is it a Little Egret?

Here are photographs of yesterday's plumed egret taken in the afternoon by Luke Ormond from the foot of Weesuck Avenue -- almost directly opposite where the bird was seen by me in the morning. I would say that it is almost certainly the same bird. But is it a Little Egret? Angus Wilson (and other sources) point out that the bare skin around the eyes and on the lores of Little Egrets are usually blue-gray while on this bird, the skin appears yellowish. Score one for Snowy Egret. However, in breeding plumage Little Egrets, the skin changes color and I believe that birds with yellowish skin (for reasons of geography or otherwise) are not so uncommon. Apparently Snowy Egrets can sometimes show longer plumes but these are usually mixed in with typically shaggy nuptial plumes (I very much doubt that this bird's shaggy plumes were invisible because they were wet and matted down). Also, I have the distinct impression that this bird has a lighter color on the base of its lower mandible which, in my opinion, would score a point for Little Egret. See the second picture below where the bill also looks "dagger-like" to me. I thought the bird looked slightly larger than a typical Snowy and the bill seemed broad at the base (admittedly very subjective impressions with now undoubted Snowy in the neighborhood for comparison).

Just to make things more confusing, Little Egrets have a very wide range and can show differences over that range. Furthermore, hybrids are a possibility between two closely related species. And, just to confuse things even more, there are other white egrets in a wide-ranging superspecies, some of which -- notably the Reef [or Western Reef] Egret -- also have the plume.

Eric Salzman

Eric Salzman

PO Box 775

East Quogue NY 11942

631 653-5236

es@ericsalzman.com

www.ericsalzman.com

a remarkable sighting

My regular morning round takes me onto the dock that juts out into Weesuck Creek just beyond the outflow from our marsh and pond. From here, there is a clear view of the creek's west shoreline up to Aldrich Boatyard. As I was scanning the area, my eye caught a Snowy Egret in the mud (it was dead low tide) just below the bulkhead at the end of Weeksuck Avenue working its way on the flat toward the boatyard. The bird had two (maybe three) long streaming plumes coming down from the back of its head to its back. That got my attention. Snowy Egrets do not have long white plumes.

I quickly started to head over there for a closer look but, almost immediately, the bird took off. I watched it fly out and the, swinging past the dock, down the creek. It was a good-sized bird (bigger than the average Snowy) with a good-sized thick black bill that had a lot of yellow at its base continuing yellow onto the lores. In flight, in bright sunshire, I could see its jet black legs, brightly contrasting yellow feet and, yes, streaming white plumes. To repeat, Snowy Egrets do not have long white plumes. LITTLE EGRETS have long white plumes. As I watched, it flew out to the mouth of the creek and around the end of Pine Neck.

This is the second time I have seen a LITTLE EGRET (Egretta garzetta) here. The first time was on April 25, 1999 when a bird appeared briefly on our marsh (another one was seen on the same day in Delaware). Little Egret is widespread in Europe, Africa and Asia and I have seen it in often in Europe (and also Africa). This bird is NOT on the official New York list. The bird I saw in 1999 was not photographed and I was the only one to see it and that's not considered good enough to add a new bird to the state list.

Doubters of the 1999 bird insisted that Snowy Egrets can sometimes have the long plumes. Well, maybe. Such birds are probably Little/Snowy hybrids anyway. Also, as the doubters did not point out, Reef Heron is also a possibility; the three form a superspecies. Of course, these possibilities cannot be entirely ruled out. It is highly likely that many (accepted) rare bird sightings involve hybrids as the introgression of hybrid genes does not always produce visible evidence. If you could get a feather you could, I suppose, do DNA analysis. How much introgression do you need before the bird stops being a species and starts being a hybrid?

In any case, the likelihood that the bird is a Little Egret is probably at least as good as its being a hybrid, let alone a Reef Heron! All the East Coast states have accepted records of Little Egret which has colonized Barbados and occurs regularly from South America to Canada (whether hybrids or pure Egretta garzetta is not known in most cases)! Why not New York State?

At any rate, I have a bird on my local list which is not on the New York State list -- and now twice!

