Month: July 2012

July 13, 2012. In truth no bird was the undoubted star of today’s field trip. My companion & I went looking for shorebirds at our first stop and forest birds at the second.  Our destinations were both close to a small town that has become a Mecca for heavy-duty motorcyclists every Friday the 13^th; whatever the month. And today being an idyllic mid-summer Friday all area roads were heavy with legions of growly Harley Davidsons .

At the end of our day as we drove home and into a large thunder storm which had forced dozens of motorcyclists to seek shelter beneath every highway bridge along the way, we weighed alternatives for bird of the day.  For her it was a small family of Wood Ducks that we’d startled and who rowed furiously away from us in a panic-stricken scramble.  For me, I was undecided between: a Hooded Warbler, heard but not seen in a shady forest; a spectacular adult Bald Eagle flying lugubriously along the Lake Erie shoreline as we ate lunch; a Caspian Tern that patrolled that same stretch of shoreline in their characteristic brigandish manner or; a smart Horned Lark almost lost among a flock of young Red–winged Blackbirds feeding busily in a weedy field.  I think I go for the Caspian Tern; they’re so in control, almost piratical in the way they patrol the lake ready to strike and never taking hostages.

But the sighting of the day for both of us was a young and not very large Eastern Hognose Snake found in deep leaf litter in the forest and which hissed loudly at my companion lest she commit some indignity upon it. I had never seen one before so was really fascinated to study it and watch it feign mild aggression.  They are not a venomous snake but rely on some interesting defensive tactics: they spread a hood rather like a cobra, hiss softly and try a few fake strikes (albeit with closed mouth).  And if that doesn’t send you packing they’ll sometimes roll over and play dead.

Hognose Snakes are slow moving; they prey mainly on toads so speed is hardly necessary.  Far from being intimidating we found this one rather engaging and had plenty of time to admire it and its beautiful markings. Not everyone likes pictures of snakes but here it is for those that do.

 July 11, 2012.  You could be forgiven for calling a Pied-billed Grebe a funny duck.  But it’s not a duck really, it’s a grebe and grebes admittedly do a lot of duck-like things: they swim around, eat sub-aquatic stuff like weeds and fish, and don’t do very well on land.   But grebes don’t quack, they don’t have truly webbed feet or wide flat bills; they’re different; and in an evolutionary sense, more primitive.

But the Pied-billed Grebe is nevertheless something of an oddity among grebes.  It’s a bit chicken-like in appearance (and size) with a short chicken bill and rather unremarkable, drab, tawny-brown plumage.  But what it lacks in film star quality it makes up for with its lunatic courtship call.  Pete Dunne explains it well, as follows:”..Calls with a loud wild-sounding keening that incorporates bleating coos and mournful wails.”  The eerie yelping calls heard across a marsh, gradually taper off with a series of slowing gulps until it finally seems to run out of breath.  It’ll stop you in your tracks.

I found a Pied-billed Grebe today, it was paddling around in a large marina, sorting through floating weeds and rearranging them as if contemplating building a nest. It showed little interest in its surroundings; this parking lot crammed with glossy, millionaires’ plastic boats.  I liked it so much that it beat out pairs of Red-necked Grebes, Common Terns and Cliff Swallows all feeding young, as my Bird of the Day.

July 9 2012.  I may have set myself a trap by asserting that there’s always a Bird of the Day; what am I to do if there’s not?  What if, like today, they’re all special?

Birds were not on my agenda today.  I returned to my favourite Lake Erie forest sanctuary to continue my study of the many ferns to be found in the cool, dark forest. But just as it’s impossible to leave the supermarket with only one item, so it is for the natural world and me; there’s too much to choose from, too many seductive diversions and too many limited-time offers.

But with my baffling Field Guide to Ferns, Liverworts and Club Mosses and dressed to thwart the biting flies, I followed a plan.  First a long circuit through a lofty dark grove of Eastern Hemlocks to a swift-running, sand-bottomed creek. Follow the creek upstream then back to the main trail, a quick and early lunch, then down another, wetter, trail to the creek again – and back. But I made good progress, I have more than a dozen fern species figured out such that I’ll know them next time and plenty of photos to sort through to help with the puzzlers.

