"OK, it's 2 PM. Where's my walk?"
So I grabbed the my hat and camera, put on my beach shoes (the ones that I don't care if they get wet), clipped Skye to the leash and walked down to the beach. I didn't find a single thing photogenic the whole way.
I met Georgia down at the beach, and handed her the leash. It's about 87 F, sunny, breezy, and not terribly humid today ("feels like" 91), so it wasn't even particularly sweaty.
An
Eastern Tiger Swallowtail puddling in the damp sand.
Puddling is a habit of many butterflies, mostly males, which appears to serve to restore lost fluid and electrolytes not present in the moisture they feed on. It seems a little incongruous to seem them on the beach, sometimes in groups of up to five at a time (not so much this year, though).
We couldn't walk around the cliff without getting wet, so we turned back at that point.
Skye leading, while I bring up the rear . . .
Where I was attacked by a
Monarch butterfly when I disturbed his puddling. Oh, the pain!
One of out GBH's hanging out on the jetty.
Along with a few different kinds of seagulls, and at least one tern.
Georgia saw an eagle steal a fish from an Osprey while I was trying to take a picture of something else. The tax man will have his due.
No comments:
Post a Comment