Eric Salzman

birdsong

As many readers of this blog will know, I'm a composer and have a special interest in birdsong. A lot of my birdwatching is, in fact bird listening. Sometimes when I am leading a walk, I will say "There's a such-and-so" and everyone will say "Where? Where?" and I have to confess that I've just heard, not seen, the bird. For me, a heard bird can be as good as a seen bird and an unusual song very often gives me the clue that something interesting is in the neighborhood.

There is a whole tradition of composers -- from Claude Jannequin in the 16th century to Beethoven in the 19th and Olivier Messiaen in the 20th century -- who have incorporated bird song into their music. I am often asked if I have ever done the same. I did use bird songs -- highly transformed -- in a multi-media piece called "Can Man Survive?" which I made for the centenary of the Museum of Natural History years ago (it was on display for some five years!). Currently, I am working on a piece of music which is based, not so much on bird song per se, but on the various inerpreations that humans have put on bird song. My inspiration for this is a wonderful book entitled "Wild Birds and Their Music" by F. Schyler Mathews from the turn of another century (.Mathews not only transcribed bird song into Western musical notation, he even harmonized the songs in the style of Italian opera, Gilbert & Sullivan or Victorian parlor music!).

My subject for today is, however, a very different sort of book about bird song. I have been reading Donald Kroodsma's "Singing Life of Birds". Anyone interested in bird song should get this book which is a remarkable combination of scientific evolutionary biology and very personal and poetic nature writing. Kroodsma, who is emeritus professor at the University of Massachusetts and a fellow at the Cornell Lab or Ornithology, is perhaps the most eminent authority on birdsong in the world today but he is far from a dry academician and, as this book amply demonstrates, he has never lost his enthusiasm for his subjects: the birds and their music. The book comes with a CD of aural illustrations and ample explanations of what you are hearing.

Kroodsma is a modern-day King Solomon; when the birds vocalize, he understands what they mean! There are lots of things to learn here. For example, flycatcher songs are genetically imprinted and don't have to be learned. One result of this is that when two populations of a flycatcher have different songs, they are probably two different species -- even if they look alike (the classic examples are the Willow and Alder Flycatchers). But with most of the true songbirds (the so-called oscines), the songs have to be learned and the result is that different populations have different dialects and, only when the songs differ so greatly as to prevent interbreeding, does the process of species separation begin (as with the eastern and western forms of the Marsh Wren which, the author implies, may well be separate species).

Kroodsma even discusses such seemingly arcane matters as songbirds without a song. Well, not so arcane; it turns out that this includes all the crows and jays, birds that have a big ability to communicate with an amazing variety of calls (I'm particularly fond of the Blue Jay's 'rusty gate' call which I heard repeatedly this morning). Kroodma was also one of the discoverers of the 'world's best singer', defined as the bird with the most songs. Wanna guess? No, not a Nightingale, not a Mockingbird, not even a thrush. It's a Brown Thrasher; each individual singer has between 3,000 and 4,000 distinct songs! No other singer (at least discovered so far) even comes close.

Well, there's a lot more. He analyzes aerial singers (Woodcock), tireless singers (Whip-poor-will, Red-eyed Vireo) and beautiful singers (Bachman's Sparrow, Wood & Hermit Thrush). As you can see, most of these birds can be found -- and heard -- on Long Island. On July 4th (yes, July 4th), I'm doing a birdsong walk for South Fork Natural History Society (SOFO) at East Hampton's Grace Estate. Although it's late in the singing season, I find that many birds have a strong if brief recurrence of song after breeding and that's usually in the first week or so of July. If you're interested call SOFO at (631) 537-9735 for details and reservations.

Eric Salzman

notes

A few notes and observations:

The Box Turtle that likes to sit in the pond was there again this morning (I think it's always the same individual). He/she/it goes onto the mud at low tide and waits for the tide to come up. As the water comes in, the turtle is covered and then actually floats with feet and neck outstretched so that only the nostrils and the top of its upper carapace are above water. An odd sight!

