The pewter-grey sea stretched out to the horizon, blending in with the similarly hued sky. At the mouth of the cove, waves broke in foaming bursts; on shore, bands of seaweed stretched across the wet sand only a few feet from the grassy dunes. Crows picked through the ocean’s refuse, searching for tidbits to eat. The only sounds were those made by the breaking waves and herring gulls.

Close to shore but just beyond the breakers, four common loons, five red-necked grebes, two greater black-backed gulls, and several herring gulls floated with the swells. Farther out, huge rafts of common eider ducks slept, preened, squabbled, and dove for food.

This is Sand Beach in Acadia National Park, after the tourists have gone.

We had gone to the beach after a slightly soggy hike up Dorr Mountain. Before picking up the recently reopened Homans Path near the Wild Gardens of Acadia and Sieur de Monts, we were pleasantly surprised to see five hermit thrushes investigating one of the ornamental fruit trees. Although leaves had fallen and blooms were now a distant memory, the gardens still projected a sere, serene beauty. The fruit trees, grass, and flower seed heads provided sustenance for the thrushes and other birds fattening up for their flights south.

Now we stood and watched the seabirds taking advantage of the sea’s offerings.

The loons and grebes each had their own techniques for catching food. Appearing very methodical in their habits, the loons would submerse their heads to eye level for a quick peek around. If this was followed by a lightning-fast dive, we’d assume it had spotted a delectable-looking fish. We never saw the loon appear back at the surface with anything, however, but this was not unusual; most of the time they consume what they catch underwater. If the object is big enough, they’ll bring it to the surface to better manipulate the food for ease of ingestion. I had watched loons in the past bring up long, wormy, squirmy things, which they proceeded to try to swallow. Sometimes they dropped the wriggly creatures.

The grebes employed a “get lucky” approach. Seemingly on a whim, they’d execute a little leap and a dive, flipping neatly underneath the surface in a heartbeat. If we blinked, we missed it. Our friend and fellow hiking companion, Carolyn LaBossiere, was surprised to see the birds here.

“Wouldn’t they be gone by now?” she asked. She thought – as many people do – that birds fly south to escape the cold weather. For some birds, this is true in an indirect way: the cold weather reduces or eliminates their food base. But loons and grebes – and many other seabirds – actually come to the coastal waters of the Northeast to spend the winter.

The red-necked grebe, for example, breeds in Alaska and in Canada’s interior; to a lesser extent also in the northwestern United States. The sea has much to offer them in this seemingly barren time, and it attracts many other birds from distant places. This is what makes winter birding so alluring.

Chris Corio, a volunteer at Fields Pond Audubon Center in Holden, can be reached at fieldspond@juno.com