Each day I fight, most days I win

I self diagnosed myself with anxiety when I was a teenager. 
I haven't gone to a doctor for an official diagnosis, mainly because I don't want the affirmation of a professional... or a prescription drug.

Instead, I set out on a life-long mission to learn how to live with, moderate, and ultimately overcome my anxiety.

Overtime, I learned to embrace anxiety as a constant.  

Drawing inspiration from the poignant phrase, "Do one thing every day that scares you," in the song "Everybody is free (to wear sunscreen)," I decided the key to winning the battle with anxiety is to embrace it. 

To reap the benefits of exercise, one has to get up, workout, suffer through the pain and sweat. The paths to fitness and less anxiety are similar. To improve, I spend part of the day scaring the bejeezus out of myself, fighting the desire to flee, and rediscovering that the thing causing my anxiety wasn't so bad after all. 
The benefits are my world grows, everything seems possible, and the remaining part of my day is anxiety free. 

However, some scary things are harder to battle than others, and some days even the simple task of stepping out the front door is a challenge. 

Imagine a bubble around yourself. When you are within the bubble there is no anxiety, but once you step outside your insides become as trembly as a chihuahua on ice. The trembles can make you hot, or cold, or both at the same time. Your palms sweat, the mind races, and your stomach ties into knots threatening to eject everything you ate, possibly taking your stomach lining with it. 

Some days you can travel far before you find the boundaries of the bubble, then there are times when it is waiting to smack you in the face as you wake up. 

It's variable, and I don't always win. But, when I do, the victory is sweet. 

Yesterday, I won. 

I went scuba diving in the Pacific Ocean with a friend. I have been diving for almost ten years, but this was my second time in the ocean. 

The ocean and I have been on a slow acquaintance period for the past two years I have lived on the coast. I spend days staring at it, sometimes go on it on a boat, but rarely jump into its midst. 

My caution isn't from a fear of water or the ocean — actually, I am a water bug and love the ocean. The excess caution is my manifestation from knowing how unforgiving and dangerous those waters can be. I like to take it slow with scary, dangerous things. 

During the paddle out to our dive location, an epic battle raged in my head between the scaredy-cat and the adventurer in me. 

My mind regretfully reviewed all the things that frightened me from past dives — getting sea sick once, getting hypothermia (mild case, don't worry).  Plus, with the added possibility of large great white sharks (very low possibility, in reality), the extra elements of 58 degree water, and getting tangled in kelp  (I am not a fan of unidentified objects touching me) my vitals were going through the roof.

The scaredy-cat, unfortunately, is chattier of the two and rattled off phrases like:
"Nobody will hate you if you go in," "You should just cancel the trip, you put yourself at risk going out this nervous," "The water is too cold," "Quit kidding yourself, you're really not cut out for this,"
 "Go back home, where it is safe and warm."

The voice grew louder, and my heart rate increased. If it wasn't for strong will and deep breaths I would have high-tailed it home. Instead, I took some advice from a wise cartoon fish and 'kept swimming.' Once on the bottom, my fretting faded away and I was rewarded with sea stars, sea cucumbers, and my favorite thing in life: Adventure. 

Sea stars. ©Teresa Shumaker.

20-legged sea star. ©Teresa Shumaker. 

Sea cucumber. ©Teresa Shumaker. 

Working out puzzles

Pygmy nuthatch. ©Teresa Shumaker.

Sometimes, what a bird isn't is just as important as what it is when trying to identify the species. As a beginner birder, and not a California native, there are many common species that can leave me scratching my head in confusion when trying to identify them.

This pygmy nuthatch did just that. As I was sipping on my coffee and watching the chestnut-backed chickadees hop around the pine trees in my backyard the other morning, a large flock of nuthatches descended upon the forest.

A pygmy nuthatch searching for seeds in the pine cone. They stick their needle-like beak in the cracks to dislodge the seed. ©Teresa Shumaker. 

At first, I thought they were another type of chickadee. They were about the same size, engaging in similar behaviors, and the calls sounded similar.

