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North Shore Trails, Arboretum, Royal Botanical Gardens’, Hamilton. ON. May 25, 2022.  I joined a co-birder friend early this morning to bird one of our transects. (funny how ‘bird’ the noun has become a verb: I bird, you bird, she birds, etc.) It was still and cool, Lyn wore gloves – but then she usually does. An industrial size lawnmower in the arboretum made enough racket that we changed our route, only to be drowned out by the passing of a 100-car-long freight train. But when the air finally cleared it was typical and good late-May birding with lots of activity and song. It was mostly birds determined to stay and breed rather than those on their way heading north.

This little corner of the world is a mix of hardwood forest, the arboretum with its scattered specimen trees, and farm fields all bisected and trisected by railway and power lines. It was the hardwood forests that gave us the best of the morning. Two species: Red-eyed Vireos and Scarlet Tanagers dominated the soundscape, both favour mature forests as summer breeding habitat. Red-eyed Vireos sing incessantly, their soothing, measured song is a recitation of two or three-note phrases often characterized as “Here I am. See me. Way up. Tree top.’  They carry this on all day, from sun up to sun down. Early in the last century naturalist in northern Ontario counted one individual bird’s songs over a full day, from sun up to sun down, and tallied about twenty-two thousand iterations!

The Scarlet Tanager is an almost mythical bird, one which, if glimpsed, seems eye-poppingly improbable. I’ve added a few photos, today’s bird is immediately above. We could hear several singing males in the treetops, we managed to spot one female and after a search found this gaudy male above us. Its preference for the forest canopy makes it difficult to spot but familiarity with its song improves your chances. I have come to like its rather coarse and raspy song if only because it gives the bird away, it led us to today’s and for that it was My Bird of the Day.

Our morning was rich in variety with fifty species including three from the world of flycatchers Eastern Kingbirds, Great–crested Flycatchers and an Eastern Phoebe, countless Brown-headed Cowbirds, a Common Raven, and the sight and sound of Rose-breasted Grosbeaks.

Desjardins canal, Dundas, ON. May 17 2022. A friend, Bob, took me to some of his hot-spots for some warbler catch-up time this morning. It was a perfect morning and he delivered some fine birds, Wood Thrush, Hooded Warbler, Veery and Mourning Warbler included. Any of those might have been my Bird of the Day had it not been for a call from him later to tell me of a Red–throated Loon just found on a nearby canal. I was close any way and headed over. Here it is, with thanks to photographer Doug Ward.

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It should be on its way from the Atlantic coast to its high-Arctic nesting grounds. But something’s amiss. There’s a tale unfolding that yesterday it had crash-landed onto a forest path, was picked up (unable to get airborne) and released into the canal (which gets much of its water from a sewage treatment plant.)

Loons are known to mistakenly put down on ice-covered roads, misjudging ice as water; but it beggars belief that a loon within sight of Lake Ontario and in its right mind would land on a forest path, unless, either it was demented or the path was waterlogged (it did rain yesterday). Once on land though loons can’t take flight, their legs aren’t made for lifting or walking let alone launching it airborne.  Apparently plans are afoot to recapture and remove it from the absurdity of this canal and release it onto nearby Lake Ontario. We can only hope.

Hidden Valley Rd, Burlington, ON May 5.  2022. Back in February I was asked by this city’s recreation department if I’d be interested and able to lead some birding walks in May. My first thought was, ‘Really? Are sure you want to do that? Instead I said, ‘Sure. Let’s try it.’ So we did. The first one was in mid-April and was a bit of a non-event, although the handful of participants liked it, particularly an obliging Red-tailed Hawk that circled low overhead. Our second one, in early May, promised more birds, but a nasty weather system made it touch and go for a while. Anyway, on May fifth, off we went, about six of us including a city-staffer.

We made a last-minute change of location on account of the weather and ended up walking a quiet, rural road.  It followed a small river valley and dead-ended at a forest, there was a scattering of modest homes, it was all rather idyllic; and there were birds to see. We saw and shared, to greater or lesser extents, twenty-two species including Red-bellied Woodpeckers, a Belted Kingfisher, many Blue Jays including a pair building a nest and a breath-taking Rose–breasted Grosbeak. There were several predictables too: Canada Geese, Mourning Doves and Song Sparrows.  For me it is rewarding to helping people get started: when you show them how to adjust the eye-pieces on their binoculars and how to get the bird in your binocular view without hunting helplessly.

Someone asked if there were any Baltimore Orioles and I had to tell my story: That several springs ago, a young birder friend asked when the orioles come back. The fifth of May I said emphatically. I was pretty sure of it because I’d been noting their near clockwork regularity over the years. She negotiated a bit,  laughed it off and let it go.  But then, on the 3^rd of May she called me to say that I was right – almost. It was the third and they were back! The moral of the story is that you can nearly set your watch by them.

