Author: Peter T

June 30 2012.  This was a stay at home day but I noted a turn in the seasons this evening.  As we sat outdoors enjoying a late meal a flight ten or twelve Common Grackles passed overhead.  Not an especially noteworthy species, except in early March when they’re one of our heralds of spring, but they caught my attention because they were in a flock.

For three quarters of the year Common Grackles, Red-winged Blackbirds and other ‘blackbirds’ are gregarious creatures, moving in large flocks foraging over open fields and marshes.  It’s only in the spring that they pair up and stake out their own defined breeding territory, but once that duty is complete they congregate again.

It’s high summer for us and among most of our breeding birds things are changing. Except for a few species (such as American Goldfinch and Cedar Waxwings, who nest purposefully later, timing their breeding cycle to the abundance of late summer’s berry and seed crops,) most young birds are out of the nest, effectively fully-fledged and capable of feeding themselves. The kids are grown and the good life begins, they have three months to think about where to spend the winter.

Late one summer evening several decades ago, a small group of us were camping on the shore of a northern wilderness lake and in the stillness of early evening a long linear flight of hundreds, maybe thousands, of Common Grackles passed overhead heading purposefully southward.  There was constant low level of chatter between individual birds keeping the everyone informed with the latest celebrity gossip, but what greatly amused us was the small rainstorm of bird droppings that mirrored their route across the lake.

June 29 2012. This morning at the end of the third of four point counts I heard a nuthatch calling; just briefly.  I replayed it in my head a few times, comparing it to the many I’ve seen and heard at the bird observatory where I help out, I weighed the evidence, set aside a clanging alarm bell and called it as a White-breasted Nuthatch.  A mistake.

Around here there are two nuthatch species which are possible to confuse if you’re not paying attention; but with a few moments care and study there should be no doubt.  The White-breasted Nuthatch (WBNU -see photo below) is the larger of the two by about 20%, it has plain ivory-white undersides; the smaller Red-breasted Nuthatch (RBNU) has a fairly pronounced terracotta wash to its breast and belly.  They sound a bit alike, each making little nasal grunting sounds as they move around the trunks and branches of larger trees; WBNU says “aunk aunk” and RBNU more like “eenk eenk”.  And, – here’s a key difference: WBNU prefers deciduous hardwood forests while RBNU favours coniferous forests.  So: size, breast colour, call and habitat, four good cues for a reliable identification.

Ten minutes later we started the fourth point count and the nuthatch obligingly called again.  This time there could be no mistake; the sound was definitely the higher pitched Red–breasted Nuthatch and the setting was right; we were in a grove of Eastern Hemlock.  I corrected the record, reprimanded myself lightly for my earlier mistake and then celebrated it as Bird of the Day.  It’s not that RBNUs are particularly rare; it’s just that I don’t hang around with coniferous types so much these days and I tend to miss them. A nice little bird.

Our point counts this morning were challenged by the steady background clamour of a large diesel engine, a generator, a pump or a farm tractor, I’m not sure which; whatever the cause it quite shattered the tranquility of these old woods and I’m sure I missed quite a few birds.  Higher notes like those of Red–eyed Vireo, Ovenbird and Wood Thrush, and even Yellow–billed Cuckoo and Black–throated Green Warblers came through okay, but if any Acadian Flycatchers were calling they were totally lost.

June 23, 2012.  We did the second of two Forest Bird Monitoring (FBMP) surveys early this morning; it’s been nearly three weeks since the first one.  It had been cool overnight, a blessing because it kept the mosquitoes down.

This second survey had a different feel; there was less of a sense of urgency and more of an ‘I just want you to know I’m here’ tone to bird song.  Much the same species were evident: Wood Thrush, Red-eyed Vireo, Hairy Woodpecker, Common Yellowthroat and Ovenbird among them. Later as we left the woods a Yellow–throated Vireo ushered us out, singing high up among the Sugar Maples and oaks.  Sounding a bit like a Red-eyed Vireo with a slur, they’re the Sean Connery among vireos.  Instead of a clear-toned “three eight,- eight three”  or “see me – here I am – way up – tree top”  it was more like “tree ert – treee– tree ert.” Yellow–throated Vireos are not as abundant as the Red-eyed Vireo and this was the first one I’d heard in my two trips into these FBMP woods, it got a wow out of me and was my Bird of the Day.

