Category: Uncategorized

Burlington ON. March 18 2022.  A pair of Mourning Doves has built what passes for a nest just outside my study window, it’s all rather enchanting. Doves are emblematic of peace of course and Mourning Doves sing (or coo if you prefer) quite musically and soothingly but they do raise questions in my mind about avian intelligence.

My questioning arises from the observation that a pair of Mourning Doves has nested within a meter or so of the very same spot every March for the last half-dozen years; and faithfully, every March for the last half-dozen years, the nest has been terminally raided by squirrels. I have no proof but I believe the doves just shrug, then go and try again somewhere else.  Somehow, we appear to maintain a steady population of Mourning Doves.

Can this be the same ill-fated couple? Or has one or other of them been replaced? And if so which one?  The male, the female,  – or maybe both? Somehow this hopeless and fated nest site has become a March ritual.

I think doves and pigeons are more generally seen as dopey rather than intelligent, as indolent creatures of underpasses and window ledges. But then, what about the many extraordinary stories of homing or racing pigeons who unerringly find their way home from hundreds of miles away. This astonishing ability has spurred much research into innate navigation in all sorts of vertebrates. Obviously, a different kind of intelligence.

But I can’t let this go without noting that Mourning Doves have been around for a very long time. I couldn’t find anything on their abundance before the arrival of Europeans but I think it’s a pretty safe bet that Mourning Doves have been around for several millions of years. The point is that, despite the apparent short-sightedness of a few individuals, the species still survives – indeed thrives.

Haldimand County, ON. March 14 2022.  In late January I wrote about Snow Buntings and the snow-blown field where we find them. We went back there today, knowing the Snow Buntings had probably left for their northern homes, but hoping to spot a reported group of Lapland Longspurs – but didn’t. The fields and scattered overgrown corners made for quite good birding nevertheless.

Bird of the Day, among a field of pretty serious contenders, was a young Northern Harrier. We spotted it first coming our way to our left, then it swept low across the road and carried on away over the brown, late-winter field. There is rarely time to get photos of sudden sightings like this but it all worked out and, against all odds, I got this one above.

And that’s one of the things about Northern Harriers: we usually see them moving fast and low, far away over open fields, hunting for rodent prey. I have taken countless hopeless photos of distant harriers, although when I looked through my photo archives I was pleasantly surprised by a few.

This male was photographed by me in midwinter 2011, he was understandably concerned about holding on to his meal despite my unnerving closeness.  I am certain it is a male because of the predominance of the beautiful slate blue on its back and wings, females are generally brown, but I’m a bit puzzled about his age. That mottled brown on his back suggests that it may be a youngish male but the bold lemon-yellow eye colour says adult. Well, maybe it doesn’t matter all that much.

And what about those serious contenders? We started paying close attention when we spotted a Rough-legged Hawk perched on the top of a large hedgerow tree. Like harriers they always seem to be just too far away for a satisfying study. But we were quickly distracted by a small group of Eastern Bluebirds. They are always endearing creatures and the males among this group seemed vividly blue, perhaps it’s the approach of spring. It is easy to see how they, like the European Robin, became symbolic of happy days in less complex times, and before the encroachment of urban sprawl.

Three American Kestrels, two of them an obviously mated pair, were special. For some reason (and there are plenty of candidate reasons) the American Kestrel population seems to be in a steep decline in this part of the world while their Merlin cousins are increasing in number. Across the Americas, everywhere from Patagonia to Alaska, kestrel populations seem to be secure.

Royal Botanical Gardens. Hendrie Valley, Burlington. ON. March 6, 2022.  This tipping point, the moment when the key turns in winter’s padlock, prompts a mini-surge of returning birds. They confirm that warmer days are on their way, it may be a bit stop and go, but it’s going to happen.

Today the sun shone like it meant it and temperatures spiked far above anything we’ve seen for three months, so I went birding to one of my favourite valleys.  Hardly was I out of my car when I heard a Song Sparrow singing – that’s a good sign.  It might have been in the valley all winter and managed to scrape by, but song is a sign of it having made it and it might have been my Bird of the Day except that…..

Down on the flood-plain, still dotted with pans of thick ice, a few male Red–winged Blackbirds were around, new arrivals, some of them taking a moment to perch on a cattail head and try out a bit of territorial song. I don’t think they were very committed though, they are very much the advance guard. In a week or two, thousands more will arrive and then staking out home turf will be a serious matter. But these few were definitely tipping point birds.

At a bend in the river, a handful of Hooded Mergansers were diving for fish, at least I assume fish but the waters were so silty-thick and murky with all the meltwater that I don’t know how they could possibly see to catch them. But they were surfacing with something edible, so fish – presumably? Alongside the mergansers was a sole male Wood Duck. He was a tipping point bird, like the Song Sparrow and Red-wings.

