Author: Peter T

Hendrie Valley, Burlington. ON. August 27 2023.   When I immigrated to Canada several decades ago I was thrilled to see an Osprey – a lifer. I have no recollection of exactly when or where, but it was a near-impossible, undreamt-of sighting for me.  Throughout my British growing-up, Ospreys were absent and wrapped in vague mythology that had much to do with Britain’s centuries old land-ownership system.

Osprey is the only raptor that plunge-dives to catch live fish as its main food source. In the U.K in the 19^th and early 20^th centuries, its highly successful catching technique put Ospreys squarely in conflict with British land-owners unable to tolerate the idea that ‘their’ salmon was being fished by someone else. So, they shot them and destroyed their nests, or at least instructed their gamekeepers to do so. And then Ospreys were extirpated, all gone.

That is yesterday’s Osprey persecution story, and I wonder whether the battle really was fought over salmon, surely the rivers and estuaries held other less exclusive species. Perhaps the Osprey was never particularly abundant in the British Isles. In any event they were gone.

Then, sometime in the mid-1950s, a pair of Ospreys showed up to nest in Scotland. It caused quite a welcoming fuss, attitudes towards wildlife had changed and the Ospreys were back. Even so, these returning Ospreys were inaccessible to ordinary folks: the nest was on private land and somewhat remote, also it was closely guarded, protected from many still-active egg-collectors. Nevertheless, it was a very good news story and there are now some 250 Osprey pairs breeding in the U.K.

Today’s Osprey persecution story touches on wireless technology; wouldn’t you know it.  Ospreys build a large platform nest on high vantage points, places like commanding tree-tops and telecommunication towers. Service personnel dislike their workspaces being cluttered with fishy remains and other ejecta that accompanies with child-rearing, so owners of those towers recently started installing ingenious Osprey exclusion devices. The devices work well and Ospreys have been persuaded to leave the once productive and fishy hunting ground around here.  I miss them, and that takes me to today’s Bird of the Day.

Walking the valley this morning with everything wet and recovering from a heavy overnight thunderstorm it seemed there were few birds anywhere.  It was the sort of silence characteristic of the late summer pause when it’s time for fuelling up while food is abundant. Dodging slippery puddles, I glanced up and was very pleased to spot this Osprey. Maybe a pair has found somewhere to raise their young despite the best efforts of the guardians of technology.  My Bird of the Day.

Mount Julian. ON. July 19, 2023. That quiet found in the hour as the sun rises is nowhere better experienced than on the shore of one of thousands of lakes scattered throughout the once-ancient forests of Ontario.

On this perfect summer day, the only sounds of dawn were those of birds. Not the clamour of spring now but many quieter contact notes shared between parents and young.  First the wake-up wail of a Common Loon far out on the still lake, then distinctively, the call of Herring Gulls on distant rocky islets where they nest, and the gurgle of a pack of Common Ravens passing overhead. A Red-eyed Vireo got started on his day’s task of repeating the same short phrases, once every few seconds until dusk, more than twenty-thousand repetitions by day’s end. A Song Sparrow and an Eastern Phoebe were quietly foraging for food but the best of the morning was a surprise, the clear song of a Pine Warbler from overhead. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised, White Pines made up at least 50% of the shoreline trees and the birds are appropriately named.

Pine Warblers sing a melodic trill that is an early marker of the arrival of spring: around home we hear the first sometime around mid-April; two or three weeks before the big wave of neo-tropicals.  Those first songs are easily heard, but the bird prefers the upper levels of pines so is not as easily seen. Some might disagree with melodic as appropriate but when compared to the similar and confusable but drier song of a Chipping Sparrow, the Pine has melody on its side. (If you’re really interested, try this corner of the Xeno-canto site and browse the many recording. The fifth on the list at 58 seconds provides a good example.) Among warblers the Pine is not a visual show-stopper being generally washed in yellow-greens and that, plus its propensity for staying high and out of sight, sometimes leaves it in the ranks of afterthoughts.

But today’s Pine Warbler was different. Aware perhaps of the conventional wisdom as described above, it chose several upgrades: It sang musically, it ventured down quite low, low enough for me to get several good photos and was decidedly colourful. No afterthought, without question it was My Bird of the Day.

Burlington. ON. July 10, 2023. Three months ago, I covered the story of a pair of Merlins who had appropriated a crow’s nest in our front yard, apparently with the intention of setting up home.

Well, they did everything you might expect of nesting birds (Except build the nest. Thanks crows). They secured the neighbourhood with lots of chittering fly-pasts, stood atop nearby trees, copulated frequently, visited the nest and in due course fledged young. The nest was too high and too well hidden for anyone to be sure of what was going on inside, but they’ve been active neighbourhood residents and it was nobody’s business anyway.  Two days ago, I was just able to discern a wing-flapping fledgling at the edge of the nest. Just one I think; so much for all that copulation.