The seductive diversions were, of course, the birds and their songs.  I noted 20 species in the forest:  Caught a glimpse of a Pileated Woodpecker whacking at an old rotting tree trunk, almost stepped on a Ruffed Grouse sending it careening out into a sunlit clearing, and, watched a young Blue Jay among the high branches of some birches. A distant Winter Wren was singing its high, complex song like a thread pulled through the forest, and several Black–throated Green Warblers called back and forth in the tops of the hemlocks; a theme that was taken up by Red–eyed Vireos whose steady rhythmic notes punctuated the maple, oak and beech canopy. A Ruby-throated Hummingbird buzzed me as I sat watching over a quiet clearing and a Scarlet Tanager or two sang tiredly far out of sight. Finally, as I was making my way back to my sun-baked car an Ovenbird took loud exception to my presence, so we exchanged ‘chik’ notes for a while, and I thought for a moment that it was my bird of the day, but really no; they were all special.

July 6, 2012.  With the promise of a scorching hot day I decided to get out early and check a few promising birding hotspots. My first stop was a storm-water pond; a man-made lake that collects, holds and ultimately slowly releases the sudden run-off from rainstorms and snowmelt.  Some of these ponds have become quite interesting gathering spots for waterfowl and shorebirds and a secure nesting site for ducks.

At this first stop a female Mallard was shepherding a flotilla of 8 tiny and newly hatched ducklings across the open water. She was one of twenty or so Mallards but appeared to be the only one working.  Two nervously bobbing Lesser Yellowlegs stood watching the Mallards, several anxious sounding Spotted Sandpipers and a handful of Black-crowned Night Herons stalking the weedy edges.

Later I stopped at a cliff-lined stretch of Lake Ontario where some near-shore protection work has created a tranquil embayment.  In May a pair of Red-necked Grebes settled here and took advantage of a thoughtfully placed and anchored tire to build their nest, and I’ve watched them on and off through courtship and incubation.

Today I was pleased to see them with two young; this family group was without question Bird of the Day. The grayish downy-bodied chicks float wide and flat like a barge and have intriguingly marked heads with broad longitudinal zebra stripes.  I think it was the female who I watched actively diving, coming up with small fish and feeding them gently to her enthusiastic young. The male meanwhile floated rather passively, probably saving his energy for some imagined chore later in the day; cutting the lawn or something like that.

These Red-necked Grebes are part of a very localized Lake Ontario breeding population, a group that is strikingly disjunct from the more widespread distribution that extends from the westerly limit of Lake Superior across the prairies to the Pacific coast.

The sheltered bay was also buzzing with hundreds of chittering Bank Swallows, some still attending nests dug into the sandy cliff face, but most just seemed to be milling around, feeding, socializing and using this summer day as fatten-up time.  Groups gathered on large rocks chirping and twittering, and then as if someone yelled Fire!, they all took off in a frenzy, swept around the bay only to regroup again and noisily share the excitement of the moment.

July 3, 2012.  I came across a large flock of Cedar Waxwings this morning.   There must have been dozens of them all around me, they were hardly stopping still for a moment, flitting and feeding on insects or spiders found in the lower shrub layer of a mature hardwood forest.  Few birds are as elegant as the Cedar Waxwing: their velvety cinnamon-grey plumage, a precise black mask, an official-looking yellow tail band and for some of them scarlet waxen wing spots, all make this one of our nattiest dressers.

I was puzzled by a couple of things though.

It seemed unusual for waxwings to be feeding so happily on insects, I’d always viewed them as eaters of tree fruit like rose hips, cedar berries and crab apples. Roving flocks of waxwings wander around all fall and winter stripping trees bare of their berry and seed crops, then moving on in fast-moving but straggly flocks to the next opportunity.  A bit of easy research confirmed that insects do indeed form a staple part of their spring and summer diet, it makes sense because sooner or later last year’s fruit crop will run out.  Nothing wrong with an omnivorous diet and it probably helps that a carnivorous component is digested quickly; a short route to energy.

I remain a little baffled that I met up with a flock in this the start of the Cedar Waxwing’s high summer breeding season. I would have expected them to break up into breeding pairs.  Waxwings breed later than most other songbirds, it places them at the nutritional advantage of having an abundant supply of summer’s new seeds and berries available just when they’re feeding their brood.  This was a flock of mature males and females, so perhaps it’s a little early yet. I’ll tuck this little puzzler away and one day it will all make sense.

The purpose of today’s walk was to see if there were any early southbound shorebird migrants to be found on some nearby mudflats.  There weren’t.  The natural world gave the appearance of being at peace with itself, although in reality it probably wasn’t – and never is.  With young-of-the-year to be fed and defended, one mother’s young is another creature’s meal ticket; all the way up the food chain.  A Great Blue Heron stalked around for a while, then flew away heavily, perhaps bored. Three or four Killdeer skittered around and looked anxious; but then they always do, and a huddle of moulting Mallards pulled themselves back into the cattail margins.  Most of the male Mallards are now in ‘eclipse’ plumage, an intermediate stage when they become look-alikes to the all-brown females, before returning to full splendour in October.