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1 April 2015. Burlington ON. Today’s date notwithstanding, the unexpected and exciting discovery of a Hoary Redpoll left our small birding group with more questions than answers.

The flow of early spring migrants has taken hold even though the air temperature was just one degree above freezing; it barely changed all morning. Still, our group encountered some encouraging sightings including: A small group of male Wood Ducks looking for open water in hopes of establishing breeding territory; Five Hooded Mergansers, all but one of them males, exploring a narrow opening in an iced-over pond; and a Red-shouldered Hawk wheeling high overhead and glowing in the morning sun. Three Brown Creepers made us all smile; they’re unassuming and industrious little birds.

Our Hoary Redpoll came near the end of our hike. I spotted it while scanning a still largely frozen patch of mosses, woodland debris and tree roots. We were looking for any Skunk Cabbage spears that might have emerged through the ice and snow. Skunk Cabbage when full-grown looks vaguely like a large, bright-green, blowsy cabbage and its crushed leaves smell very musky. It is in the very large arum family of plants (along with Jack in the Pulpit, Cuckoopint and Calla Lily) and has the curious ability to use chemical means to generate sufficient warmth to melt its way through lingering snow and get a start on spring. Its rather introverted and hooded flowers appear long before its leaves just as soon as the first spike has pulled itself up out of the frozen ground. We look for in late March because, if nothing else, it’s a welcome sign of spring.

As I looked over this known Skunk Cabbage patch, I caught sight of a small finch picking for fallen seeds. After a moment’s puzzling I announced that we’d got a Redpoll, meaning (without thinking) a Common Redpoll (the same species I’d seen in flocks just a few days earlier). It was a little hard to follow as it made its way through the debris, but eventually we all managed to enjoy it.   I noted, but didn’t comment on, how much lighter overall it was compared to the individuals seen on the past weekend. It seemed somehow more finely drawn and even the pink on its breast was more of a blush than a bold declaration. Then one of our team raised the question whether it might be a Hoary Redpoll. Well yes! That seemed like a plausible fit, but Hoary Redpolls are rarely found this far south. I resolved to do some further reading.

The Hoary Redpoll has long been considered a far more northern species and subtly distinct from the Common Redpoll. It differs in having more frosty white tones and somewhat lighter streaking. All authorities caution that the intergrades between the two species are frustratingly subtle; there are darker Hoary Redpolls and lighter Common Redpolls and there seem to be few if any definitively distinguishing field marks. So did we see a Hoary or did we see a light Common Redpoll?

I believe that by most, if not all traditional measures, we found a Hoary Redpoll. But maybe it’s a moot point because very recent DNA analysis of both species shows them to be virtually identical. The belief is growing that the two species are in fact one and the same; like humans they come in many shades. It seems more than likely that science and the arbiters of bird nomenclature will soon rule that henceforth Hoary Redpolls shall be known as Common Redpolls, leaving the adjective Hoary as a quaint artefact. Either way it was a great sighting.

For the sake of comparison, here are a few photos in galleries visible only on the website, not if you’re reading this as an email.  Above are some Common Redpolls seen just a few days ago and below are two shots of today’s Hoary Redpoll. (These two photos courtesy of Bonnie Kinder.)

 

28 & 29 March 2015 Algonquin Park, ON. We took a weekend off and went north to a small and rather elegant lakeside resort. Odd, in a way, that just when winter is finally letting go, we should choose to go to where it is still firmly in control. Still, it was all very beautiful, Christmas card scenery with clean virgin snow draping spruce trees and clear blue skies.

A few days before our arrival, we were asked if we had any special needs or requests; I answered, suggesting that Gray Jays and Evening Grosbeaks would be a nice touch. I got the Gray Jay, just one; but no grosbeaks.

A scattering of seed just outside the dining room attracted a sizeable flock of Common Redpolls. We sometimes see redpolls in southern Ontario but it’s been a couple of years since I last encountered any and that was along a roadside where one or two were picking over some the snow covered Goldenrod seed-heads. For us they are only ever winter visitors because they breed very far north in the high latitudes south of Hudson Bay, a land of dry lichen-heath tundra, stunted spruces and willow thickets. This hungry flock was very quick to flee at the first sudden sound or movement, but with patience I was able to move in close enough for a few shots that capture their dainty essence of finch.

The Gray Jay was something of a triumph. It’s not that they are particularly rare within their broad boreal range, but that range does not extend far enough south for it to be a familiar bird. I was feeling a bit of Gray Jay deficit. While the related Blue Jays are unfailingly spectacular and raucous, Gray Jays instead are a beautiful pearly grey and white, quiet and endearing.

Interestingly, a closely related yet slightly more colourful species, the Siberian Jay, is found in the similar habitat across Eurasia and another, the increasingly rare Sichuan Jay, inhabits a small part of Tibet. The Siberian and the Gray are both known for their quiet boldness and are perfectly at ease hanging around campsites where they will readily swoop down to pick up unguarded food. Despite their quiet ways, there is nothing surreptitious about Gray Jays, I suppose if they were humans we’d say butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. You can get away with a lot that way.

This post contains photos in galleries visible only on the website, not if you’re reading this as an email.

23 March 2015 Cayuga, ON. With an absolutely clear calendar I foresaw a day in which I could seek some spring-arrival Tundra Swans and other waterfowl usually associated with the first open water. But the temperatures dropped precipitously last night and, although bright and sunny, it was cold today and a brisk north wind only made things worse. I had little appetite for standing around peering at distant ducks under such conditions; there are times when I’ll willingly do so – but not today.

I visited our local hawk-watch where three shivering and cheerless souls, stood scanning an empty sky. I like hawk-watching under certain conditions: an abundance of birds and moderate temperatures being foremost; I left and headed for the bird observatory where I spend so much time in spring and fall.