Well, first thing that gave me a clue they weren't chickadees was the lack of a black beard, or throat patch. Once I got closer, I discovered that the chickadee call I was hearing was coming from some chickadees deeper in the trees, behind the nuthatches, leading me to believe the sound was coming from the nuthatch instead.

After looking through my National Geographic bird field guide, I learned some neat things about these interesting birds.
Whether they are going up or down a tree, they go head first. To survive the winter, they roost at night in a hole in a tree, huddling up next to each other — sometimes up to 100 at a time. (Which gave me the mental image of a big feathered bird pile, with many little bird faces sticking out of the opening.)

As I watched this group, the individuals seemed to have a familiarity with each other. I noticed two types of foragers right of the bat; explorers and followers. The explorers would land on a tree and begin foraging, and the follower would land almost on top of the previous bird and start doing exactly what he or she was doing. The first bird, getting almost elbowed out of its chosen site would move on. Seconds later the follower bird would do just that — follow the first guy. From branch to branch, the process was repeated with many pairs of followers and explorers.

It was hard not to anthropomorphize and project possible emotions, as the explorer birds appeared to get rather annoyed with the mimics, sometimes starting a squabble amongst them.

But then again, nobody likes a copycat. The annoyance could be universal.

Hanging out. An explorer on the left, follower on the right.  ©Teresa Shumaker.  

Big waves begin early

Waves at Virgin Creek Beach, Sept. 24. ©Teresa Shumaker. 

The big waves that are normally seen here on the Mendocino Coast during the winter started their spectacular show last Tuesday. Surf reports were reading forecasting 16- to 18-foot waves. As the tide came in, we had to take extra caution to never take our eyes off the ocean — which is hard to do while conducting a bird survey. Essentially, you keep one eye on the ocean and the other on the birds.

Hopefully, these big waves are a good omen for some exciting winter weather later this year.

Pectoral Sandpiper

Pectoral sandpiper. ©Teresa Shumaker.

Sometimes when you are looking at the horizon, you almost miss what is underfoot. Fortunately for me, and this little sandpiper, he moved quickly and I didn't step on him. But it was a close call.
In the mungey kelp that washed onshore he was almost invisible, until he flew up in protest of my clambering feet.
This little guy winters in South America and spends its summers on the Artic Coast from Alaska to the Hudson Bay. He, or she, stopped on the Mendocino Coast for about a week to refuel as he heads south.
They are known as Pectoral Sandpipers because males have a sack in their chest that they inflate during breeding season. It puffs out the chest and fluffs up the pectoral feathers.

Pesky neighbors

This ground squirrel is warming up in the rising sun. He looks so peaceful. ©Teresa Shumaker. 

I was on a bird survey the other day when I passed by this peaceful looking squirrel sunning itself on a fence. I paused to snap a few photos when a blackbird landed on the fence nearby.
The blackbird stared down the squirrel for a while, and the squirrel seemed to pay him no heed, except for a leisurely sideways glance. Then, the blackbird jumped into flight and attacked the squirrel's back.

The Brewer's blackbird in mid-back-attack. Look at the squirrel's face, he is bracing for the attack but seems rather nonchalant about the whole thing. ©Teresa Shumaker.

The blackbird repeatedly tried to move the squirrel, and the squirrel just sat there, as if this was all part of his daily routine. His facial expression when the blackbird was attacking appeared to be mild annoyance, at best.

The contrast in expressions between these two is priceless. ©Teresa Shumaker. 

Just compare the difference in body language. The blackbird reeks of agitation and the squirrel looks bored.

"Oh yea, that's the spot." ©Teresa Shumaker. 

Even the blackbird's hop looks menacing and agitated. ©Teresa Shumaker.

Eventually the blackbird won, but he had to resort to tail pulling and/or plucking.

Tail pulling finally got the squirrel's attention. ©Teresa Shumaker.

Harvest Moon

Harvest moonset over the Pacific Ocean. ©Teresa Shumaker. 

I have lived on the coast for over two years now, and every month I say I will wake up early to get a moonset photo, but usually my warm pillow talks me out of it. 

