Author: Peter T

Burlington. ON. April 21, 2023. There are a couple of moments in the yearly cycle, mid-late April and mid-late September, that go largely unheralded. This is when Broad-winged Hawks make brief, overhead, migratory appearances.  For us they’re just passing through.  They are birds of Central America during our winter, and northern nesters through our spring and summer. Those who have a summer residence, or otherwise spend time in northern Ontario’s lake-dotted landscape, would know the Broad-winged by its piercing whistle, but may not be very familiar with it by sight.

Their fall departure takes place in mid-September right after the passage of an early cold front.  If you happen to see it, the flight is a spectacle: hundreds of Broad-wings sailing high overhead as if on a smooth, straight, south-bound highway. It usually happens over a very few days and if missed well, there’s always next year

The spring migration is a little more relaxed but Broad-wings make a social event of it, passing through in the last couple of weeks of April; about now. They were my Bird of the Day today. I watched as swirling kettles of dozens circled up on warm-air thermals, spiralling until they’d gained enough height to slide off the top and drift northward in a long stream of ones and twos.

It’s difficult to get a decent photograph of one of these gatherings but here is the sight that stopped me in my tracks this morning.

That was the highlight, but this fresh spring morning delivered a few nice bird sightings. A pair of Pileated Woodpeckers took flight at my approach but one diverted to investigate a collapsing tree as a possible food source.

An Eastern Screech Owl has become something of a celebrity, I have noted it several times on these pages. Today it was out taking full advantage of the sun’s warmth and was encouraged to stick its neck out a bit.

Coming to the end of my long hike I checked what a week ago was an American Robin’s nest under construction. I had thought it rather too exposed to predators and a risky choice of nest site, so I was pleasantly surprised today to see the female apparently incubating a clutch of eggs. We’ll see.

Burlington. ON. April 15, 2023. In front of our house there’s a big old Norway Spruce. It’s huge, perhaps 80 feet tall and elegant in an overgrown spruce kind of way.  It drops an endless supply of cones and I sometimes worry that one of our riotous mid-summer thunderstorms might topple it. Atop the spruce, is a large twiggy nest, It was used successfully by American Crows a couple of years ago, and I think they’re using it again this year; certainly they’ve been hanging around a lot of late. Yesterday, through binoculars, I could see black tail-feathers extending beyond the edge of the nest as if a female crow was on the nest and laying or incubating eggs.

Behind our house there’s an equally tall Black Walnut, it’s bare right now but leaf-out is imminent. It’s not actually in our back yard which is just as well, Black Walnuts produce juglone, a natural herbicide that represses the growth of many plants, especially competition like ornamentals, that might otherwise grow beneath. As if that wasn’t reason enough not to encourage one, they drop hard, staining, billiard-ball-size fruit.  For the past three days, a pair of Merlins have been hanging around atop the walnut and I think they‘d like to evict the crows from the spruce.

Two days ago, I heard a brief crow-to-merlin squabble at the nest site. Just a squabble.  Merlins are known to be very territorial and aggressive in defence of their nests and young, but why invest time on a nest site apparently already in use? Are they waiting for an opportunity to evict the crows?

The male Merlin flies around and chitters loudly every now and then, but still he and his mate mostly just sit and watch. This morning the male swept straight to the nest, there was no sign of the crows and the female watched from high in the walnut.  Apparently, the drama has yet to play out fully.  Whatever the outcome, it is a pleasure to have two Merlins as resident Birds of the Day.

Haldimand County. ON. March 5 2023. I backed into an intriguing afternoon of birding when my household unexpectedly became a Covid-positive place.  I headed for the great outdoors, it seemed to be the better choice (Social distancing,  remember?) and decided to revisit fields where I’d watched Northern Harriers last December. I hoped to see them again and possibly catch a glimpse of Short-eared Owls who are known to be in the area.

It ended up being a rewarding and entertaining afternoon with Rough-legged Hawks, Northern Harriers and Short-eared Owls, all around me and sometimes quite close. They were hunting for rodents which were apparently plentiful in the large weedy field, most likely Meadow Voles. It’s not much of a life being a Meadow Vole: short and apparently amounts to just two things, making babies and being eaten by big birds of prey.

Rough-legged Hawks find and seize their prey by either dropping down from a high perch, or by high-level cruising punctuated by hovering, prolonged hanging in the wind. Other than Red-tailed Hawks who will ride an updraft, and hummingbirds I can’t think of another Ontario bird that hovers quite so purposefully.  Our American Kestrel does hover, rather briefly I think, certainly not as solidly or dependably as the very similar European Kestrel whose hovering is so competent and characteristic that one of its folk names is ‘windhover’.

Northern Harriers hunt by quartering the ground, always fast and usually low, often barely a meter up.  At the sight of a meal they stall, turn and pounce, it is sometimes difficult to follow their progress over a field; one moment in sight and the next minute vanished.

Late afternoon, as dusk starts to gather, is when Short-eared Owls appear; they spend the brightest part of the day out of sight hidden within tall grasses and reeds. I watched two or three come from nowhere and check in with the harriers in what may have been an amicable hand-over. They, like the harriers though less methodically, range around open fields, hunting for those same hapless voles.  Two of the owls spent a while on high perches but after a while moved quickly, ranging far in floppy flight, sometimes gliding on rounded wings. Many authors appropriately describe their flight as moth-like.

