Author: Peter T

October 12 2012. Ruthven Park, Cayuga ON.  It was just about a year ago (November 9th. actually) that I wrote about a brief encounter with Pine Siskins in my back yard.  That was about my only sighting of siskins last winter.  They are generally a northern bird that moves south somewhat irregularly and in varying numbers each winter, so it was some hopeful anticipation that I read a day or two ago of a sizeable incursion of Pine Siskins moving down the Atlantic seaboard.

Today I returned my familiar haunts at the bird observatoryand was soon rewarded with the sight of half a dozen Pine Siskins at a feeder just outside the banding lab window.  They are on the delicate side for finches, their bills are slim and pointed and well suited to their preferred food of small seeds.  They have bright yellow flight feathers which are usually visible (although only just in my photo below). Today I was quite taken by a couple of individuals with really broad and quite vividly coloured yellow on both the wing and upper tail, unfortunately I didn’t get a photo of either of them.

Apart from the Pine Siskins it was a busy day at the observatory. It was bright but blustery and masses of White–throated Sparrows and a few White–crowned Sparrows were feeding in sheltered leafy corners.  A beautiful full adult plumage Bald Eagle soared in circles beneath a cumulus ceiling and a Sharp–shinned Hawk, a few Red–tailed Hawks and an Osprey rounded out the raptor collection.

I conducted my customary daily census and was pleased to find a very late Philadelphia Vireo feeding among many Golden–crowned and Ruby–Crowned Kinglets. Either of the Philadelphia Vireo or a single Orange–crowned Warbler might arguably have been my Bird of the Day, but I really got more pleasure from the Pine Siskins.

Finally, a puzzle of physics:  I arrived well before sunrise, the sky was clear and the moon and Venus still shining brightly, there was some dampness on the grass and the air temperature was 4 degrees C., Half an hour or so later as the sun rose the temperature dropped and a light frost formed.  Why would that be?

September & October 2012.  I’ve had enough of traveling – for now anyway. We have returned from nearly three weeks in Iceland, Holland and, very briefly, Belgium. It hardly needs to be said that leaving your home turf will produce some novelty birds, and it did.

Blogging far from home and using an iPad was frustrating but I managed to report on some really quite commonplace birds that evoked my Wow! response: Black-headed Gull, Magpie and Flemish Jay included; but there was lots more.  To recount them all would be tiresome and I’ll post more information and photos on another page when I get a bit more time.  Meanwhile, there are birding things to do and birding places to go back home, so more local, southern Ontario stuff will resume.

As for Europe, here is a brief commentary on a handful of great encounters among many bird highlights; great for me anyway. Lots of dry-land excursions and waterways travel, as well as a serious day of birding with three Dutch friends, turned lots of new-for-me sightings, and many re-acquaintances with more familiar birds.

Red crested Pochard, I’d never seen one of these before, it’s a duck more likely to be found much farther east, it’s not very common and its coral red bill and orangey head make it eye-catching.  I sure wish I’d managed to get a photograph of one.  Still there’s plenty to be found on-line.

White-tailed Eagle, I should have been absolutely exultant at finding this bird.  Even the field guides acknowledge its rarity.  But the species is known to breed in the area we were in, it was a distant juvenile bird and so similar to our own familiar Bald Eagle that the wow factor was not quite what it should have been for me.  My companions were truly thrilled though, maybe I needed to pinch myself.

Curlew, we first spotted a couple of these on a distant river mudflat along with hordes of Lapwings, Greylag Geese, Red-breasted Mergansers and Black-headed Gulls, my companions were only mildly impressed, actually they were rightly getting quite excited about a handful of loafing Caspian Terns which are an uncommon transient in Holland. Then a few days later, traveling up the River Scheldt at low tide, I could see hundreds of Curlews picking food from the exposed muds.  With them were an equal number of Oystercatchers, both quite sensational sightings for me.

Jackdaws.  I have a childhood fascination for and delight in Jackdaws.  They are members of the crow family and I always associate them with old buildings, preferably ancient churches or decaying castle ruins.  They are gregarious, vocal and look as though they’d make interesting, if lively, pets.  These two are atop an ornate cross beside a 14^thCentury church.

Great-crested Grebe.  They’re everywhere and they’ve found a place in the hearts of the Dutch.  Quite apart from being abundant, having no apparently offensive traits and nurturing their clamorous young for months after hatching, they are a striking bird and easy to see and enjoy.

