stones imperceptibly multiply, pulverized in super slow motion, newly liberated particles collaborating with their predecessors to grind away at the mother stone.

Bird reflects, and bird knows.

Peering from the surface of the sand-lined tidal pool, nestled in the bosom of the boulder, the bird knows the sand, and the tides, and the waves, and the wind and the rain. The bird knows the barnacles, and the mussels, and the oysters, and the boulders, and all that sand. 

With feet, and legs and bill and eyes and eyelids and oil glands and feathers shaped by the sand, and the tides, and the winds, and the rain, and nourished by the barnacles, and the mussels, and the oysters and the other food hidden in the boulders and all that sand, the bird reflects, and the bird knows. 

Time is its teacher. Unhurried, unharried, eternal and unending. 

Man races in for the briefest of moments. He sees and smiles and snaps his photos and leaves. 

The bird preens, and reflects, unhurried and unharried. Time passes, and the bird knows.

Will man ever know?

 Time will tell...

Survive and Advance - A Bird's Got To Eat...

A brisk ocean breeze kept the beachcombers bundled, but the shorebirds seemed oblivious. They were busy finding food. Every day in the wild, survival depends on eating enough and avoiding being eaten, and these birds are survivors, albeit via diverse means.

At first glance, this willet seemed to be escaping reality by burying its head in the proverbial sand.

In reality, it was plucking an unlucky sand-dweller from its home; no longer a survivor is he.

Burrow. Pluck. Eat. Repeat...

Same game, same result, different tactics. This large gull is having great success locating and retrieving bay scallops, but wisely resists swallowing them whole in the manner of a willet downing a mole crab.

The hard-baked asphalt makes a very effective ally in the shell-cracking game. Judging from all the empty shells littering the road, this gull's destined for survival as well.

Not so, the scallop and its unfortunate tunicate hitchhiker, the soon to be dehydrated sea squirt.

Survival's no laughing matter for this laughing gull. One moment lurking quietly nearby, the next laughing hysterically, this hunter methodically stalks the surf fisherman, waiting patiently for numb fingers to fumble the bait.

When the inevitable happens... carpe diem!!!

Roughly translated, "seize the bait."

Bird on a Wire - It's Windy Up There!

After nearly a month on the shelf, Hoot Owl Karma headed east for a wild weekend! 

Saturday sunrise comes with brilliant skies but a chilly breeze off Bogue Sound. This male Northern Cardinal boldly sings with his back to the blast; bowed but not broken.

When his audience changes venues, he bravely turns to face the frigid current.

Alas, the feather furling flow proves relentless, and this high wire act tries yet another tack...

This angle seems to be working pretty well, it appears the insulator may be doubling as an amplifier as well.

With our eyes on the sky, another bird on a wire we spy...