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August 8, 2012. This entry may be more about decaying industrial landscapes than birds, but I make no apologies.  I live close to a major heavy-industry city, a place of steel mills (one of them mothballed), fading manufacturing and gritty neighbourhoods.  Industry settles in places with the most favourable combination of the factors of production: Land, Labour & Capital.  It so happens that these happened to converge at one of Mother Nature’s most beautiful and wildlife rich places on the Great Lakes.

Today, concentric circles of urbaniztion start at the industrial core, encircled by wreaths of transportation facilities: a deepwater harbour, 6–lane highways and railways, and after that lies housing and eventually, fully withdrawn from the smokestacks, suburban sprawl.  Beyond it all lies farmland and countryside, which I think, I’ve sketched effectively in my About Me and This Collection page.

All of this to set the stage for an early morning stop at the side of a busy service road to take a look into a large and unpleasant pond that is a happy home to hundreds of Double-crested Cormorants, a few dozen Mallards and many juvenile Black–crowned Night Herons. It was not a nice place to stand and even as I write this I imagine little tickly things crawling inside my socks and around my bare summer legs; at least I hope it’s just my imagination..

I’m sure the cormorants’ mothers love them, but that may be the extent of it.  As I watched them I looked for their redeeming features: They are graceful in flight, Really good swimmers and Expert fisherbirds.  They’re kind of elegant too in their glossy, slightly iridescent plumage and, well I think the first of these picture has a barbed-wire beauty about it.

The Black-crowned Night Herons around the pond were all youngsters, not nearly as elegant as their gray, black and cream coloured parents; but that‘ll come in time, provided they survive the winter months ahead. Some of them were hanging at the edge of the water waiting patiently for a meal; others were roosting quietly, deep within some of the scrubby trees that struggle to survive in this harsh and unloved place.  They’re wary birds night-herons, but I managed to get a picture of one before he stalked uneasily away into the darker recesses of his tree.  Daytime is Night Heron bedtime and it really just wanted to go back to bed.

August 7, 2012.  Many years ago a seasoned birder told me that winter birding is far better than mid-summer birding.  I didn’t, and still don’t, believe him, but I understand why he thought that. Where have all the birds gone?

At the end of another hot day I went to see what was happening along one of my favourite woodland trails, – not much as it turns out.  This trail is one of three I enjoy, all of which start out on high ground with spectacular long views across quiet farmland, then descend quickly to cut across a flat, densely wooded swamps; swamps which a month ago were ringing to the songs of Wood Thrushes, Veerys, Canada Warblers and Northern Waterthrushes.  But not tonight; in fact very few songbirds tonight.  Where have they all gone?

So this woodland walk was something of a letdown although I did find a family of Wood Duck on a small pond, was buzzed by a female Ruby–throated Hummingbird and challenged noisily by an Eastern Kingbird.  I love kingbirds’ pugilistic attitude, their chittering in-flight challenge sounds like a couple of small pebbles rattling in an empty old tin can, and when delivered from their fluttery, almost stand-still flight it says: “I’m watching you. Approach at your peril.” And chastened by the kingbird I left to see what shorebirds might be visible in the fading evening light on the mudflats of a nearby reservoir.

This second stop was enjoyable perhaps more on account of the late-day cooling, quiet roadside and evening light than the birds, which were a touch too far away for binocular birding.  But I was able to note: Osprey, Killdeer, Green-winged Teal, Caspian Tern, Lesser Yellowlegs and, as my Bird of the Day, a Green Heron.  The Green Heron first caught my eye as it fluttered to a landing atop a distant tree stump, but it was so far away and so apparently small that I wondered for a while whether I was seeing a Least Bittern. The setting was quite wrong for a Least Bittern for they are reclusive deep-cover marsh birds, but with our sustained drought affecting water levels, bizarre things sometimes happen; and it was the apparent size that had me thinking about a possible exception to the rule.  Well I was saved from a sleepless night of torment, wondering ‘was it or wasn’t it’, by the arrival of an amiable fellow birder who quickly slapped his telescope onto the bird and confirmed Green Heron. A lesser ranked sighting than a Least Bittern, but still a good bird well seen and well identified; and it enriched a midsummer evening.