White Wagtails.  These are attractive and busy little birds.  They are well named, for their tails bob up and down furiously.  They’re closely related to pipits and favour urban areas bordering open space.  What really caught my imagination is their Dutch name: ‘Kwikstaart’, which is every bit as descriptive as Wagtail.

September 27 2012. Holland. I’ve had a soft spot for Magpies that goes back to my childhood.  There’s more on that in ‘Thieving Magpie?“.  Here in Holland they are abundant, not quite as abundant as Coots (or ‘Meercootes’ in Dutch) which seem to be entrenched on every slough, ditch, pond or canal; but wherever there’s air to fly in you’ll find a Magpie or two not far away. There’s a pair just outside our hosts’ front door and they patrol the block intensively, leaving nothing unnoticed or uncommented upon. Like Jays they are members of the crow family, and like Jays they are, or were, considered a predatory pest in the England of my childhood.

The Magpie of Europe is not quite the same species as North America’s Black-billed Magpie, although the differences are minor and more evident in the species’ vocalizations.  Here in Holland they seem to be disapproved of but more for their noisy and assertive presence in urban-avian life than for any particular sin. For all of their omnipresence I’ve found it difficult to get a good photograph of a Magpie, perhaps they are more persecuted than I know.  Anyway this one was scrambling up a thatched roof to join a mate when I managed to get this tail-end shot.

September 23 2012. Gelderland Province, Holland.   Even though Holland is still very much a landscape of wide green fields, canals and low farm buildings, it is now criss-crossed with soulless motorways that slice across the gentle land.

It was on a fast motorway ride that I noticed a field dotted with stationary Lapwings. Our driver first pointed them out, proclaiming: “Kievit” I knew exactly what she meant because in Britain they’re also known as the Peewit, an onomatopoeic name reflecting its anxious call. Lapwings, Peewits, Kievits, call them what you will, they are one of those birds that capture the imagination and hearts of country folk.  They are plovers and have the characteristic stand-up-and-pay-attention posture of members of that family, they are boldly marked in bottle green above and white below with a bold black bib and, most distinctively, a cow-lick of a crest.  They fly as if tossed on the wind with big sideswiped swoops and calling urgently: ‘peeeWit’.

At this time of year Lapwings gather in large flocks to forage over open fields alongside Grey-lag Geese, Mute Swans and the occasional sentinel Buzzards. This photograph is courtesy of Andreas Trepte whose site www.photo-natur.de is full of neat bird pictures.

 

September 20 2012. Gelderland Province, Holland.  Here in Holland, the Jay of my childhood  is called the Vlaamse Gaai, or Flemish Jay. I was pleased to learn this slightly different twist on the old and familiar because the bird-naming folks of 19th century England tended to seize and over-simplify the definitive names of many animal and plants. They named Britain’s tiniest bird ‘the Wren’ before anyone could speak up for the Cactus Wren or Carolina Wren, they appropriated the Toad before the Fowler’s Toad showed it’s face and did much the same thing with the Crow, Jay, and Kestrel.

But whatever its name, the Jay (Garrulus glandarius – say that to yourself a few times; it’s rather melifluous) shares all of the flash and dash of the American continent’s Blue Jay, Steller’s Jay and Mexican Jay.  They’ll eat anything, including acorns, small animals and anything they can seize from another bird’s nest: eggs or young; and it’s this latter predilection that loses them friends. English gamekeepers made (and perhaps still make) a point of shooting Jays on sight on grounds that they raid the nests and young of their employers’ pheasants.  It’s important to keep a pheasant alive you see, so that when it’s fully grown you can go out with friends and shoot it.  As a young man I remember being both impressed and appalled when I watched a gamekeeper bring down a high-flying Jay in one smooth, loud and accurately destructive act. Jays in England were both uncommon and understandably skittish.

Today we visited a home in rural Gelderland, it was surrounded by oak trees that were heavy with acorns upon which Jays and Wood Pigeons were happily feasting.  The acorns seemed to be swallowed whole, which would be quite an accomplishment, so it was maybe not surprising that a few Magpies chattered with amazement in the background.

The Jay, the definitive, the Flemish Jay is handsomely dressed: it has bold black moustachial stripes, an overall wash of pinkish buff across its back, tail and breast, and its wingtips are black while its primary and greater coverts are a bold and showy slash of Blue Jay-blue. These Jays had no apparent fear of being shot down so I was able to watch and admire them for quite a while, I wish I could have enjoyed them so closely fifty years ago.