The last I had seen of my friend Carlo was out at Grant Narrows, where he showed me an odd-sounding flycatcher that he was really hoping was an Alder Flycatcher. Well, shortly thereafter, Carlo was walking around near Surrey Lake Park when he heard the real deal: an unmistakable Alder. I was pretty astonished at his luck, and even more so when he found yet another nonlocal flycatcher, an Eastern Pheobe, near the entrance of Surrey Lake.

Since I'd never been to this park before, I figured a trip was in order. So on Friday the 16th, I left work a little early and drove the short distance to the park.

As I entered, I looked briefly for the Pheobe, and not finding him, I proceeded on in. As I came off a small bridge that crosses a creek, a heron took off from the edge of the lake to my right. It was small, and most probably a Green Heron, as they had also been reported at this location. I was a bit disappointed, because I've only seen a Green Heron once before, and I was hoping to get pictures of another one.

The disappointment didn't last long, though, as I started exploring this unfamiliar land. I reached a branch in the trail, and took the south fork. This led me through some open ground, with lake and meadow on my right and forest, a ways off, on my left. I heard a cry and looked up to see an adult Bald Eagle. It called a few more times as it flew by.

That had just been a great few moments of birdwatching; I was amazed at just how long he had his flaps down and body up; most birds don't drop their legs or start to brake until they're almost right on top of their perch. I was pretty exhilarated by the whole encounter. I knew I had a pretty good chance of having gotten good photos of it, too.

A bit excited now, I wandered on, but at one point I turned back because I thought I had gone the wrong way at the fork in the trail. Exploring the other fork, I discovered that it led around to where I had turned back, which was about fifty meters shy of the place I had been looking for. Oh well, maybe I needed the walk.

The place I had been looking for was a little trail that led out of the park on a dyke that extended south between farms in the area. I headed out and soon spotted an empid (flycatcher in the genus Empidonax) in a tree to my left. It was either a Willow or an Alder Flycatcher, but the chances are vastly in favor of Willow. It was still a fair distance to where Carlo had heard the Alder, and even from there, the bird was supposed to be in trees some distance off onto private property.

As I watched my empid, he moved his mouth like he was calling, and I didn't hear a thing. This really drove home the folly of my quest out here: how was I going to find and identify a bird that is only identifiable by sound when I can't hear them? But since I was most of the way there, I pressed on, hoping for a miracle. Like finding a bunch of experienced birders at the location listening to the bird as it perched on a post five meters away. Yeah, I was hoping for something like that.

In the meantime, I passed a little meadow where a horse was enjoying some late afternoon grass. She turned her head my way as I stopped to take her photo.

There's a species of fly—Musca autumnalis, a close relative of the common housefly—that is known for clustering on the faces of cattle and horses, taking advantage of the fact that those poor animals can't get a good grip on a flyswatter. Those flies were probably M. autumnalis. I didn't get close enough to tell for sure, though, and none of them came flyin' over to say hi. They liked their horse nose too much.

I finally reached the little weir where Carlo had heard his bird. My miracle didn't materialize; there were no birders there. I went down to the bottom of the structure and looked through my binoculars at the trees where the bird was supposed to be. Those trees were far away and to pick out a flycatcher at that distance I really needed my telescope. And if the bird was making its distinctive call, I didn't hear a thing.

So I settled for watching what was nearby. A few Barn Swallows sat on the fence around the makeshift dam.

Barn Swallows can be really sneaky birds. Have a look at this guy, for instance. You might think that he was just sitting there, mindin' his own business, being a good little swallow.

And if you did think that, you'd be right. He was minding his own business.

But there was another Barn in the area who wasn't. When the first swallow turned his head, this guy snuck up on him from behind.

That was a very odd exchange.

Eventually I got back up onto the dyke, and I saw a long-tailed bird fly into some trees far on the other side. My first impression was that it was a Mourning Dove; they had been reported in the area. I don't see these doves too often, so despite the distance I aimed my camera and shot. The photos turned out pretty blurry, but at least they confirmed my impression. So here's a bird-shaped smudge that looks a fair bit like a Mourning Dove.

I headed back the way I came, and took the path northwards when I got back to the park. The northward way was through some woods, and since it was hot out, I preferred the shaded walk, even though it would be a little tougher for photography.

I'd seen a bunch of black slugs on my walk, but I had to stop and take photos when I encountered a really big brownish one. I put a penny there beside him to give you a sense of how big he was. He didn't seem to mind.

That slug was, as far as I can tell, an Ariolimax columbianus, the Pacific Banana Slug. (Lucky for you., I won't go into the anatomical details that lead me to that conclusion...I'll save that for some other day.) Unfortunately, at the time I was thinking photography rather than science, and only took a photos of his left side. I'd be able to tell for sure if I had a photo of his right.

The only other candidate for a slug that big is my good friend Arion rufus, the Chocolate Arion.

Speaking of which, most of the slugs I saw out on the trail that day were definitely the black form of A. rufus. I took some photos of one a little later for comparison. This guy was about half as long as the brownish one above.

That's how they appear when you look at them, but in Photoshop I was able to play with the photo and bring up some of the surface details. In this version you can really see the granular mantle (the lighter part of his back), and the little ridging along the tail.

It's interesting how shiny he was.

Soon I was back at the lake, and I stopped to take photos when I saw a Belted Kingfisher on a sluice gate on the far side. He was quite the distance away; this is as close as I dared crop the photo.

Back near the entrance, I saw a momma Mallard with three young, near the place where the heron had flown from earlier. The reflections made the water around them a lovely green.

Back by the entrance, I dropped my tripod in the car and tried one last time to spot the Eastern Pheobe that was supposedly nearby. After fifteen minutes or so, I saw a bird that was quite possibly the Pheobe fly behind a large tree on the border of the park and a golf course. I waited as close as I could to the fence for the bird to reappear. This was not terribly close because the vegetation was overgrown there..

After another five to ten minutes, I saw a dark bird appear on a low branch on a tree, near the fence but behind a little vegetation. Despite the obstruction, I took some photos, just in case that was my best chance on the bird. It turns out this was the Eastern Pheobe.

And it also turned out that that was my best chance at photos of the bird. He flew back behind the trees within a minute, and didn't come back out in the next ten or so. Although it wasn't a great view of the bird, it was okay, and I was able to tell he wasn't something I'd ever seen before.

So I headed home with the Eastern Pheobe, but not the Alder Flycatcher, on my life list, and with some great encounters on my memory cards.

Walking on the moon,
Tom