And then there was one right above us!  A Baltimore Oriole high on a straggly bare branch. The fifth of May and there it was. We gasped at its brilliant orange. So spectacular. For some it was the first oriole they’d seen for years, and I was the magician. Well, no, I’m not, it happens every May on the 5^th or maybe the 3^rd.

Higbee Beach, New Jersey April 30.  2022. The thing about the Cape May area is there’s so much to see. I knew April was a bit too early for the wonder of warblers, but still there would be much to see, many places to go and that a day or so at the south end of the peninsula mustn’t be missed. This morning I made an early trip to Higbee Beach, a protected zone of fields, hardwoods and shoreline that you can count on for good birding.

On arrival, I was greeted by the punchy songs of White-eyed Vireos and Carolina Wrens who were trying to out-sing them; they are evenly matched. I heard my first Great Crested Flycatchers of the year and a little surprised at White-throated Sparrows everywhere, just like at home.

Another birder was staring into a particularly dense mass of trees, shrubs and grapes and listening attentively. He answered my implied question with head nod, “There’s a Swainson’s Warbler in there somewhere. It’s been reported here but I haven’t seen it.”  With that, something sang and he shrugged, “That’s it.” I admit to being a little flabbergasted, believing that Swainson’s Warblers are birds of central and southern states, and remembering the lengths that a companion and I went to find one in Kentucky three years ago. Well, I heard it, and knowing that it is a bird that takes great pains to remain unseen, I moved on.

A bright, boldly marked, little yellow bird popped up right in front of me, allowed me enough time to fumble with my camera and then vanished. My mind flipped through the possibilities and left me scratching my head, but minutes later it was showed up again: a Prairie Warbler. It was instantly My Bird of the Day: I have a handful of fond memories of Prairie Warblers, they are rather uncommon and much sought-after in my part of the world, certainly worth going out of my way for.

My day had just begun and I visited two or three other bird-rich places, still the Prairie Warbler stayed as number one for the day. It was unmoved by the rarity of the Swainson’s Warbler, the novelty of White-eyed Vireos or the first of the year Great Crested Flycatchers.

Nothing else held a candle to it: My day included the realisation that I was seeing and hearing Carolina Chickadees, not our common look-alike Black-capped Chickadees. I welcomed back Common Yellowthroats, Purple Martins, and Ruby–throated Hummingbirds and in the afternoon was captivated by Black Skimmers and Glossy Ibises; all great birds. That’s the thing about Cape May – all great birds.

Matts Landing, Heislerville, New Jersey. April  29. 2022. Although it takes nearly twelve hours of driving, a birding trip to the Cape May area has always been worth my while. I arrived this morning with the prospect of a full day of birding ahead, I was reasonably fresh and eager to get going having made an overnight stop just an hour or so north of Philadelphia.

It’s the geography of Cape May that makes it a birding hotspot.  The low-lying, well forested and marsh-girdled peninsula stands on the north side of the shortest crossing point of the wide Delaware River estuary.  It is on the Atlantic coastal route of spring migrants, millions of smaller forest and inland birds as well as shorebirds, all heading north.   It was already warmer than Ontario, perhaps three weeks ahead in unfolding spring.  It was bright and spring green although a touch cool especially exposed to the brisk west wind.

I made my start at Matt’s Landing, an out of the way, elevated, causeway with open waters to one side and enclosed ponds on the other.  It was a little after high tide which helped, because at low tide shorebirds disperse to feed on the millions of acres of exposed mudflats, while now, at high water they gather in large groups in peaceful refuges like these ponds.  The best spring-migrant days are yet to come but I was content with a fast-growing tally including many, easy to observe, Willets, Snowy Egrets, Semi-palmated Plovers, Dunlin, Sanderlings, Greater and Lesser Yellowlegs and, easily My Bird of the Day a Black-bellied Plover.

This single bird today (above) had me baffled for a while, I was in half a mind to call it an American Golden Plover.  Later with the luxury of internet in the comfort of a motel room, it became clear that it was a Black-bellied Plover. The two species look alike through the fall and winter months and my rather confusing bird was in mid-moult. It’s been some years since I last saw one and I remember now, from previous visits, that Black-bellied Plovers are abundant here in May; a week or two later and there would be no doubt. And, in any case, American Golden Plovers tend to migrate up the middle of the continent rather than along the Atlantic coast.

Later I followed a trail out over an expanse of salt-marsh. The wind rather took the fun out of it but birding was easy pickings: Ospreys on and around nest platforms, a flock of 14 Brant Geese, a Tri–colored Heron, many noisy Willets, a handful of Least Sandpipers and the sound (but not the sight) of Clapper Rails made it all very satisfying.

The weariness of my long drive faded.