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10 July 2013. Cabot Head, ON.  This was a violently windy day.  A steady westerly picked up in the middle of night and blew two supposedly anchored sailboats onto the rocky shore, their anchors just not up to the task.  There seemed to be no damage done but I’ll bet it made for an anxious few hours on board before daybreak.  The wind kept birds down low, but there was still plenty to be seen.  I struggled along the lake shoreline exploring while trying to keep away from the wind-driven spray.

I came across a cleft in the cliff face that apparently never sees the sun because it held a colony of Slender Cliffbrake ferns, a notoriously hard-to-find species that thrives only in dampness and full shade.

A picturesque group of Herring Gulls sat loafing on the stony shore but all other waterfowl had taken refuge far from the angry waves.  A Black-billed Cuckoo made a brief fly-past appearance in front of the cottage’s porch.  You could hardly call it slow though, there was always something interesting.  A pair of American Redstarts that made no secret of the presence of their nest, they chipped loudly at me whenever I walked past and fluttered around from branch to branch often within a metre or so of my head.

By evening the wind had died down and I was able to get some interesting photos of a resident Gray Catbird.  Most people (if they know it at all) recognize the catbird as a long tailed, slate grey bird with a black yarmulke.  Its characteristic mewing call gives it its name, but it has a rich and liquid song that we often heard as the last traces of daylight gave up around 9.30. But, little known is that its undertail coverts are a rich brick red colour, you hardly ever see them;  but this bird was close to its nest and anxious to make sure everyone knew who belonged where.  Perhaps the setting sun enhanced the colour but the display is captured in my photos of the catbird, my Bird of the Day.

9 July 2013. Cabot Head, ON. It’s not as though we really need a vacation but when we had the opportunity to be wardens of the facilities at the Bruce Peninsula Bird Observatory we took it.  There’s no bird-banding going on at present, banding is a spring and fall activity, but the cottage building needs to be occupied and someone has to do it.

The setting is pretty, the rugged, broken limestone shore of Lake Huron on one side and expanses of forest backed by towering cliffs the other.  There’s a large, almost totally enclosed bay, the basin, just outside the door where an ancient shipwreck lies decaying, it’s home to a small colony of Barn Swallows and a Beaver has piled its lodge of White Birch branches and other debris against a large rent in the ship’s bow.

Lots of birds here.  Today I walked the easy trails and found many familiar species from my May days banding here: Magnolia Warbler, Nashville Warbler, Gray Catbird and a Merlin among many others, I’m sure we recognized each other.

Finding my way along the rocky beach I almost stepped on a Spotted Sandpiper sitting tight on a brood of four eggs.  She exploded from her nest, peeping wildly, then scampered away stumbling over the rounded rocks and pebbles in a distraction display feigning injury and helplessness.  It’s been a long time since I’ve witnessed this classic distraction display, it’s characteristic of several families of birds including ducks, pheasants and plovers.  The drama was enough to make the Spotted Sandpiper my Bird of the Day. I took a picture of the nest and eggs and tried to get one of the fleeing poor-pathetic-me mother, but she was moving too fast, much too fast for an injured bird, I had little success.

On an afternoon excursion we walked a trail out to a gushing waterfall, our route led us through a tranquil leaf-dappled forest where the only sounds other than our huffing, puffing and fly-swatting, were singing Red-eyed Vireos, Scarlet Tanagers, Ovenbirds and Wood Thrushes.  We fell asleep that night to the distant sounds of a Whip-poor-will and with fireflies flashing brightly just outside our bedroom window; it could be worse.

3 July 2013.  Not expecting too much of what you’d call spine tingling, given the slowing of avian activity these days, I went looking for the Acadian Flycatcher we’d found a couple of weeks ago.  It was a nice enough walk in the woods, I could hear Warbling and Red-eyed Vireos singing above me, a Yellow-billed Cuckoo called for a moment before flying swiftly away through the canopy layer and a Great-horned Owl, by just being there, greatly excited a female Scarlet Tanager, she hopping around calling ‘Chkk–burr’ repeatedly.