Heading home driving along a lonely country road, a Short-eared Owl was all at once right  beside me.  It was zig-zagging to examine a meltwater-filled roadside ditch and close enough that I like to think we made brief eye-contact.  It was instantly My Bird of the Day.

Although I enjoyed time with three notable birds of prey there was more: a solitary Bald Eagle trudged overhead on its way to Lake Erie for duck dinner perhaps, a small flight of Tundra Swans passed over, calling softly amongst themselves, they are my favourite sign of spring;  and a Killdeer a common bird for nine months of the year but notable today for being the first of its kind this spring.

Royal Botanical Gardens. Arboretum, Hamilton. ON. February 12 2023.   This mid-February day behaved like mid-March, bright and clear, and warm enough to go gloveless.  A long hike seemed like a good thing to do and whenever there was a choice I pushed on a little bit further.

I visited the spot where, a little bit over two weeks ago, I’d seen a Tufted Titmouse.  To improve my chances of re-finding one, I used the Merlin app hoping it might pull one out of thin air.

Merlin, by way of explanation, is a programme that has been trained to identify bird vocalisations. It listens to all ambient sound, and picks out and identifies bird songs and calls.  It listens tirelessly in a 360° arc, high and low, and hears and analyses more than any person possibly could.  It didn’t find the titmouse but unsurprisingly it picked up Black-capped Chickadee, Red-bellied Woodpecker, White-breasted Nuthatch, Mallard, Canada Goose and American Crow. All to-be-expected birds.

Much later hiking back along a rather dreary stretch of woodland, I heard a strange shriek, “Keeyaa  Keeyaa” short, hoarse and penetrating.  Somewhat like the ‘kweer’ call of a Red-headed Woodpecker but rougher, longer and hugely exaggerated. It was close and I had no idea what it was, but moments later the gurgling croaks of a Common Raven suggested some sort of avian dispute. But raven against what… mammal? bird?  I opened the Merlin app in case whatever it was would shriek again.  The raven croaked once more and Merlin confirmed it. Then the shriek: five in quick succession, and Merlin immediately displayed Red-shouldered Hawk. I was skeptical and flabbergasted.

Red-shouldered Hawks are very uncommon around here, especially in winter, we generally only get them as migrants. I’ve seen plenty but almost always passing overhead in spring or fall, I don’t recall hearing one. Very occasionally a pair is reported as nesting somewhere in the region, but they shun our heavily urbanised landscape. A red-shoulder in winter is all but a non-starter, but now Merlin said we have one.  The Raven croak/gurgled again and the putative red-shoulder replied with more shrieks, there was some sort of predator vs. predator show-down happening.  Merlin was emphatic – Red-shouldered Hawk.

The Common Raven swept past me and perched 50 M away.  It hopped anxiously from branch to branch, croaked angrily once more before disappearing deeper into the woods.  Then silence. I moved towards where the red-shoulder (if that’s what it was) appeared to be, hoping to be close if and when it showed itself.  Luck was on my side, it took flight passing close just the other side of a small group of bare trees and then out into a clearing where it circled a few times backlit by the morning sun.  It was difficult to pick out all the key Red-shouldered Hawk field marks but enough to be certain, more than enough to be my Bird of the Day, and Merlin had no doubts.

Valley Inn, Hamilton. ON. February 6 2023.   It’s a mental landmark of mine that the third week of January holds our the coldest days. I think that’s a bit too pedantic, more realistically any day within two weeks either side of the end of January is when we’ll hit the deepest freeze. Indeed, two days ago, February 4^th, has been the coldest so far this winter, cold enough to get most news networks excited. We dipped to -18.6 C., more than enough to turn all open water to a sheet of ice you’d think.

Still nursing that the third-week-of-January fixation and alert for any faint sign that the worst is behind us, I set out to hike some trails today. A singing Northern Cardinal was some encouragement, but then I once heard one, a false prophet, many years ago on a late November day, so I try not to attribute too much to a cardinal’s early song.

Woodland trails were very icy. For a while, I followed an undulating and ice-encrusted stream-side trail, choosing my footing carefully until I reached a point where the climb became steeper, the ice wider and thicker and the drop-off steeper.  The chance of slipping, falling, landing hard and tumbling over that edge, seemed discouragingly high so I turned back and left for tamer territory.

Back on much safer ground by a river mouth, I was very surprised to hear the distinctive rattling call of a Belted Kingfisher.  He was on top of an old utility pole by a bridge and immediately became My Bird of the Day.

On odd occasions I’ve been asked whether kingfishers migrate or stay around all winter. It’s a good question. After all you’d think they must migrate since creeks, lakes and ponds freeze over. But, drawing on the experience of having once seen a Kingfisher on a very frigid New Year’s Day 2014 (the one in the header, above), I’ve generally given the rather tentative answer that the fish don’t leave so, as long as there’s open water, there’s a chance some kingfishers stay around, although undoubtedly most head south.

Today’s kingfisher then is vague proof of those vague responses . Lakes and ponds are indeed locked under a thick layer of smooth ice, but there’s open water in places like the midstream of creeks and rivers or around seeps and springs where groundwater emerge.  As if to confirm my conjecture he plunged to an unseen spot and returned to his perch with a decent sized fish.

Belted Kingfishers are quick to take flight if people approach so when a photographer tried to move in closer, the bird left moving away from him – to a post lower and closer to me so, I was able to get the photo above.

A better kingfisher photo is this one above from last June when I came upon four Belted Kingfisher fledglings. The warmer day story about them is here.