Month: May 2012

It may be self evident, but traveling does produce some wonderful surprises.  Around Cape May I’ve seen many birds which are probably just commonplace to the locals, things like flocks of Glossy Ibis, Whimbrel and Black–bellied Plovers.

I started my day early fueled by two-for-the-price-of-one Egg McMuffins and a coffee, and went back to yesterday’s last stop.  The tide was approaching its high point so the shorebirds had moved closer to high ground and my path, so my re-acquaintance with Willet, Short–billed Dowitchers and Least Sandpipers was much more intimate.  I saw a huge cloud of indeterminate shorebirds wheeling in the distance and when I caught up with them I found hundreds of  Black-bellied Plovers, Short-billed Dowitchers and Dunlin furiously feeding on a rapidly vanishing tidal mud bank. As I watched the flock a pair of Black Skimmers flew overhead.

Moving down to the tip of Cape May I found Tri–coloured Heron, Orchard Oriole and Blue Grosbeak.  Of all of the above noted, most of them, with the exception Glossy Ibis, Tri-coloured Heron, Black Skimmer and Blue Grosbeak, are seen from time to time around home, but none of them could be called abundant.

I’m not one to get worked up about seeing a ‘lifer’; there’s plenty of new experiences to be had in this world, so while seeing a new-to-me-bird is a pleasure, it’s not champagne time.  Blue-headed Grosbeak and Seaside Sparrow were both new ones (as was Kirtland’s Warbler a few days ago).  But finding, watching and photographing a Piping Plover did set my hair on end. I’ve never seen one before so, despite the day’s enormous variety and wonderful sightings, it was instantly Bird of the Day.

A bit like the Kirtland’s Warbler, this little bird is an extreme rarity and it gets special protection whenever and wherever it’s known to breed.  The Atlantic beaches are favoured nesting sites for Piping Plovers, but vacationers and people in general like beaches too; so the plovers are losing ground.  But a few of them nest on the protected beaches of Cape May, and when I found mine it was wandering along the shoreline of a small pond picking and digging for food.  I hastened to get a for-the-record shot, but needn’t have worried for it kept walking towards me until we were within 10 feet of each other.

A list of birds seen would be too long and a little dreary, but Fish Crow, Clapper Rail, Brant and a Northern Harrier all added some wow-factor to the day.

May 9 2012.  I have long wanted to witness the spring migration of shorebirds along the Atlantic seaboard. The returning birds swarm northwards following the edge of the continent until finally they leap north to their Arctic breeding grounds.  We see scant few in central Ontario, so a trip to Cape May, New Jersey seemed to be called for; even though it’s a long day’s drive to get there.

Especially intriguing is the symbiotic relationship between birds and the prehistoric looking Horseshoe Crabs that come ashore to lay eggs at the surf-line, particularly  along the Delaware shoreline. Here’s one, were they the inspiration for Darth Vader’s headgear?

There must be billions and billions of crabs’ eggs laid because millions and millions of birds rely on them as a source of high-protein food and the din and sight of endless ranks of egg-gorging Laughing Gulls is amazing.  Amazing enough to make the Laughing Gull my Bird of the Day.  They are a very smart looking gull and perhaps I should give them their due before I come to disregard them in the way I disregard Ring-billed Gulls in Ontario.

I really wanted to see Red Knots and Ruddy Turnstones, the Red Knot because its Atlantic population is crashing as humans have over-harvested Horseshoe Crabs (and concomitantly the supply of crabs’ eggs as food) to use as fertilizer.  Presumably Horseshoe Crabs have been seen as deserving of slaughter for fertilizer because of their rather threateningly prehistoric (& therefore grim) appearance.

Quite apart from Laughing Gulls in the thousands, I was captivated by birds that I have rarely seen, simply because they are birds of the coast. As the tide receded the mud flats became home to Short–billed Dowitchers, Oystercatchers and Greater Yellowlegs. Willets stalked around long-legged and stately in a heavyish way, conspicuous even though they’re rather drabbly coloured.  They stood around watching what everyone else was up to, then when time to fly off in alarm, they flashed black and white zig zag wing markings and called out with loud fluting complaints.

I could hear, but not see, many Clapper Rails calling in the marsh grasses, they make a sound like a sharp throaty ” Cratch-cratch-cratch-cratch” slowing and diminishing after a dozen or so repetitions.  Great and Snowy Egrets, Forsters and Common Terns dotted the vast expanse of marshes with white splashes.  I took lots of pictures, so I’ve posted some more on the photos page.

A Black–throated Blue Warbler found working among the forest floor debris suddenly brought order to the day.  I was doing the census at the bird observatory and the Yellow-rumped Warblers outnumbered other warblers ten to one.  But lots of first-of-the-year sightings had started to make my head spin: Northern Waterthrush, Chestnut-sided Warbler and Ovenbird for starters.

