As I walked along the beach, I realized I had it all to myself. It was cool and sundown only a few minutes away; the usual beachcombers were absent.

The quiet, sedate waves of a falling high tide whispered gently as gulls cruised overhead. Further out into the cove, common eider ducks floated serenely; some preened and bathed, while others slept with their beaks tucked into their back feathers.

I left the beach itself and began walking along a grassy promontory that juts out into the cove. A small sandpiper scurried along the rocks below the small cliff. I didn’t have my binoculars with me, but the bird was close enough for me to note its most prominent features: the short, thin, dark beak, the brown, streaked upper body, the white underbody, and its light, greenish legs.

This last feature provided the clue to the bird’s identity, separating it from other small sandpipers, which birders have collectively dubbed as “peeps.” This was a least sandpiper I was looking at.

Least sandpipers are primarily sub-Arctic breeders, with a few scattered breeding populations around Nova Scotia. The only opportunity for us to see them along the Maine coast is during migration.

And what a migration it is: up to 4,000 kilometers, which in some cases means a non-stop transoceanic flight to its wintering grounds in Central and South America. Some populations may also winter along the coast of the southern U.S., and undertake a more inland route.

I was somewhat surprised to find this “peep,” where I did, as these birds usually forage elsewhere. Their short, slender beaks are specialized for probing the dry mudflats of marsh edges and the sand flats of tide lines. I wondered if the bird was just waiting for the tide to fall a little more, or if it had been disturbed from a more accessible site.

Sandpipers and other shorebirds usually migrate in large numbers, and will congregate at “staging areas,” prior to migration. These particular sites are usually comprised of extensive mudflats, which provide abundant food for them; they need to build up large energy reserves for their flights.

However, inland migrants have been known to pause along their routes to replenish their fuel reserves. Perhaps that was the case for this lone “peep.”

Conserving breeding and wintering habitats for any bird species is more clear-cut than trying to preserve numerous stopover sites that may be needed in times of stress. The beach where I saw this small sandpiper is almost always used by people, including myself. I enjoy sunset walks along it, as do many others. But as I am walking along, well fed and content, I try to be alert to any foraging birds. I give them a wide berth to avoid disturbing them as much as possible, or else I turn around and go another way.

When you need to travel thousands of miles under your own steam, meals missed or interrupted often enough may mean the difference between life and death.

As I watched that small sandpiper, which author Scott Weidensaul whimsically described as a “little, buffy windup toy,” I wondered about its journey up to that point, and what still lay before it. The golden rays of the setting sun covered it in a soft, warm light; the air cooled further; and the high, wispy clouds began to turn pinkish-purple. I hoped the bird would find adequate food that night, and wondered if it would then take off again, perhaps flying to its next rest stop, or even all the way to its wintering grounds.

BDN bird columnist Chris Corio can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net