Nantucket 2012—10 Wildlife
When we vacation in Cape May, NJ, we see dolphins travel south in the morning and return north in late afternoon, I assume having visited feeding grounds, or family, or gone to a ball game. Here in Nantucket, we see seals.
The seals bob like beach balls off shore, bald men with slimy heads. I was in the breakers up to my shoulders when I spotted one about 30 yards away. Impulsively, I began waving my arms like a football official indicating “time out.” My wife began to yell from the beach.
The seal saw me, and began drifting my way, never taking its eyes off me. I kept waving, very pleased with myself. At about 15 yards, I had an unpleasant thought: What do I do when it arrives? Invite it in for drinks? I figured this thing weighed over 300 pounds. What if it wanted to play—or eat? What kinds of microbic horrors lived in a mouth that devours living herring?
I began to back up, keeping my eye on it, when a very unpleasant event took place.
The seal dove.
I coudn’t see it, my wife began to really yell (we’re on a very deserted, semi-private beach) and then the water to my left began to churn like a Cuisinart. The seal had tried to flank me, but misjudged the depth, and a breaker had grounded it. It took off one way, and I another, fortunately both of us in the right direction.
Just call me Jacques Cousteau.
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The sandpipers show up about 9 in the morning. Using my method for counting ducks on my pond, I judged about 500 lined the high water mark, running down to grab crustaceans and then scooting back, en masse, like a crazed corps de ballet.
Other birds, I call them dive bombers, hit the water at about 30 MPH, which must cause quite a migraine, and fly off with their catch.
The big gulls show up around noon, after the sandpipers depart, and take up station about five yards from beach chairs. They wait patiently until the occupants enter the water, then meticulously sort through and devour anything edible in their belongings.
I saw my first baby gulls, now that I know what to look for: Only slightly smaller and mostly brown. Babies don’t leave the nest until they are entirely self-sufficient.
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The cook at work, worth the price of admission.
My wife said this morning, as I’m writing, “Let’s go to Black Eyed Susan’s for breakfast.” We hopped in the car, crawled down streets so narrow I folded my side view mirrors, negotiated cobblestones, and found the last two seats at the counter. And she had the best pancakes in her life, and I has the best hash and eggs in my life.
The line outside, which is somehow self-policing.
Tomorrow is our last full day here, after two glorious weeks.
© Alan Weiss 2012. All rights reserved.
Peter McLean
RE: Story 1. Or, as George Costanza would say, “I tell you, at that moment, I was a marine biologist!”
Alan Weiss
I’m on the floor laughing but had sea lion nightmares.