Waddles, Wings, and One Judgy Crow - April 11, 2026

We set out under a sky that felt heavy.

Thick clouds pressed low, and the air carried that unmistakable promise of rain. But none of that mattered because we had a mission.

The Brant geese were passing through Parksville, and I had heard whispers of thousands gathering along the shoreline. I needed to see it for myself.

So my aunt, Finn, and I piled into the car and made our way north.

Our first stop was Rathtrevor Provincial Park.

Before I had even fully stepped out of the car, I heard it—that unmistakable, piercing call.

A bald eagle.

I looked up and there he was, perched and watching, as if he had been waiting for us. I grabbed my camera, managed a quick shot, and just like that, he lifted off—off to cause a little mischief somewhere else.

And just like that, the day had begun.

At first, the beach felt empty. Muted. Quiet.

But then I noticed a small gathering of people further down the shoreline… and something clicked.

Bingo.

The Brant geese.

Not thousands but hundreds. And honestly? That was more than enough.

They were stunning. A rich blend of black, chocolate brown, and white subtle, but striking. Some waddled along the shoreline, others floated effortlessly, and a few came in for landing, wings outstretched against the grey sky.

Did you know?

The Brant goose is a coastal specialist that depends heavily on one specific food? Their favorite meal is eelgrass—a type of underwater plant found in shallow coastal waters. And here’s the amazing part…

Their migration is timed with eelgrass availability along the Pacific coast!

But what stayed with me most wasn’t the movement.

It was the stillness.

I stood there, just watching. Listening to their soft conversations, their rhythms, their presence.

And then… one looked at me.

Standing among the Brant goose, I felt a quiet sense of connection wash over me. They moved together, spoke softly to one another, and existed as a collective yet still made space for individual moments. When one met my gaze, it felt like a simple, powerful acknowledgment: we are both here. In that exchange, I was reminded that connection doesn’t have to be loud or complicated. Sometimes, it’s found in stillness, in presence, and in recognizing that we are never truly alone in this world.

We locked eyes for just a moment and in that quiet exchange, everything else faded away. No noise. No thoughts. Just a simple, shared acknowledgment.

You’re here. I’m here. And that was enough.

After soaking in the geese, I slowed down.

I looked down.

Shells of every color scattered along the beach. Towering sea snail shells. Tangled ribbons of seaweed. Tiny ecosystems tucked into the sand.

Life was everywhere if you chose to see it.

In the midst of all the geese, it was a funny, high-pitched call that caught my attention first. That’s when I noticed a few Bonaparte’s gull resting quietly on the sandbar. With their orange legs and delicate black faces, they stood out just enough to draw me in. It made me smile—how something so small and easily overlooked can suddenly become the moment you remember. A gentle reminder to listen closely… because sometimes it’s the unexpected voices that lead you to something special.

As the beach grew busier, we made our way back toward the forest trails so Finn could stretch his legs properly (he wasn't allowed on the beach so he observed our beach walk from his backpack until we got near the path at the edge of the beach). He’s definitely a forest cat. And honestly? I get it. I prefer the forest too.

We paused along the trail, snapping a few photos of him and that’s when a little dark-eyed junco made an appearance. Bold. Curious. It hopped nearby, clearly aware of Finn… almost teasing him.

Posing. Darting. Watching.

Finn looked absolutely shocked when it finally flew off, and I couldn’t help but laugh. It was one of those perfectly unscripted moments that makes a day unforgettable.

Next stop: Parksville Community Park. No Brant geese. Not a single one.

But nature has a funny way of giving you exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

Another bald eagle appeared this time framed against the mountains of British Columbia. He perched just long enough for all of us to admire him, as if he knew exactly what he was doing… before soaring overhead and disappearing into the grey.

When I heard the call of the Bald eagle and looked up to see him watching from above, it felt like a quiet moment of perspective. The eagle didn’t rush he observed, waited, and then moved with purpose. In that brief encounter, I was reminded to rise above the noise, to trust my own timing, and to see my life from a higher vantage point. Sometimes clarity doesn’t come from pushing forward… it comes from stepping back and simply taking it all in.

And then....Movement. Right along the shoreline. A black-bellied plover. My first one.

Did you know?

The Black-bellied plover looks completely different depending on the season? In the summer (breeding season), they have a striking jet-black face and belly with a crisp white border bold and dramatic. But in the winter? They transform into a much softer grey and white shorebird, blending almost perfectly into beaches like the ones in Parksville. It’s easy to miss them if you’re not looking closely!

The Black Bellied Plover was telling me, “You are exactly where you need to be. You don’t need to push forward right now just be present, and your path will reveal itself naturally.”

I can’t even explain the quiet excitement of that moment. There were a couple of them, just going about their day, gently probing the sand for food, completely unbothered.

Moments like that feel like little gifts.

Across from the beach, a field of white caught my eye. Marshmallows in a field aka Snow geese.

Dozens of them, resting and feeding peacefully.

Did you know?

The Snow goose comes in two completely different color forms? Most people recognize the classic bright white “snow” geese with orange beaks and feet but some are actually a darker “blue morph”, with grey bodies and white heads. And here’s the cool part…They’re the same species, not different birds!

As I watched the Snow goose, peacefully feeding while one stood quietly on watch, I felt a gentle reminder settle in. Not every moment requires vigilance. Not every step needs effort. Sometimes, we are allowed to rest… to belong… to simply exist within the moment. In their calm presence, I was reminded that I don’t have to carry everything alone that it’s okay to soften and let life hold me for a while.

They’re such a contradiction bright white bodies, orange feet and beaks, and then those occasional dark grey morphs mixed in. They look like little walking marshmallows… the kind you just want to scoop up and hug.

Most of them were focused on feeding, but one stood watch. Alert. Aware. Keeping an eye on everything including me.

I kept my distance. It felt important to let them just be. No disturbance. No intrusion. Just quiet coexistence. And in that moment, I realized something again, they weren’t bothered by us.

They were simply living their lives… alongside us.

In the middle of it all, a crow wandered closer.

Curious, of course.

It tilted its head, watching me just as intently as I was watching it. I swear it gave me a look that said: “What are you looking at, human?”

I laughed out loud.

Through my lens, I noticed something I hadn’t before—the subtle outlines of each feather on its back. Black on black, layered with quiet complexity.

Even the most familiar birds have stories we haven’t fully seen yet.

It wasn’t a “spectacular” day. No dramatic lighting. No once-in-a-lifetime shot. No thousands of geese filling the sky. But it was perfect. Because it gave me exactly what I needed.

Connection. Stillness. Presence.

A reminder that even on the greyest days, life is happening all around us quietly, beautifully, without asking for anything in return.

And like I always say…When life gets heavy, go birding.