The herring in their countless millions migrate south as they spawn, the females attaching their fertilized roe onto kelp.
As they spawn their milt paints the dark ocean a pale emerald green.
And as they come through it's a free for all for creatures from hundreds of miles around. The eagles come in their masses, their unique screech announcing their arrival. Seagulls and all manner of waterbirds likewise flock to the beaches.
Beneath the surface schools of salmon and other predators claim their fill.
Seals and sea lions turn out in abundance. A friend and I went to lunch yesterday at a waterside pub and spotted a gaggle of sea lions, stuffed to bloating, gathered together to sleep it off twenty or thirty feet offshore, each with one flipper held skyward to catch the warmth of the sun. Wish I'd brought my camera.
As I went out to the porch this morning to collect the newspaper I was greeted by the bark of sea lions resting down on the beach. I once had a dog that would bark back, triggering a protracted exchange between dog and sea lions. It's said the sea lions come from as far away as Alaska and California for the annual banquet.
By tomorrow the fishing fleet, the birds, the sea lions and the herring will be gone, moved further down the coast with the whole process repeated over again. Until next year.
