This is the time of year for exceptional minus tides around the Sound that don’t require a flashlight so for the third day in a row we headed to Elliott Bay, donning handkerchiefs or masks for the initial venturing forth but there was plenty of room to be had on the beach with so much exposed intertidal. Hardly any people, to tell you the truth. This particular spot may not seem like beachcombing in the classic sense, I’d understand if you were less than impressed. Still, the boys and I’ve always liked this rubble pile where back in the late nineties, half a dozen palatial homes slowly oozed off the bluff (little wonder this neighborhood is flippantly referred to as “the Malibu of Seattle”). We’re intrigued by the tangled, rusty rebar and crumbling concrete, some pieces of the rust garden have come from here. It’s neat to see the weathered bricks and decorative tiles. The graffiti’s always sort of interesting. Among other delights, the minus tides offer unexpected glimpses of the city, some downtown towers are barely visible in this frame. At any rate, nearby the crows were terribly pestering the heck out of a juvenile Bald eagle which was probably up to no good, maybe raiding crows’ nests. We walked all the way down to the dilapidated surf shacks where some razor clams were still sticking out of the sand.
Sunday before lunchtime the boys and I headed south for the other end of Elliott Bay, along Alki Avenue. It was far busier here with the usual cruising but once again the beach itself was gloriously spacious. It was refreshing not crucking through cobbles and petrified barnacles, the three of us took off our shoes, rolled up pant legs and walked barefoot in shallow, eelgrass-filled pools. The boys have eagle eyes, they found some substantial shore crabs almost completely buried in the sand. We discovered an ochre starfish in nearly two feet of water, our only one for the day which would seem to indicate the species continues to be badly hampered by the dreaded wasting disease. Finally, this has nothing to do with anything except it was Friday afternoon when we got back from the beach and a mangy bunny sat in the backyard for a couple of hours and seemed to defy the laws of nature, vigorously nibbling from the mantle of coffee grounds which I’ve spread over time in the rust garden, for effect. She chased that down with a few crunchy dandelions, turning her ears to the sounds of Adam’s trumpet, upstairs. She keeps coming back. It must be the light roast. And maybe the horn?