Category: Uncategorized

July 6, 2012.  With the promise of a scorching hot day I decided to get out early and check a few promising birding hotspots. My first stop was a storm-water pond; a man-made lake that collects, holds and ultimately slowly releases the sudden run-off from rainstorms and snowmelt.  Some of these ponds have become quite interesting gathering spots for waterfowl and shorebirds and a secure nesting site for ducks.

At this first stop a female Mallard was shepherding a flotilla of 8 tiny and newly hatched ducklings across the open water. She was one of twenty or so Mallards but appeared to be the only one working.  Two nervously bobbing Lesser Yellowlegs stood watching the Mallards, several anxious sounding Spotted Sandpipers and a handful of Black-crowned Night Herons stalking the weedy edges.

Later I stopped at a cliff-lined stretch of Lake Ontario where some near-shore protection work has created a tranquil embayment.  In May a pair of Red-necked Grebes settled here and took advantage of a thoughtfully placed and anchored tire to build their nest, and I’ve watched them on and off through courtship and incubation.

Today I was pleased to see them with two young; this family group was without question Bird of the Day. The grayish downy-bodied chicks float wide and flat like a barge and have intriguingly marked heads with broad longitudinal zebra stripes.  I think it was the female who I watched actively diving, coming up with small fish and feeding them gently to her enthusiastic young. The male meanwhile floated rather passively, probably saving his energy for some imagined chore later in the day; cutting the lawn or something like that.

These Red-necked Grebes are part of a very localized Lake Ontario breeding population, a group that is strikingly disjunct from the more widespread distribution that extends from the westerly limit of Lake Superior across the prairies to the Pacific coast.

The sheltered bay was also buzzing with hundreds of chittering Bank Swallows, some still attending nests dug into the sandy cliff face, but most just seemed to be milling around, feeding, socializing and using this summer day as fatten-up time.  Groups gathered on large rocks chirping and twittering, and then as if someone yelled Fire!, they all took off in a frenzy, swept around the bay only to regroup again and noisily share the excitement of the moment.

July 3, 2012.  I came across a large flock of Cedar Waxwings this morning.   There must have been dozens of them all around me, they were hardly stopping still for a moment, flitting and feeding on insects or spiders found in the lower shrub layer of a mature hardwood forest.  Few birds are as elegant as the Cedar Waxwing: their velvety cinnamon-grey plumage, a precise black mask, an official-looking yellow tail band and for some of them scarlet waxen wing spots, all make this one of our nattiest dressers.

I was puzzled by a couple of things though.

It seemed unusual for waxwings to be feeding so happily on insects, I’d always viewed them as eaters of tree fruit like rose hips, cedar berries and crab apples. Roving flocks of waxwings wander around all fall and winter stripping trees bare of their berry and seed crops, then moving on in fast-moving but straggly flocks to the next opportunity.  A bit of easy research confirmed that insects do indeed form a staple part of their spring and summer diet, it makes sense because sooner or later last year’s fruit crop will run out.  Nothing wrong with an omnivorous diet and it probably helps that a carnivorous component is digested quickly; a short route to energy.

I remain a little baffled that I met up with a flock in this the start of the Cedar Waxwing’s high summer breeding season. I would have expected them to break up into breeding pairs.  Waxwings breed later than most other songbirds, it places them at the nutritional advantage of having an abundant supply of summer’s new seeds and berries available just when they’re feeding their brood.  This was a flock of mature males and females, so perhaps it’s a little early yet. I’ll tuck this little puzzler away and one day it will all make sense.

The purpose of today’s walk was to see if there were any early southbound shorebird migrants to be found on some nearby mudflats.  There weren’t.  The natural world gave the appearance of being at peace with itself, although in reality it probably wasn’t – and never is.  With young-of-the-year to be fed and defended, one mother’s young is another creature’s meal ticket; all the way up the food chain.  A Great Blue Heron stalked around for a while, then flew away heavily, perhaps bored. Three or four Killdeer skittered around and looked anxious; but then they always do, and a huddle of moulting Mallards pulled themselves back into the cattail margins.  Most of the male Mallards are now in ‘eclipse’ plumage, an intermediate stage when they become look-alikes to the all-brown females, before returning to full splendour in October.

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.