I managed to hear the Acadian Flycatcher in roughly the same place we’d found it last time.  I imagine if you were to visit areas where Acadian Flycatchers are abundant you might become quite deaf to its explosive call, which they say, is a loud, sharp  ‘Piz-ZA’, but as I listened to it I felt it had a slightly more liquid feel.  I wrote it down “Fleet-IT”, still loud and sharp like the squeaky screeches of a chipmunk.

On my way out I encountered a noisy Common Yellowthroat.  With a bit of urging it popped out to see me and I managed to get this shot just as it dropped out of sight again. (But to make life simpler,  I’ve added another of the same species to fill in the missing bits).  I’m sure they know exactly where I am even though to all intents and purposes, they’re invisible; they have a real talent for staying just out of sight even though clearly audible.

Despite a decent tally of 30 or so species seen or heard, including: Red-bellied Woodpecker, Indigo Bunting and Gray Catbird, my Bird of the Day was the Common Yellowthroat for tantalizing me with its brief appearance.

29 June 2013.  Flamborough ON.  Continuing my education in ferns, I stopped at a small watercourse that bisects a swampy woodland hoping I might catch sight of a few bird species that I felt sure would be around.  I could hear several odd chips, clucks and sighs coming from deep in the mosquitos’ realm. At this stage of spring-turned summer such bird sounds are mostly contact notes between parents and young, essential bits of communications with messages like: “I’m here and hungry.” “Food’s coming, stay there.” Or, “Danger. Don’t move.”

A sharp chip led my gaze to an anxious Northern Waterthrush hopping around just in front of me, another joined it, also chipping, and then another.  My presence was clearly unwelcome so I moved on. Northern Waterthrushes are recognized as a New World wood warbler although their brown and cream colours set them apart visually from many of the much more celebrated and sought after drama kings and queens.  Still I like this bird, I like its splattery, emphatic spring song, its propensity to check you out if you get too close and its bouncy tail-bobbing posture; it was my Bird of the Day for all of those endearing qualities.

I caught sight of a Common Yellowthroat retreating into a thicket of willow and heard a couple of far off Great Crested Flycatchers, a late singing Wood Thrush and a loud and confidently singing Carolina Wren.

There were Veerys too and I came across one that surprised me by its boldness; it was carrying food and perched conspicuously in the open and called repeatedly a bold “Few”.  After a while I reasoned that it was delivering food, perhaps to a nest rather than to a fledged youngster, and the loud calling was advance announcement of its arrival.  I’m not sure whether my presence prompted extra caution, I sensed not because a little later when I had moved well away, I again heard it announcing a food delivery.  They are usually rather shy, even reclusive, birds but this one most definitely was not.

26 June 2013. Morriston, ON.  The frantic dash and clamour of spring birding is fading and my attention now wanders.  Today I visited a bog not too far from here, looking for orchids.  I’m not much of a wildflower enthusiast, while I know many of the commoner ones reasonably well, I’ve gravitated towards ferns: more subtle and elegant.  Today I took a friend to see if we could find and photograph Showy Lady’s-slipper orchids. They bloom a little later than Yellow Lady’s-slippers and if it’s possible, they are just a touch more exquisite.  We found a few stands and enjoyed several mosquito-slapping minutes bending, crouching and stepping gingerly around soggy hummocks trying to frame just the right shot.

As we slogged and ducked through the dense tamaracks, alders and cedars there was bird song around us: White-throated Sparrows singing their “pure sweet Canada-Canada-Canada”, at least that’s how I read it, but my companion, a native of Wisconsin and until recently resident of New Jersey, believed them to be calling “old Sam Peabody-Peabody-Peabody”.  This was no place for national rivalries and we agreed to differ. A handful of Cedar Waxwings shared high-pitched whistles amongst themselves and then in the distance a Common Raven chuckled.  The Raven and White-throated Sparrow are both birds associated with points much further north and to have them nesting around here is suggestive of the bogs of northern Ontario; which brings me back to the orchids.