Among the birds that have started singing or calling in the past few days are the Catbirds which, as if in some sort of secret agreement, all started to vocalize at once yesterday or the day before after a week or two of silence. One (but not both) of the Common Yellowthroats has started singing again a little back from the marsh edge (it might be a different bird on a slightly different territory from the previous incumbents). Pine Warbler has picked up its steady, strong trilling, also in the past few days. Another bird that has stopped and started again (or disappeared and then reappeared) is the Great Crested Flycatcher. And, finally, to add to the list, Blue Jays have started calling again; Blue Jays don't really sing but, as everyone knows, they are very vocal, at least out of nesting season. In most cases, the non-singing period occurs when birds have young in the nest and don't want to call attention to themselves or the nest (in many cases, the males help feed the young). Blue Jays, for example, will slip in and out of the nest or the nest area in total silence!

Among the new floral arrivals: Morning Glories and Black-eyed Susans, a 'near-native' which has become naturalized here.

In the insect world, Seaside Dragonlets (love that name) have appeared on the salt marshes and ladybugs -- of several possible species -- are all over the marsh elder. This latter plant -- Iva fructescens, the dominant shrub at the edge of the marsh -- is infested with crowds of small, dark insects (aphids or some kind of mites). The ladybugs are feeding on the mites and providing some striking notes of color dotted all through the marsh edge. They are mainly orange and red although there are, if I am not mistaken, some (or some other similar insect feeding on the mites) which are plain dark brown.

Eric Salzman

young crows

Young crows are all over the place. Their constant honking calls are the background music for the day's activities along with the adults' screaming protests when they think that danger is near (for example, when an obvious Crow Murderer like myself tries to walk through the woods). The calls of the young crows are said to resemble those of the Fish Crows but I generally find them easy to tell apart. The Fish Crows, which I usually hear flying overhead, have a distinctive nasal note, usually doubled in a very recognizable rhythm (oddly enough, in these parts, Fish Crows nest upland, away from the ocean and South Shore bays to which they occasionally commute).

As to young Common Crows, there were no less than six of them in front of the house yesterday afternoon, sun-bathing, picking at insects in the grass and leaf litter, squabbling among themselves, and perhaps waiting for mom and dad to come by with something to eat. You could tell they were young birds by their behavior but also by some subtle features of their appearance, notably the dull color of the head feathers and the marked 'gape' at the base of the bill. Crows lay three to six eggs so it is conceivable that these were siblings from a single nest. Or do young crows from different families gather together in social groups? Could be. Crows are social animals and it would be logical for them to start to get socialized at an early age.

Dianne Taggart points out that my column on vireos seemed to imply that vireos don't nest on Long Island. But they are, of course, common breeders in oak and mixed woods where their songs can be heard well into the summer and into the heat of day when other birds are silent. When I wrote that I have never found them breeding 'down here', I only meant to refer to our place in East Quogue. We seem to have the right habitat so I keep hoping they will breed in our yard. Perhaps one day they will.

Eric Salzman

vireos

A Red-eyed Vireo was singing and feeding in the oaks on the north (or north east) side of the property this morning. This is a common woodland bird (in deciduous woods not pine dominated areas) but, as I've mentioned before, it never seems to succeed in nesting down here.

Vireos are birds known to and sought out by birdwatchers but are otherwise obscure and little-known to just folks, probably because they are plain looking and tend to hang out and feed in the tops of trees as they move quietly in and out of the leaves. This is a rare example of a common bird without a truly common name and, as a result, it is known by its scientific name. Vireo means "I am green" and green (or greenish-olive) is what they are with only an eye stripe (white bordered with black) and a dark crown to give it away. The eye is indeed red but rarely very easy to see. Fortunately, vireos are persistent singers even in hot weather when other birds shut up. I recently spent a week in Jamaica where a close relative -- the Black-whiskered Vireo -- may well be the most common bird in the country. I heard it singing everywhere but, even though I knew the song and knew where to look, I was able to get a couple of brief glimpses.