The valley bottom looks exhausted, flattened by the repeated battering by snow-turned-to-ice and from ice-dam flooding. Our familiar trails were either still thickly layered with ice from foot traffic compacting snow or, if clear of ice, were slippery and muddy. I questioned my wisdom in going there in the first place.

My Bird of the Day came around lunchtime. Back home, I had taken a moment to tidy a few of the uglier winter eyesores in my back yard when I heard a Killdeer calling overhead. The first Killdeer is always a heard-Killdeer, it’s as if they leave a contrail of di-deeee calls in their wake. They leave Ontario for the winter, today’s may have spent the last four months just a few latitude degrees south of us, somewhere where food can be reliably found along shorelines or open fields. I didn’t see it –  and it doesn’t matter, I was glad to hear it back.

Lake Erie. March 2, 2022.  It occurred to me yesterday that we should be seeing the first flights of Tundra Swans any day now. With that in mind, and since today started bright, warmer by a hair and with no threat of snow, I decided to head towards Lake Erie where the first swans sometimes gather and where other open-country, wintering specialties might be found.

I stopped for a break halfway and noted that the large river was thronged with anxious and vocal Canada Geese, Mallards, Goldeneyes and even a few Northern Pintail. Although the river was rimmed and sometimes blanketed with broken ice, I think the birds could all feel a change in the air. Wandering back to my car, I felt more than heard a chorus of faint calls, it sounded like Tundra Swans somewhere overhead. I spun around searching, almost losing my balance while staring up at the bright clouds and looking for a string of birds; and then found them, about twelve in a small V, twinkling white against the blue sky. They were talking amongst themselves in their soft and sighing ‘whoo – whoo – whoo’.

Every year I celebrate the moment when the first overhead Tundra Swans stop me dead in my tracks, they are always My Birds of the Day. Looking back, I see Tundra Swans posts in February or March of every year, try this link , this or this one for more on these celebratory days.

That first group of a dozen was soon followed by a much larger flock of about forty, they were all heading in the same direction as me, towards the lake.

An hour or so later I was gazing across the lake, the first lookout was a wildlife desert, nothing but an expanse of fractured ice in bands of blues, greys and whites, spectacular but forbidding. I followed the lakeshore west and eventually caught up with Tundra Swans congregating in groups with Canada Geese, at first a dozen or so, then twenty or more and finally scatterings of swans on the water. They were greeting long skeins of new arrivals, flying in low, and still strong after their non-stop night and day flight from the Atlantic coast.

The swans made my day but I was also happy to witness a low-flying adult Bald Eagle, a Rough–legged Hawk hovering the same way a Eurasian Kestrel (the ‘windhover’) would, and a scattering of Horned Larks.

It was a fairly full day with almost too much driving. The beauty of the Tundra Swans prompted me to start writing this post. But then, with the afternoon fading into evening, I took a short break and, sprawling on a small couch, I looked over my shoulder and outdoors to see yet another flight of Tundra Swans heading west. We ran outside as they passed over us, a long lop-sided V of perhaps seventy birds.

Every now and then I feel I need to explain my approach to birding, how, what and why it fires my interest. There are all sorts of ways to enjoy birding and I invariably say something like; For me it’s as much about the bird, the time and the place as anything else It doesn’t have to be a rarity.  And that’s how it was today: those bringers of spring, an early March morning, and right overhead.

Burlington Canal, Hamilton & Burlington, ON. February 14, 2022.  I spent less than an hour birding today, it was just too cold. Not cold on a scale that makes news, but minus-8 C. which is okay-ish in the sun, but not in shade.  Cold enough that my camera protested, not that it’s a particularly highly-strung piece of equipment, but it just stopped doing things it usually manages without complaint. With fingers hurting, or maybe numb – it was hard to tell,  I came home reassuring myself that it was okay to quit.

I had hoped to capture more duck-diving photos like those of my last post but the canal was pretty empty. I turned my attention instead to Peregrine Falcons, to a pair that has nested on the superstructure of one of the bridges for a few years.  They seem happy to stay around all winter, apparently the pigeon population is more than enough to keep them well fed.

It didn’t take long to find both male and female falcons. One, the male I suspect, was sitting quietly on the shelf they have always preferred as the nest site, while the other was a few steel girders below. Neither was particularly close to me so it meant coaxing my reluctant camera to do its icy best under the circumstances.

Here they are. The male (above) had turned to watch a low-flying plane and the female (below) was having thoughts about taking a flight of her own, but in the end decided against.

Not so long ago Peregrine Falcons were a rarity and on the edge of extinction in North America. But mankind sometimes does the right thing and banning DDT was one of them, it led to a rebound in their population; they’re much commoner now. I still love to see them, particularly on a purposeful chase as they make light work of the closest thing to avian sub-sonic flight. Peregrine Falcons make My Bird of the Day almost any day, but especially on this cold one.