Last weekend in December

Solstice light.
Midday shadows are as long as they're going to get, at least according to my Farmer's Almanac.

Leslie and I walked to the ferry jetty and back Saturday, our favorite walk, one that is different every time. A southwest breeze warmed us up to the 50's--some folks wandered around in shorts and t-shirts.

The tide was out, and I wandered around keyholing, looking for quahogs. (The quahog's two-siphon system leaves an imprint in the sand that looks like a keyhole.)

Didn't find any keyholes, so dug at a random clam hole and got my hands on a razor clam. After a few minutes of a gentle tug of war (razor clams are fast but fragile), I lifted it out of the sand, its huge foot now grasping at the air.

I put it back in the hole. The exhausted clam did nothing. I debated taking it home for a snack, but there's not a whole lot of recipes calling for a single razor clam.

Not sure it ever recovered--ask the gulls glaring nearby.

***

I found the smallest living crab I've ever noticed. I was about to pocket a cockle shell when I saw a speck move on it.

A tiny, translucent critter with black pixels for eyes was busy waving its claws at us, defending its turf. Took me a moment to figure out what it was doing, but its tough guy stance earned it another shot at life. I put the shell back down.

Not sure it recovered--ask the sand pipers pecking nearby.

***

What else did we see?

A loon kept me company as I scouted the end of a jetty for a future mussel dinner.

A half-dozen purple sand pipers ignored us on the ferry jetty. (No, we don't get any shellfish here--the canal keeps these waters condemned.)

For those of you who walk to the end of the jetty, be aware that the large stone on the outside edge of the foghorn tower is loose. It's tucked in between other rocks, so it's not likely to go far, but feeling the world shift under your feet can be unnerving.

Photo by Leslie--it was much better before I butchered it to fit here.