Today was flight day and we met this youngster at very close quarters.  Cornell Lab’s excellent reference Birds of the World notes that Merlins fledge (leave the nest) at about 29 days after hatching and remain dependent upon adults, they remain near their nest sites for 1 to 4 weeks.  Both adults feed the young during this period, males more than females and significantly their first flights are clumsy and sometimes fledglings land on ground or water. Well ‘ours’ certainly fits that description. It was seen by a neighbour wading through a puddle of rainwater and having some difficulty making its way up to somewhere higher, safer and where it would be less likely to fall victim to a roaming cat (Domestic cats are reckoned to kill 1.3–4 billion birds every year (Cornell Labs)).

The parent Merlins are not far away, we can see them and hear them chittering instructions. American Robins are incensed by its presence and burn up a lot of energy clucking and making low passes.

The parent birds have three months invested in this still slightly fluffy youngster, and we have our fingers crossed; there’s little else we can do. My Bird of the Day of course.

Hendrie Valley, Burlington. ON. July 4 2023.   This summer pause is like the moment atop a roller coaster, that almost weightless moment before the next swoop onward. April, May and June brought us three months of new and explosive growth among animals and plants, now we catch our breath and fatten up for what lies ahead.

This weightless pause is about things like Michigan Lilies in bloom (above) and young Wood Ducks and Blue Jays, out of the nest and trying to keep pace with their parents.

I walked the valley early, wondering what yesterday’s prolonged heavy rains had done. The air hung heavy and still but it was a perfect temperature and apparently not suitable for mosquitoes.  Clearly the creek had overflowed its banks flattening tall grasses as it found (or re-found) new sluiceways.

There was noticeably less birdsong than two or three weeks ago but I could hear Great-crested Flycatchers, Swamp Sparrows, American Robins, Song Sparrows and Rose-breasted Grosbeaks all around.  Hearing the plaintiff wheeze of a hungry young Red-tailed Hawk was all I needed to confirm that a pair had nested nest again in much the same place as last year.

Baltimore Orioles have ceased their May-June racket, but they’re still around, just going about their day with less fuss. A clamour from high in some American Sycamores turned out to be Warbling Vireos chasing off a couple of Blue Jays who probably looked upon young vireos as food items.

Green Herons can be either hard to spot or disarmingly obvious.  Maybe as the season wears on they care less about being inconspicuous. I watched one stretching in the sun. A long way off but the beautiful chestnut of its neck was back-lit and glowed.

The Eastern Screech Owl was back in its familiar hole-in-a-Hickory. It was looking out over a pond where a mother Wood Duck was shepherding her brood of five young, they never stopped moving, nibbling and sifting for food. They were my Birds of the Day just for epitomizing the quiet calm of this summer morning.

Hendrie Valley, Burlington. ON. June 16 2023.   I think June birding is the best: while it lacks the sensationalism of May it is richer for close observation of bird behaviour, the what, how and why. The why is everything about reproduction: courtship, nest site, egg production, incubation and fledging young.

I walked the valley early today, it had rained overnight leaving wide puddles, wet overhanging grasses and non-stop dripping. There was bird song everywhere, all of it familiar, nothing new but all heart-warming. Familiar or not, it represented a riot of song and colour: Indigo Bunting, Baltimore Oriole, Swamp Sparrow, Northern Cardinal, Eastern Wood Peewee, Rose-breasted Grosbeak, Yellow Warbler and many more. Males making sure the world knew that this is his territory, and busy parents foraging food for nestlings. Song Sparrows finding fat caterpillars and other little wriggly things, Eastern Kingbirds and Willow Flycatchers leaping out to snap up passing wasps and Green Herons stalking minnows.

It was not all pleasantness. I passed several waters-edge turtles’ nests that had been raided by Racoons leaving a scatter of torn eggshells, once round like ping-pong balls, now muddied and empty. I stopped when I spotted an American Mink crossing the path ahead of me. It was dripping as if it had swum the creek to get to where it sensed food. It paused alert, looked carefully and then lunged into the deep greenery. I suspect it was after the eggs and young in the nest of a Yellow Warblers who, along with several Red-winged Blackbirds, were screaming ‘Thug! and Murderer! likely to no effect for Mink are accomplished predators. A Yellow Warbler brood would be easy pickings.

Small movements in a woody tangle caught my eye and I was pleased and mildly surprised to find a newly fledged Brown-headed Cowbird being fed attentively by its foster parent Song Sparrows. Cowbirds are nest parasites, the American equivalent of Eurasian Cuckoos. Adult cowbirds do a lot of socialising and courtship in spring, but save themselves a lot of trouble by laying their eggs in other birds’ nests. The hapless hosts nurture the young cowbird at the expense of their own who are heaved out of the nest to die.

Brown-headed Cowbirds have few friends, birders off-handedly dismiss them as unwelcome, but why? They follow the same leeching lifestyle of Eurasian Cuckoos who, while not quite revered, have a place in folklore and are admired for their looks and eponymous song. If cowbirds were dressed like Baltimore Orioles, for example, how deep would be our grudge against them? I suspect not very, that we’d probably think, “Glorious bird! Too bad about its put-upon parents.”  But cowbirds are brown and black and we already know that to be an obstacle to easy social acceptance.

The young Brown-headed Cowbird and its foster parent Song Sparrows were my Birds of the Day. Socially acceptable or not I enjoyed watching the young cowbird idly checking out the big wide world while being attended by two busy and much smaller Song Sparrow.