Just 15 miles south of my new home is a bay where marine mammals and coastal birds congregate. Referred to as a slough, the water levels in this area fluctuate with the tide, and the salinity varies with the seasonal rains. The variable nature of the habitat and its location on California’s central coast make this a unique place to photograph the region’s rich biodiversity. When I arrived at the slough on an early July morning, the fog was so thick that it might as well have been midnight. I could barely see beyond the hood of my Cooper, and assumed that this day would be a bust. Not one to quit so easily, I forged ahead until I found a small patch on which to park. With nothing to see and nowhere to go, I grabbed my gear and made my way to a mudflat where I could plant my butt. The water lapped at the soles of my boots while the gulls called from above. The first hour passed quickly as I watched the fog wax and wane.

In wildlife photography, it is the potential of seeing something (dare I say anything) that motivates many of us to wait “it” out. The chance of putting a lens on an owl, a whale, a moose, or even an egret is all it takes to extract a nature lover from the warmth of a bed. So when I caught a momentary glimpse of a seal breaking the water’s surface, I began to imagine the possibilities and dreamt about what could be. Ten minutes later the seal appeared again, but this time it had something in it’s mouth. I say something, because at that moment, I could not make sense what I was seeing. The seal was holding what looked to be a weather-worn piece of wood in the shape of a plate… was it playing?

I grabbed a few pictures as the seal leaned in with a sideways glance, and then it disappeared. Here and gone before it dipping backing into the fog and gray water. Ten minutes later my friend resurfaced with its jaw clamped onto a shark-like tail. I now understood the “game,” the seal was trying to eat, but this was not your typical fish. With a plate-like head and a tail like a shark, I realized that the seal had found a skate similar to those you might see in a zoo’s “touch tank.” I watched the interaction for 90 minutes as the seal grappled with its thick and awkward prey. Diving and rolling, the seal would not let go. I imagined that the skate was like a tough piece of grizzle on the edge of T-bone steak; nothing would get in the way of eating all of the good and bad parts.

The slough is full of surprises, and is magic for me. As I watched the battle unfold, an otter doing yoga paddled by, gulls tried to sneak in on skate scraps, an egret fished for minnows, and a curlew probed the mud for worms. By the time the seal was sated, the fog lifted, and I too felt full and satisfied.