An Orchard Oriole singing high in a White Oak had stopped me in my tracks.  It reminded me how 35 years ago I’d seen two mystery birds in our Toronto neighbourhood, one was calling loudly “Whit-t-tu  Whit-t-tu  Whit-t-tu  Wha-chew”  I had no idea what they could be but retained that powerful song in my mind, and then twenty or so years later concluded that they were probably Orchard Orioles.  That last note “Wha Chew”  is distinctive.  Now I see them every year, they’re not common, but they’re not rare either.

Several Black and White Warblers, a single Nashville Warbler and a brilliant Magnolia Warbler kept me busy, and then I found myself in a wave of warblers picking and flitting all around. Among them at first one, then two more, Black–throated Blue Warblers.  The thing about male Black–throated Blue warblers is their crisp, almost military plumage: snow white, coal black and evening sky blue, with a precise square wing flash to add authority. It was that precision that brought order to the day and made it my Bird of the Day.

A little while later I found a female Scarlet Tanageron the edge of a maple woodlot.  She’s a stout olive-green bird, and knowing tanagers to stick together, I wondered if a male could be anywhere close.  It took just a moment for me to find him in his explosive scarlet uniform.  At this time of year he’s always a treat, glowing red hot like the fanned coals of a campfire. I have added a not very good picture of a Scarlet Tanager from last year, the colour is really all you need.

There were lots more that made me stop and stare: two Eastern Kingbirds were chattering and fly-catching over the river and a young Bald Eagle was inspected closely by a territorially minded Red-tailed Hawk.

May 5, 2012  Kirtland’s Warbler – the impossible bird. Impossible on at least three accounts: 1) There’s less than 2,000 of them in the world; so it’s excruciatingly rare. 2) Kirtland’s winter in the Bahamas and spend the summer in Michigan. ..and 3) I’m never going to see one unless I go to Michigan or the impossible happens, which is to say a Kirtland’s Warbler comes to me.

Today a Kirtland’s Warbler came to me; well pretty darn close.

I was sure my bird of the day would be a Sandhill Crane.  We saw one fly over the bird observatory this morning while we were doing the census.  We heard it’s  bugling gurgle from afar, a bit like a like a fading turkey. We looked at each other in puzzlement, then the light went on – Sandhill Crane.  Most of us managed to get our binoculars on it; they’re so gangly and wonderful. I was so certain it couldn’t be beaten that I turned to my companion and declared that, come what may, it would be my Bird of the Day.  And in many ways it still is.  But then the Kirtland’s Warbler showed up.

Despite my protestations that I don’t drive to see rare birds, I have to acknowledge that today I did.  Not far, just a ten- minute drive.  As I arrived at the reported location the knot of camera-heavy enthusiasts peering up at a Norway Spruce confirmed that it was still around.  It was an obliging little mite, working over the tips of the spruce and every time it hopped an explosion of bright yellow pollen gave away its location. Also every time it hopped into full sunlit view another explosion, this time of camera shutters, clicking faster than a Chipping Sparrow choir could manage, confirmed that a celebrity was in town.

So I saw it and loved it; an attractive yellow and slate-blue warbler that should be able to finish somewhere near the Top 10 of any beauty contest.  Here it is, just two of my for-the-record shots.

May 4^th. 2012.  I know my hearing is not what it used to be; much diminished I’m sure.  Whatever the measurable state of my auditory acuity it’s perhaps ironic that my census work at the bird observatory depends to a great extent on my ability to identify birds by sound.  I probably only ever see 30% of the species I record, the rest is just identification by call or song. Background noises like crunching footsteps, road traffic or people-chatter can make hearing and distinguishing bird sound anywhere from difficult to impossible.

All of this is to set the stage for explaining how, on a morning full of birds and song, a cacophony of birdsound actually makes it harder to complete the census – there’s just too much distraction and too much to process

It’s early May and the wave of new migrants fills the air with bird songs and calls.  Baltimore Orioles’ full-bodied whistles are one of the loudest and most invasive distractions. Rose-breasted Grosbeaks, American Robins, Cardinals and Tufted Titmouses (I may need help with the plural form) were all singing boldly. Filling in the gaps were Blue-gray Gnatcatchers, Yellow Warblers and Mourning Doves; each has a way of filling the air without you really noticing right away.  There was more, including a couple of Scarlet Tanagers (heard not seen) Common Yellowthroat (ditto) and Warbling Vireos.  I watched an Osprey carry off a large writhing fish, labouring to gain height and then when fully free of the distractions of the land it shook itself dry, in much the same way I imagine a flying dog would.

But the best, most welcome call of the day was a single Great-crested Flycatcher calling from a grove of Sugar Maples. This bird is a patriarch of the woods.  The mere fact that it spends its winters in Central and north-west South America doesn’t (in its opinion) diminish its claim to the land when it returns to breed.  Great-crested Flycatchers nest in tree cavities in wet woodlands, preferring an open area with decrepit trees and lots of insects.  It holds its fiefdom with its bold “WHEEEEP…crrrr”. Pete Dunne says “… Often perches high on dead branches just beneath the canopy, where it admonishes the universe with a rich, loud, rolling cacophony.”

This photograph, taken a couple of years ago, shows a Great-crested Flycatcher shortly after being banded and full of righteous and indignant protest.  Note the crown.