Contact Information:

  (309) 799-7192  

Email: >LangleyArt@mchsi.com

All content and images on this web site are copyrighted and are the sole property of the artist.  All rights reserved.

Most of the "adventure" trips my wife and I take in the U.S. are to the west and southwest. We admit it: We are suckers for the spectacular scenery of the Rocky Mountains of Colorado and Montana, the beautifully sculpted rock forms of Zion, Arches, Bryce, and Capitol Reef in Utah, and the sublime deserts (not to mention spectacular birding) of southeastern Arizona. But once in awhile we go the other direction for a change of pace, as we did this spring when we stayed for a week with friends in a beach house on North Carolina's Outer Banks. For someone raised in the midwest, experiencing the power and immensity of the ocean never fails to inspire a sense of awe, and remind me just how small and insignificant I am in the grand scheme of things.  Like walking to the edge of the Grand Canyon, or looking up at the Milky way on a moonless night. In early morning, just as the sun was making its appearance, a short walk from the house and over barrier dunes would take me to the sea shore, before it became crowded with other vacationers. I shared the beach with small flocks of the little sandpipers called sanderlings. They skittered frenetically in unison, on tippy toes, in and out with the surging and retreating surf, as if tethered to the same tidal forces pulling on the ocean. But of course there was method to their madness; as the tide ebbed, multitudes of invertebrates were presenting themselves for breakfast in the wet sands. Sometimes, when I was lucky and there were schools of fish gathering only a couple hundred yards offshore, I could watch brown pelicans and gannets diving into the froth. Willets, larger sandpiper cousins of the sanderlings, patrolled the surf's edge for dime-size ghost crabs that could sometimes be seen (but with difficulty as their color almost perfectly matched the sand) when they ventured outside their burrows. I could venture quite close to the shorebirds without seeming to alarm them. It was another lesson in my insignificance: The birds gave me no mind and went about their lives with no more than a passing glance to make sure I was keeping my distance. I loved it. It's nice to be insignificant for awhile. Then I looked at my watch. Time to get back to the house, make some coffee, whip up our breakfast, help plan the day's activities, and become significant again. 

Contact Information:

  (309) 799-7192  

Email: >LangleyArt@mchsi.com

Sanderlings

Brown Pelican