2025.05.11｜Chiba, Japan
I went to Funabashi Sanbanze Seaside Park to try my luck with Terns.
I had been waiting for this season since last year, when I first heard about small groups of Terns nesting around Tokyo Bay — more precisely, along the shores of Chiba Prefecture. Both Common Tern and the rarer Little Tern have been observed here.
The park is a paradise for waders.
Though it was still early morning, people had already begun gathering on the lawn and along the beach, setting up tents and blankets. Most were busy clam digging, alone or in family groups. According to a broadcast over the park’s radio, a clam-digging tournament would be held that afternoon.
And they weren’t the only hunters on the tidal flats.
Hundreds of waders were resting or foraging on the rising mudflats. Meanwhile, a few photographers — rain boots on, tripods in hand — moved slowly across the flats, quietly stalking their feathered targets.
Oh, darn. I really should’ve worn rain boots.
Most of the tidal flats were still lightly submerged, and the rest felt like stepping into pudding. The moment I stepped on the muddy ground, my shoes sank, water oozed up, and cold seeped in. Not to mention the countless hidden tidal pools dug by clammers — perfect traps for the unwary.
But my enthusiasm didn’t waver.
I spotted three kinds of Whimbrel and two species of Plover I hadn’t recorded before. With so many lifers in sight, I had to make a choice. I turned my lens toward the Siberian Sand Plover, drawn by the deep orange on its neck and crown — a splash of fire among the grey-brown.
A small flock of Siberian Sand Plovers moved constantly from one tidal channel to another, probing the mud for marine life. I was lucky enough to catch the exact moment one plucked out an earthworm-like invertebrate. Hilariously, it seemed obsessed with hygiene, rinsing its meal again and again in a nearby puddle — I’d seen a Grey-tailed Tattler do the same once.
Where there’s group foraging, conflict often follows.
One Plover, with wings outstretched, gave chase after its prey was stolen by another. The two leapt, flapped, and clawed, attempting to assert dominance through height and agility.
But the skirmish was brief. Instinct — or perhaps experience — seemed to prevail. The energy expended in conflict likely exceeded the nutritional value of the stolen insect.
In the wild, every action comes with a cost. Even hunger knows when to let go.