I ran into royalty today. While pedaling along N. San Pedro Rd. in San Rafael, a rode past two young women, binoculars slung around their necks, standing near the entrance to China Camp State Park. Ever curious--and a birder too--I pulled on the brakes, swung around, and ask what they're looking for. Raptors, they tell me. When I ask what makes this mist-and-sun morning good for raptors, they tell me it's the king tide, traditionally one of the highest tides of the year, which flushes out clapper rails and other shorebirds from their usual hiding spots in the marsh channels. Zoom zoom, in swoop harrier hawks and white-tailed kites (one of my favorites--alas I can't claim rights to that photo) to pick off the prey.
King tide? Never heard of it, so I look it up when I get home. Sure enough, it's typically one of the highest tides of the year, and I do have to admit that yesterday's tide--maybe the prince or queen tide?--actually lapped up and partially flooded the roadway. On this morning, the tide was already turning and draining the marshes by the time I rode by, so I'd missed the peak--but it was still clearly very, very soggy and flooded across the marshlands.
My favorite tidbit on king tides follows:
King tides occur with the coming of new and full moons. Some traditional mythologies hold that such times cause madness, a possible origin of the word "lunacy".
While there was narry a raptor in sight this morning, I'll admit I probably fit the lunacy bill in my mud-spattered gear and fetching mismatched socks.
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