November 1st, 2026
There is a distinct thrill in heading out when the weather cannot decide what it wants to be. Today's drive north up I-5 was a lesson in patience and hyper-vigilance. Several times, the visibility collapsed entirely, dropping down to less than ten feet as thick, blinding walls of fog rolled across the freeway. But as I neared Blaine, the mist began to compete with a brilliant, bright sun, creating that ethereal, high-contrast atmosphere that makes coastal Washington so spectacular in late autumn.
Navigating the Cobble
When I arrived at Semiahmoo Spit, I started with a walk along the rocky beach. The world felt completely mine—there wasn’t another soul out there. Pristine isolation comes with a literal tax on your ankles, though. The shoreline here is a minefield of large, fist-sized cobble and boulders—many easily five times the size of your fist—the kind of unstable terrain that will absolutely ruin your day if you lose focus, trip, and take a hard fall with heavy gear.
Over the years, I’ve discovered a reliable cheat code for this specific shoreline: walk the seaweed line. Where the tide deposits the packed kelp and eelgrass, the ground compresses, filling the treacherous gaps between the large rocks and offering a significantly smoother, more stable path.
The Game of Submarine Hide-and-Seek
My first notable sighting of the morning was a lone Common Loon riding the swells out in the distance. The light was working against me at first—flat and dark out where he drifted. Every time he dove, I’d break into a quick, calculated march across the rocks, trying to close the distance before he resurfaced. But a loon moving underwater travels faster than a human negotiating a rocky Washington beach; he consistently outpaced me, popping up well beyond where I anticipated. Eventually, I threw in the towel and kept moving.
Golden Light and Harlequins
Patience on the coast almost always pays off. As the sun finally burned through the remaining shroud of mist, the water turned to liquid gold. Right on cue, a small group of Harlequin Ducks appeared, meandering tightly together through the gentle surf. Seeing their intricate, painted plumage catch that low November golden-hour light is always a treat.
The air was busy, too. Large flocks of Canada Geese blanketed the water and cut through the sky. I managed to track several groups as they flew past, getting clean, sharp flight shots against the shifting backdrop of mist and blue sky.
The highlight of the waterfowl activity came moments later when a single Harlequin Duck exploded out of the water, taking flight and soaring right past me, skimming incredibly low to the water's surface.
Harlequin Duck flyby
Closing the Day
The morning saved its best acts for last. Near the end of the trek, I finally found what I had been chasing earlier: a loon positioned close to shore, fully illuminated in pristine, directional light. No frantic tracking required this time—just a gorgeous, clean frame of a classic Northwest icon.
I capped off the session with a shot of a single, non-breeding adult Horned Grebe drifting quietly near the shallows. Clean, quiet, and a perfect end note to a morning that started in a blinding fog bank and ended in the sun.
Horned Grebe pausing before diving