Not far from the bird observatory I disturbed a pair of Turkey Vultures who had found the corpse of a raccoon; a satisfying meal I imagine. They flew heavily to a nearby shed and sat disconsolately waiting for me to leave. Anticipating a good photo opportunity, instead I parked in a convenient spot and waited for them to revisit their breakfast before it got cold. Evidently it wasn’t that important to them for after a few minutes they left for a little exercise, a flap around the neighbourhood. I took just a couple of shots, this one ruffling its feathers just before take off.

At the bird observatory, I bundled up and walked around my spring and fall census route compiling an interesting list of birds, including three petulant Killdeer and a Red-tailed Hawk driving a one-year-old Bald Eagle away from the hawk’s chosen nest site. Two male Wood Ducks flew past me following the river upstream with a flock of six male Mallards close behind. The Wood Ducks were squealing, as they do, like frightened piglets, a rather disappointing sound from a bird, which, in every other way, is thoroughly endearing.

Chilled and eyes streaming, I left knowing that warmer weather is really not very far away and quite happy with my day’s sightings. Especially with the Turkey Vultures, my slightly macabre Birds of the Day.

21 March 2015. Bronte, Oakville, ON. For some thirty five years I have maintained a rather hi-and-miss rolling diary in which I write of notable things happening in the natural world. On this date in 2012 I wrote, “Red-necked Grebes in courtship at Bronte Harbour.”   I remember it well; a pair were conducting an impressive side-by-side courtship dance. They ploughed the waters in a series of brief rituals, braying and cooing to each other as they went. Here are a few pictures from that day.

Reading that diary note, I decided to see if they’d returned, hoping of course for another chance to witness that elaborate water-dance. This particular harbour is one of the very few places in eastern North America where Red-necked Grebes breed, and they are so indifferent to the presence of people and their play boats, that their nests are easily observed, sometimes no more than ten metres from shore. Today a few Red-necked Grebes were present, having probably returned from a winter spent along the Atlantic coast. But conditions are quite different this year, as yet there is little open water and the sheltered yacht-basin breeding site is still largely iced over. Among the three or four grebes I found, I could see no sign of pair formation let alone courtship. Once the ice melts it won’t take long though for things to change.

Scanning the yacht basin with its geometric assembly of docks arranged like the halves of a zipper, I found plenty of Redheads – always gorgeous, Lesser Scaup (ditto) and Long-tailed Ducks (ditto). And then, in the distance, a small flock of Gadwall puttering around on an expanse of ice. They were today’s wow! bird. Not because they are particularly colourful, they don’t have any of the splendour of some of their kin: Mallards, Green-winged Teal or Northern Pintails for example. But they have a sort of understated coolness, a disregard for fashion born of self-assurance. Author and ornithologist, Pete Dunne puts it this way; “ Fairly common and conservative, in both attire and social commitment. Males make a fashion statement with tasteful gray….” In the field, one of the most distinctive features of the male is its overall grey appearance, a splash of white in the wing and  a coal-black rear end. The female on the other hand is overall greyish brown, not unlike a female Mallard although slightly more streamlined.

I sense that my words are unlikely to make much of a case for a Gadwall Appreciation Society; it’s not that important anyway. I like them a lot and don’t see enough of them, but when I do they make me smile and celebrate inwardly. Enough to be my Bird of the Day. Here are a couple of photos of that group, maybe you’ll find some of what I see in them.

This post contains photos in galleries visible only on the website, not if you’re reading this as an email.

19 March 2015 Burlington, ON. The end of winter and approach of spring has birders watching closely. Today the sun rose at 07.26 and set at 19.30; twelve hours and four minutes on the right side of the ledger. The signs of spring in bird life have been evident for a couple of weeks, nothing outlandish just a trickle: small migrating flocks of Red-winged Blackbirds and Common Grackles, and Red-tailed Hawks and Turkey Vultures counted at a nearby hawk-watch, and even a few reports of American Woodcocks, Song Sparrows and Killdeers.

On Lake Ontario there are increasing numbers of what we refer to as bay ducks, species that winter on the Great Lakes or along the Atlantic coast and breed above the Arctic Circle. It’s my view (unsubstantiated, and worthy of more research on my part) that at this stage of winter’s decline, these birds are driven to pursue the retreating edges of the ice between their Atlantic refuges and the Arctic.

So I think that right now, as the ice on and around Lakes Ontario and Erie starts to break up, this is the front line of the bay-duck spring migration. It will take a few weeks yet for open water to appear all the way between here and the Hudson Bay lowlands, but they’ll be watching and testing the limits. They must reach their breeding grounds as soon as possible; the early bird gets the best breeding site and the summertime available to raise their young to independence is short enough.

I’ve been watching and feeling this incremental approach of spring. Silently cheering at the sound of singing Northern Cardinals, contentedly noting the flocks of Red-winged Blackbirds and Common Grackles overhead and pleased to see the odd funereal Turkey Vulture cruising by.

I started my day at a breakfast meeting in the half-light; but the sun was up when the meeting ended at 8.45. As I walked back to my car I heard, for the first time this year, a singing American Robin. Robins have been out of the public eye for a few months. I haven’t mentioned robins until now partly because although the spring sighting of a robin is the sort of thing that can make a cute seven o’clock news filler, really our robins were never far away, they usually winter in some of the denser woods and ravines around here, unseen by most of us. But a robin in song is another matter altogether, it’s like the sunrise; the first light of daybreak is helpful but the sun‘s first peek over the horizon is the confirmation you need; you don’t get robin song without spring being right on top of us. Today’s American Robin in song was not only Bird of the Day, but perhaps also my Bird of the Spring Equinox.