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Randall Conservation Easement:
7 Acres
adjacent
to Allison Springs at the southern end of
Eld Inlet.
Protected with Conservation Easement in 1997.
The property is heavily impacted by human use, yet
contains a system of high-quality tidelands that are
home to numerous migratory and indigenous bird species.
The property also serves as a buffer to the Allison
Springs Aquifer and Washington State lands to the east.
Notes from the Field:
Randall Easement
by Shelley Kirk Rudeen
(Issue 26 Spring 1998)
Marjorie Randall gestures toward a
little inlet on Mud Bay. She tells of otters sliding down mud banks,
the elaborate tattoos that sapsuckers drill on the fruit trees, and
the winter visits of loons. I follow the sweep of her hand as she
outlines the small wild peninsula across the inlet, and listen to her
plans for restoring neglected portions of the home site. CLT's only
seven acres, but every little postage stamp is important these days,
she muses.
Marjorie's postage stamp is the Trust's
latest conservation easement. Its convoluted shoreline lies within
shouting distance of the Highway 101 bridge over Mud Bay, and provides
a buffer for the wild, wet seeps of Alison Springs.
A flock of small ducks sails into the
bay, males resplendent in black and white, females a soft gray. These
buffleheads are just one of many species of waterfowl that depend on
the nooks and crannies of Puget Sound for their winter habitat. Here
in this protected inlet, they splash and preen in an acrobatic bath,
then dive for tasty morsels on the bottom. In contrast, a great blue
heron strikes a regal pose, stock still except for long white breast
feathers stirring in the breeze. Suddenly, the heron takes wing with
an indignant, startled squawk. Perhaps GBH shorthand for its name
ought to be the acronym for the squawk instead of the bird, for herons
always sound as though threatened with Grievous Bodily Harm.
The tide moves out imperceptibly and
sun-warmed mud releases the delicious stink characteristic of these
farthest reaches of Puget Sound. Here on the tideflats, microscopic
life performs a complex dance with mud, organic debris, light and
water. The result is a habitat which supports an array of small
invertebrate animals which, in turn, draws the birds that Marjorie
sees from her front window: Bonaparte's gulls, dancing flocks of
migrating shorebirds, mergansers, green-winged teals.
I make my way to the little peninsula.
Kinglets sing from the branches of two large spruce trees, and the
rest of the peninsula stretches westward in open grass, punctuated by
thickets of wild rose. Shallow pools of brackish water and pickleweed
fill the low spots. The peninsula's margins are lined with beds of
saltgrass, arranged in matted swirls by the outgoing tide, and a
variety of other saltmarsh plants. A few of last fall's rose hips
still adorn the wild roses. The thorny stems sprout from mossy
hummocks, and small scrubby trees crowd these slight rises too, safe
from the highest tides.
Other creatures seek shelter here, for
the tunnels of small rodents thread the moss and the grassy edge.
Collections of scat and piles of chewed seeds and rose hips mark the
spots where their daily rituals take place. Birds in the branches and
small mammals underneath, spring growth and autumn litter these
thickets must be busy places indeed.
Near the peninsula's tip the sun
performs last rites over the bleached bones of a gull. The empty
carcass and scattered wings suggest that the gull provided meals for
both predators and scavengers. A tender spear of new grass sprouts
between the white ribs and tiny, bright red mites scuttle nearby.
I turn once again to the bay, where a
flotilla of western grebes floats by, necks held gracefully above the
waves like a flock of question marks in an elegant black and white
font. A greater yellowlegs hunts the tideflats at water's edge; across
the inlet Marjorie putters among the daffodils. Even postage stamps
are important to South Sound's web of life. I'm glad Marjorie sees the
value in hers.
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