Salt air. It’s a necessity. As kids, my Dad used to remind us to cleanse the innermost recesses of our lungs with salt air while we walked or sailed along the Connecticut coast. And My Guy was used to doing the same as he grew up along the shores of Cape Cod. And so we are drawn. Periodically. To do the same. Together.

Our tramp today began along the Eastern Trail at Scarborough Marsh. For a ways, the trail was hard packed, and we reveled in donning micro-spikes rather than snowshoes. Until, that is, we found ourselves eventually post-holing and decided maybe it wasn’t the right choice after all.

But still. We walked beside Dunstan River where the hues of blue were so subtly varied and I gave thanks to my art teacher, Jessie Lozanski, for helping me to notice. Will I paint this scene? Maybe. One never knows what moves me to paint, until it just does.

It was the ducks, however, who were the real stars of the show, including the male Red-breasted Merganser showing off his typical wild hair day. Or perhaps it should be “wild feather” day.

Either a mate or an immature male joined the show. And actually, there were many others, all hanging out together.

Also in the mix, Common Goldeneye Ducks, with golden eyes indeed.

But, post-holing didn’t appeal to us and so we headed down the road to Pine Point Beach, where snow hugged the beach, but below the tide-line all was clear.

And so we took off, toward Old Orchard Beach.

It was here that the action was even better than the marsh (today, that is) and we paused as we watched a Ring-billed Gull tackle a meal.

The bird thrashed its food this way and that, as the morsel inside tried, I’m sure, to avoid being further consumed.

While sometimes dropping the shell helps, I’m not sure why the bird did this, unless he wanted to give his morsel a moment. A moment to do what? Regrow if it could? Burrow into the sand?

It’s not like it could actually get away at this point, being a Razor Clam. And since the shell was less than half its normal size, we knew the bird had dined well on this one.

Being amongst the gulls always gives me pause, for I need to slow down and think who they are. The fact that we grew up together, the gulls and I, doesn’t matter.

Here’s the lesson: Ring-billed–has a dark ring around its bill (bingo!). And yellow legs.

The one with whom it commonly shares the shoreline is the Herring Gull, with red on its bill, and pink legs to stand upon. And it has an orangey ring around its eye. Of course, I think this is all correct. Whenever I’m in a situation where I see them together, or even alone, I wish I had my birder friend Joe Scott in my pocket to clarify the differences.

What I do know is that this gull (I believe another Herring), had a bum foot and we watched as it bumbled along, putting some weight on its injury, but taking a rest between limps.

The other Herring of my attention, showed what that foot should have looked like–held at an angle when lifted off the ground, rather than dangling straight up and down.

A huge flock of Sanderlings were also in the mix, flitting and foraging where the tide had recently ebbed.

The black bill and legs help in IDing this species. But heck, just watching them race up and down the beach and play in the waves is good for the soul. Almost as good as the salt air.

My attention included more than the birds, for occasionally there were shells to celebrate, especially when they showed their age by serving as home to others including barnacles.

When I turned the Common Whelk over, I realized two things: it was empty. Bummer. But also, it had grown in whorls, much like White Pine pinecones, their scales swirling around the “cob” as they do.

And everywhere there were Quahog shells, most upturned and empty, methinks because the gulls had been dining. I didn’t dig this one up, but instead reveled in its colors and layers, which very much reminded me of Scarborough Marsh.

And no venture should go without tracking, though having the actual creator present in the very moment is rare, but such was the case with this snail.

One of my favorite things about this beach is that I always spot Sand Dollars upon it. Well, at least parts of them, this one being worth $.20 since a piece of the quarter was missing.

Another was worth $.47.

And finally a whole dollar! My Guy thought I’d collect them, but I have a few and felt that pictures would suffice for today.

The most unusual find of the day was this. And we spotted quite a few. I think its a sea ball, created with vegetation by wave action. I’ve seen pond balls full of hemlock and balsam fir needles, but had never noticed this sort of structure at the ocean before, having spent my entire life wandering the shoreline of New England. That said, maybe I just never noticed it before, but now that I have, the balls were everywhere.

At 2.5 miles from the start, we reached the Pier at Old Orchard Beach. In the summer, it’s abuzz with people and sound and aromas and activity.

Today, all was quiet. Delightfully quiet. Well, there were natural sounds, but those are meant to be.

Life stood absolutely still at the OOB’s Palace Playland beyond, with ice on the Pier’s piers speaking winter to the amusement park’s summer.

Even the clustered Barnacles stayed snug as icicles dripped.

We took one last look and then, as the tide changed, so did our direction.

Back under the piers did we pass as the waves increased and began to break, adding a little drama to the scene.

On the way back, I noticed and commented every time I spotted a Sand Dollar. My Guy was certain I’d spotted $35.46. I’m pretty sure it was closer to $6.74. Really though, it was priceless.

Thursday by the sea–a delightful day to walk along the Atlantic Coast in our beloved state of Maine as we did what Dad would have hoped and filled the innermost recesses of our lungs with salt air.