Later I walked along the river flats at the bird observatory and reveled in a perfect summer day: not too warm, a light breeze and the pervasive sweet clove-like fragrance of Common Milkweed in the air.  It’s a little odd and perhaps anachronistic that Common Milkweed should be officially a ‘Noxious Weed’.  It is one of a family of several milkweeds with attractive, though in some cases subtle, flowers, and its fragrance is among the best of summer.  Its cousin the Butterfly Weed bears large clusters of eye-popping orange flowers.

Along the path Song Sparrows and a Common Yellowthroat all watched me carefully to make sure I didn’t try to dive into the dense grape and dogwood tangles to eat their babies.

A pleasant surprise came later when I heard a Yellow-billed Cuckoo calling softly from a cluster of tall Hackberry trees and try as I might to see it, I was reminded that cuckoos prefer to be heard not seen. I watched in admiration as a Northern Rough-winged Swallow wove large, twisting, roller coaster loops over the river, swerving and stalling to catch flying insects at each turn. Its sharp, high-speed precise aerobatics are the stuff of dreams for the folks at McDonnell Douglas, Lockheed and General Dynamics.

I have sometimes wondered what it takes for some of our more ho-hum birds to make the kind of impression that would qualify it as Bird of the Day status.  I did feature the European Starling one day last fall, it really stood out in its classy newly moulted plumage.  But take the Double-crested Cormorant for example; maybe if they weren’t dressed so somberly they’d be more appreciated, maybe if their guano didn’t destroy their nesting trees they’d find a place in our hearts, and just because they’re generally reviled by fishermen, boaters and lakeside property owners it doesn’t mean their mothers don’t love them. But they are what they are, and no-one seems to care for them very much.

Today on a distinctly urban errand I stopped to see if there was anything interesting out on the lake. Most of the ‘interesting’ waterfowl, things like Common Goldeneye, Bufflehead and Long-tailed Ducks have flown north to nest somewhere more secluded and traditional, somewhere that’s been a part of their genetic makeup for eons.  I wasn’t expecting much , but about half a kilometer offshore a mass of Double-crested Cormorants, about 500 by my best estimate, had gathered in a feeding frenzy, diving excitedly on a large school of small fish.  The whole gorging flock (which also included a few Ring-billed Gulls) moved quickly across the surface in a rolling wave.  I managed to get a couple of decent photographs, in the one below you can also make out a flight of new birds coming in to share the wealth.

On a different note and in appreciation of Victorian nonsense poets I’m including this oddball piece of cormorant verse.

The common cormorant or shag

Lays eggs in a paper bag.

The reason you will see, no doubt,

Is to keep the lightning out,

But what these observant birds

Have never noticed is herds

Of wandering bears may come with buns

And steal the bags to hold the crumbs.

 June 24 2012. Back to the Lake Erie shores today, to the same darkened forest preserve where we’ve been doing point counts.  I went with three goals: to be alone, to see if I could confirm a suspected Canada Warbler, and to study the many species of ferns that grow there.

Alone I move at my own pace and suffer or surrender to the mosquitoes as it suits me.  They were certainly active and unpleasant, especially when I crawled low for photographs  to capture the undersides of fern fronds.  I dislike insect repellants with the active ingredient DEET, but they work and I use them, though sparingly. Quite apart from DEET’s apparent toxicity I know that it will melt plastic; I’ve seen it happen, I spilled some in my car.

The putative Canada Warblerhas been singing from deep within a roadside tangle of cedar, grape and willow for a month or so.  On every visit I have tried without success to draw him out, today I was prepared to spend all morning at it if I had to.  Worse, the suspect was one of three or four more all singing the same song in the same general area, a tease that only heightened my desire to clinch it.  The Canada Warbler always starts his song with a single tiny ‘chip’ just ahead of a fast scramble of clear notes, I could hear a ‘chip’, a compelling clue, but not good enough for confirmation. A blow-by-blow description of my search would be tedious so it’s enough to report that he put up a good fight but in the end I found him, flitting low in the dark cedars. Here are two shots of a Canada Warbler, one to show what a handsome creature it is, the other exemplifies how elusive they can be.