Floating Cows & Clam-Gulping Ducks: A Wild Morning in the Wild - April 4, 2026

This morning, I headed out to Coles Beach in Saanich, BC at low tide with one simple hope—to spot surf scoters.

And wow… did they show up.

A large school easily 40 to 50 birds floated just offshore, intermixed with a group of lesser scaup. From a distance, they bobbed together like a living mosaic, shifting and turning with the rhythm of the ocean.

When I managed to isolate a few in my lens, I couldn’t help but smile their bold black-and-white patterning and those bright orange beaks made them look like little floating cows drifting across the water.

Nearby, the lesser scaup offered their own quiet beauty. I was able to capture a few portraits of both the male and female, their soft, intricate coloring glowing in the morning light.

And then… one moment I won’t forget.

A female lesser scaup surfaced with a clam and before I could even process what I was seeing, she gulped the entire shell down whole.

Just like that.

It was raw, real, and incredible.

At one point, someone further down the beach launched a boat, and the surf scoters lifted off in a sudden wave of wings. For a moment, the water felt empty. But not for long.

They returned. Again and again, they regrouped floating together, turning in unison, shifting direction like a single living organism.

I watched a male lesser scaup drifting on his own, aware of my presence on the shore but completely unbothered. He simply floated there, existing in his world, reminding me that not everything needs a reaction sometimes, it’s enough to just be.

I noticed a female lesser scaup on her own, drifting quietly just offshore. There was something about her that immediately drew me in. She wasn’t flashy like the males—no bold contrasts or striking patterns demanding attention. Instead, she carried a softer kind of beauty. Her feathers were a blend of cinnamon and deep chocolate brown, with subtle touches of white woven in. And her eyes—piercing yellow sharp, aware, completely present.

She looked fierce.

Not in an aggressive way, but in a grounded, self-possessed kind of strength. She knew exactly who she was and didn’t need to prove it.

Watching her, I felt this quiet reminder settle in—being on your own doesn’t mean you’re lacking anything. Sometimes, it means you’re fully standing in your own strength, your own rhythm, your own presence.

And honestly… she was absolutely gorgeous.

While I waited for them to drift closer again, I turned my attention to the shoreline.

And that’s when things got really interesting.

Oysters intact and larger than my hand.

Thousands upon thousands of towered marine mud snails scattered like tiny sculptures.

Endless clam shells, most of them empty.

Marine Mud Snails (Invasive)

Marine Mud Snails (Invasive)

And then… movement. Shore crabs scurrying everywhere.

At first, I barely noticed them they blended in so perfectly with the rocks and sand, like little living pieces of the shoreline itself. Their camouflage is incredible. One second nothing, the next second—movement.

To us, they seem completely harmless.

But to a sad little flea… they are an absolute terror, my Aunt Said. Hahahaah.

Nature is all about perspective.

I also took some time to really watch the seagulls.

One in particular had picked up a clam and was repeatedly dropping it right at his feet in the water, clearly expecting it to crack open. He stood there for a moment, almost puzzled, as if wondering why it wasn’t working. It gave me a quiet laugh.

Eventually, he gave up, lifted off, and circled around me several times before disappearing out of sight.

Another gull, younger by the softness of its coloring, stood nearby watching me just as curiously. We shared that moment, both observing each other, both trying to make sense of the other’s presence.

It made me realize how often we overlook these birds.

Seagulls are so often labeled as noisy, common, even annoying. But when you slow down and actually watch them, they’re anything but mundane. They’re clever, curious, persistent—and honestly, incredibly entertaining.

And more than that, they’re part of something bigger. Part of the rhythm of this shoreline, the balance of the ecosystem, the ongoing story of life playing out right in front of us.

Sometimes, the most ordinary creatures just need a little of our attention to become extraordinary.

As the sun climbed higher, the light turned harsh, and I began to make my way home. But the morning wasn’t quite finished with me yet.

On the drive back, I spotted a red-tailed hawk lifting off from a low bush. He circled above me, once, twice, several times. And then I saw it. A stick clutched in his talons. He wasn’t hunting. He was building.

What the Wildlife Taught Me Today

• The surf scoters reminded me to embrace what makes me different. To show up boldly, even if it means standing out.

• The lesser scaup showed me trust especially in that unforgettable moment of swallowing the clam whole. Sometimes, life asks us to trust our instincts and just go for it.

• The shoreline revealed the quiet truth of cycles life feeding life, nothing wasted, everything connected.

• The rock crabs reminded me that perspective shapes everything. What feels small or harmless in one world can be powerful in another. We never really know the role we play in someone else’s story.

And the hawk…

The hawk reminded me that not everything we carry is about survival in the moment. Sometimes, it’s about building something for the future. Piece by piece.

You don’t have to travel far to witness something extraordinary. Sometimes, it’s right here living beside you, moving with you, quietly reminding you how to live.

And if you slow down long enough to notice…

It just might teach you something you didn’t know you needed.