August 3 2012.  Today we ventured to check a highly regarded shorebirding spot, a large fossil encrusted shelf of flat rock near a long sandy beach on the north shore of Lake Erie.  On this hot August day the beach was busy and perhaps the sunbathers had the better deal.  Although we found plenty of shorebirds the price was rather high: No shade, a scorching sun and a throat-tightening raw-sewage smell from dense mats of decomposing algae. The birds found a plentiful supply of food here, our sightings included many Greater Yellowlegs stepping daintily as if offended by the prospect of their feet getting wet or dirty, they appeared somehow more delicate than their cousins the Lesser Yellowlegs.  A few Pectoral Sandpipers, a pair of baffling Sanderlings in worn plumage and some Spotted Sandpipers added to the mix.

And then there were the Semi-palmated birds.  We regularly see Semi–palmated Sandpipers and Semi–palmated Plovers around here. The adjective semi-palmated refers to partial webbing between their toes, not something you’re very likely to see in the field; although I suppose in the days of birding by shotgun it was a good distinguishing field mark. Semi-palmated Sandpipers were everywhere, they can be devilishly difficult to distinguish from Least Sandpipers (which weren’t), both being little brown shorebirds that wander around mudflats and shores in large numbers picking at invertebrate delicacies. A handful of Semi-palmated Plovers enchanted us too, they look like miniature Killdeers and because they’re so immaculately turned out they were my Bird of the Day, displacing a couple of immature Orchard Orioles seen a little earlier.

It was a productive day with around fifty species seen and/or heard including Yellow-billed Cuckoo, Red-breasted Nuthatch, and Carolina Wren. And as we started our homeward journey we stopped beside a small pond that held a dozen Wood Ducks, many of them youngsters led by adults in the midst of a dreary moult. Usually Wood Ducks very quickly head for cover or take flight, but the pond was so completely covered with bright green Duckweed that they hardly moved.

July 29 2012.  “I haven’t yet seen a bird that made me say ‘Wow!’ “  I explained to my young companion as we left for home after a full morning.  We had visited several expanses of oozy mud, something birders get pleasure from at certain times of the year.  He had a spotting ‘scope so was able to see a few oddities that I didn’t, like Bairds and Stilt Sandpipers.  I have never really fallen for telescopes as an aid to finding and seeing birds, too often the image seems to be somehow unsatisfying; so if I can’t get it with binoculars, well there’s always another day.  We tallied about 40 species in the morning including Greater and Lesser Yellowlegs, Caspian and Common Terns, Common Yellowthroat and Yellow Warblers, but really nothing that made me say Wow!  Until I got home that is, when perched and feeding happily on a faded sunflower head was this beautiful male American Goldfinch.  Wow!

July 28 2012.  I’ve previously noted that the seasons have changed, moving from spring-summer to high-summer. Singing birds are now pretty much silent; their priorities have changed from holding territory and feeding young to fattening up in anticipation of whatever the dark half of the year may hold.

Ferns in particular and trees and shrubs more generally are good reason for me to get out in the field and today I wanted to learn more about a large, low-lying woodland that is bisected by a wide, clean and slow moving creek.  No sooner had I found a shady spot for my car than a Great Blue Heron rose  heavily from a nearby drought diminished pond. To my surprise and pleasure, on checking the margins of this pond, I found a Northern Waterthrush searching for food among the debris .  It was happily moving along and bobbing like a small toy, its yellowish streaky breast and distinct eyebrow line were clear and plain to see in the full sun.  Seeing one like this was such a contrast to a month ago when, although I’d heard several waterthrushes, I could never quite find them in the dense woodlands they favour.  I knew right away that this would be my Bird of the Day; and it held up despite some nice encounters later with Eastern Wood Peewee, Savannah Sparrow, Red-eyed Vireo , Alder Flycatcher and Common Ravens .

We’ve had many weeks of drought so the wide creek was very low although its forest floodplain was still very soft.  Stepping from one seemingly firm spot to another I misjudged my footing and sunk deeply into the mud. In an achingly long struggle to remain vertical I could foresee myself toppling over and burying my camera, my binoculars and myself in the dark ooze.  Somehow I regained my balance and composure and then retraced my steps to reasonably solid ground. All of this came about because I was paying more attention to the ranks of scarlet Cardinal Flowers blooming along the creek bank.  Cardinal Flower is surely the most spectacular wild flower you’ll ever encounter, as I think this photo will attest.