 Today I finally succeeded. 

I woke up at 6 a.m. to hike out to the cliffs behind my house just for this picture. 

One thing I learned is: Don't drink coffee on an empty stomach, when you don't normally drink coffee at all. Someone looking out toward the ocean probably confused my "potty dance" as some odd dance to the moon. Which, come to think of it, is a better reasoning to be dancing. 

(On a side note, I wonder what my neighbors must think of me — just a few months back, I was doing a celebratory dance like a wild man while running up and down the headlands after I spotted my first pod of wild orcas. I can hear them now, referring to me as that odd lady who dances on the cliffs for no apparent reason.)

Oh well, I either learned my coffee lesson or will promptly forget it next time I wake up early and crave coffee. Such is life when I have little space to remember those sorts of things. Must keep all the memory space for important things, like animal and nature trivia.  For example, did you know this full moon is called the Harvest Moon because it falls closest to the autumnal equinox? 

This equinox is extra special for me as it also happens to be my first wedding anniversary! 

Enjoy the picks!

©Teresa Shumaker. 

©Teresa Shumaker. 

©Teresa Shumaker. 

Wrentit, agitato

Agitated wrentit. ©Teresa Shumaker 

During a bird survey today I was walking along, minding my own business, when I heard the strangest sound coming from the bush. I looked inside, and there was a very agitated wrentit who then jumped out of the bush to give me a stern talking to. I was at a loss for a reaction. Do I carry on? Apologize? Or fuss back? 
He — or she — didn't give me a chance to reply. He flew off as soon as he said his mind. 

Pelagic birding trip upstaged by whales

One humpback whale preparing to swim under the boat. ©Teresa Shumaker. 

I went on a beginners pelagic bird trip Sunday with the local Audubon Society. It was my first trip, and I am told it wasn't a good trip for birds, although I saw many species for the first time.

However, the pursuit of birds was quickly dropped when there was a sighting of the rare Blue Whale. So we headed out in the direction of the spouts in hopes of getting a little bit closer. Soon we were seeing humpback whales breeching to the left of the boat, blue whale spots to the right, another pod of humpbacks behind us and then a humpback whale beneath the bow of the boat. Then two. Then three!

One interesting behavior is they hovered just below the water, seemingly taking in the view of the boat and the passengers on it. ©Teresa Shumaker. 

As they surfaced and covered us in whale-spray, we scrambled around the boat to get a better glimpse of these magnificent creatures. Not that we needed to, with three humpbacks curious to check us out anywhere one stood they would eventually have an up close encounter with them.

As we were occupied marveling at the whales marveling at us, we almost missed two blue whales that were steadily approaching. They got as close as 50 yards (extremely close!!) and then a humpback got behind them in what looked like an attempt to chase them off. The theory was supported by the blue whales picking up speed and leaving us at a pretty quick pace.

But even at the quick pace, the time between the spout spraying into the air, then the back rolling into view ending with the tail slipping just under the surface and out of sight, was drastically longer than it takes a grey or humpback whale.
And for the largest animal on the planet, I guess it should.

It was so humbling to see the back of the gentle giant and I had to fight the urge to jump overboard into the 58 degree water so I could see the rest of the animal just beneath the surface.
Our guide and local biologist Ron LeValley said that was the best whale activity he has ever seen, and the boat captain, who also leads regular whale spotting tours, said he had never seen anything like it before, especially the three curious humpback whales that spent an hour and a half checking us out.

I was so close and didn't take my wide angle lens, at times I could only take pictures of a part of the whale. ©Teresa Shumaker.

Biologist Ron LeValley on the left and other passengers taking photos of the humpback sticking its rostrum out of the water. ©Teresa Shumaker.

Blue whale. ©Teresa Shumaker.

Rainbow in the whale spray. Humpback whale. ©Teresa Shumaker.

Humpback whale fin. ©Teresa Shumaker.

Humpback whale fin, again. ©Teresa Shumaker.

Goodbye. ©Teresa Shumaker.