The pursuit of rustiness
The first plan failed. By the time we got to the park, the bird had moved on for the day.
On Friday morning, we tried Dawson Creek again. Again, we missed the Rusty, as did everyone else who looked that day. Later that night, we learned of a second Rusty hanging out at the Monmouth Sewage Ponds, about an hour south of our house. Decided to try our luck there the next morning.
Hillsboro, but we had a great time watching her just the same. She acted just like a shorebird (which I had been told Rusties do), walking along the edge of the pond from rock to rock, eating whatever it is that lives in a sewage pond. We were eventually joined by other birders, who were delighted to see the Rusty, and a police officer, who had been told we were trespassing. We assured him that we had permission to wiggle through the gate and had not climbed the fence (this was apparently an important distinction), so he left us to our blackbird-watching.
As we drove back to Portland, we learned that the Hillsboro Rusty had returned to Dawson Creek that morning. Of course it did! Maybe we'll look for that one again. Maybe I'll wear my costume.