Cape Cod

Dec 31, 2024

Dear friends, far and wide: happy new year!

I recently looked back on the very first posts we added here in January as we started our adventure in San Diego. Pictures of a listing Christmas tree on the beach, and long elaborate descriptions of our movements through a single day. At the outset, I thought I could maybe write two posts a month, and if Tyler and I alternated we could do roughly one a week. In hindsight, added to the incredible load of emotional labor we did in traveling, observing, note-taking, and attempting to keep in touch with some of our regular rhythms of life as we lived out of our truck and tent, that seems insane. No wonder we have drifted far from the mark in more recent months! However, for those who are wondering, let me assure you that we’re not done digesting this “moderate” experience we undertook. We’ve banked a lot of material that we haven’t had a chance to tally up, write about and share here, so if you’re still interested… stay tuned! We’ll post more as we’re ready.

Before I dive into one of these particular experiences, I would like to say a big, blanket thank you to everyone who helped us on our way this year. We stayed with friends, we were cheered on by family, and we met many engaged and interesting souls as we traveled along. The fact that any of you have been reading what we write is also a powerful form of encouragement. Though I have tried to voice my gratitude in person and in the moment, there are probably some who haven’t heard it from me yet, and so I send it out now in a big sine-wave of love: thanks, darling chickadees!

And now, time travel back several weeks to Cape Cod…

When Tyler suggested we go to Cape Cod before heading north to our ultimate destination of Maine, I initially hesitated. I think I had the Herman Melville quote in mind: “Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet…” and I figured November on Cape Cod (so close to Nantucket, the launching point for the Pequot in Moby Dick) could be nothing but cold, wet and windy. But birding reports from the Cape looked good, so I resolved to tough it out if it came to that; we’ve got layers, and that’s what they’re for.

Folks, I hardly needed them. We spent five stunningly beautiful days in the Provincetown area, and it was gloriously sunny nearly every minute. Midday, we napped on sun-drenched lawn chairs outside our motel room and woke feeling very beach-y. I layered up in early mornings, and carried a backpack to stuff the layers into as the sun climbed higher in the sky. It was perfect.

Several mornings, we birded the beach from the car park to Race Point light, and every morning was a different experience. Our first time out we started too late, having lingered at the hotel to enjoy our complimentary breakfast. After the tide chased us back off the point mere minutes after we approached, we resolved to skip the delicious muffins and get out at sunrise the next morning. And boy, did it pay off.

What better way to start a day than under a racing sky full of Northern Gannets (Morus bassanus)? Attempting a true count was futile, but we estimated (conservatively!) 1700 passing by, all heading south along the shore at a clip. Occasionally, one or two would break rank and dive for fish, folding up dramatically into living spears. They lance the water at incredible speed, up to 100 miles per hour! Entering, like champion divers, completely smoothly, zero splash. Incredible.

We trudged down the beach with our gear, stopping to count streams of birds. Behind the Gannets came hundreds of Red-Breasted Mergansers (Mergus serrator). Below these high-flyers, long lines of little black-and-white Razorbills (Alca torda); longer lines of chunky mixed flocks of Scoters and Eiders. Everyone was heading south, toward the sun, as if emerging from the protection of the bay. By the time the sun was high enough overhead to light the beach fully, we had lost count of nearly every species we were tracking.

Towards the end of the point, we came to where the currents meet and the water gets choppy. This is evidently a fertile zone, attracting both fish and hungry seabirds, as the various species group on the water to sit on the chop and nip at each other territorially while waiting for an opportunistic bite. Around here, we set up our scope and began scanning for other species more closely. This is also where we spotted ahead of us two other people nutty enough to come traipsing the length of the beach at dawn. Seeing their binoculars and scope, we approached, expecting to share some notes on the day… and were wowed to discover ourselves face-to-face with old friends from the Montreal birding scene! Minda and Harle are a pair of wonderful, enthusiastic birders, meticulous in their research and notes, always generous with recommendations and knowledge. We first met them on a walk with Bird Protection Quebec many years ago, and have happily shared several surprise birding moments over our years in Canada… but this! To meet by chance at the very most extreme tip of Cape Cod in the early morning light toward the end of our long birding year across the United States… what fun!

One of the joys of birding Race Point is an uncannily close view of passing Shearwaters. We scoped the chop-zone and were rewarded with clear looks at a Sooty Shearwater (Ardenna grisea) scrambling with some Razorbills for a meal. We also had such close looks at Cory’s Shearwaters (Calonectris borealis) in flight that we were confidently able to separate them from Scopoli’s Shearwaters (Calonectris diomedea). Having studied up ahead of time, we knew to look for minute differences in the extent of white on the primaries on the undersides of their wings. Illustrations in a book that aren’t moving require careful study to spot the differences, so I thought this distinction would be impossible to spot on living, moving birds in the field. But no: like bumping into friends on a remote beach, anything is possible! We saw all four local Shearwater species that morning, and repeated the feat on other mornings to come.

Here are some treasures from the weekend on Cape Cod. Rejoice in the light that’s returning to us daily, and make some plans to get outside in 2025!