Spotting the Red-eyed Vireo is not quite as difficult (our foliage is not as dense as the Jamaican rain forest) but, even so, the best way to find it is to recognize the song: a series of short separated phrases that sound like a question-and-answer session: "Here I am. Where are you? Over here. Are you there? Very good. Can you see? Lovely day. Where am I?" Etc. Look for movement in the leaves from the spot where the song seems to be coming from.

There are other vireos on Long Island. The Warbling Vireo is, if anything, even plainer than the Red-eyed and even more difficult to spot; it is currently making a comeback as a nester on Long Island after virtually disappearing for many years. These birds are also persistent singers and best located by recognizing their song. Last year Eileen Schwinn and myself found a bird singing on its nest, presumably an indication of how well camouflaged the bird is!

The White-eyed Vireo, a bird of dense, low, moist thickets, is a little more striking but quite shy and rather uncommon. Another species, Yellow-throated Vireo, sporadically appears in the spring and many occasionally breed (but there is very little evidence). Blue-headed and Philadelphia Vireos are found only in migration. the former fairly common, the latter quite rare and a birdwatcher's prize. I once found a Bell's Vireo out on Dune Road, a stray from the midwest and a real prize.

But the most common of the LI vireos is still the Red-eye and it is one of a number of local birds -- Downy Woodpecker, Great Crested Flycatcher, Tufted Titmouse, Pine Warbler -- that now turn up regularly on the place as potential breeding species in our maturing pine-and-oak woods.

Eric Salzman

flowers

Dune Road has an extraordinary burst of flowers right now. The best spot is the road next to the Ponquogue bridge (it goes to the old Ponquogue bridge or causeway, the two approaches of which have been retained as a fishing dock, boat put-in and town park). This short road is lined with prickly pear cactus in full, spectacular bloom (our own small stands of pickley pear are long gone, shaded out by the encroachment of the woods). Many do not realize that this species (Opuntia humosa) is native (it does all the way up the East Coast to Cape Cod). It is common on sandy soils in open areas.

Also on this stretch: coreopsis (nobody uses the old name of 'tickseed' any more) and St. John's-wort. There are many other flowers both here and up and down Dune Road in bloom right now including beach-pea, Virginia rose (the native wild rose), rambler and rugosa roses, hawkweeds, and various escapes such as knapweed, sundrops, (ox-eye) daisy, daisy fleabane, day lily, etc. Also the catalpa trees and yuccas are in full bloom or just past, making a grand show on the roads and back lanes of Quogue, East Quogue and elsewhere on the East End. Both of these belong to a category that can be called 'near-natives'; i.e. they are native just to the south and/or west of our area but have flourished here. Other examples are the widespread honey locusts and our prehistoric-looking Big-leaf Magnolia.

Some notable natives that have a foothold on our place are flowering dogwood (Cornus florida), American holly (Ilex opaca) and inkberry (Ilex glabra). One of the dogwoods was growing and flowering on a right of way that we had to enlarge when we renovated the house a number of years (to let in the larger pickups and small trucks needed by the contractor). I marked the tree carefully and gave instructions to said contractor not to touch it so of course it was the first tree that he cut down when he widened the roadway. Fortunately, it sprang back from the roots but it has not, to date, reflowered.

Eric Salzman

willets, songbird song and a butterfly correcdtion

I have yet to figure out what's going on in the Wonderful World of Willets. This morning a pair of Willets came barreling across the marsh flying in what looked like formation. As they swooped across the spartina a third Willet popped up from the grass and moved in behind them. Was he following them or chasing them? The two formation flyers continued over the pond and then detoured over the creek and across while the following flyer landed in the scraggly cedar on the pond edge.

Most of the resident birds have stopped singing or cut back noticeably. The Common Yellowthroats, the most persistent singers of all, have virtually shut down. Ditto the Baltimore Oriole. Even the N Cardinal is mostly silent. On the other hand, the Carolina Wren, after a few days of relative quiet, has started in again. Loud singers at this stage of the season may be unmated wandering males, looking for love. I even heard what I believe was a young wren practicing an amazing collection of songs -- soft, rhythmic, melodic, insistent, some sounding like the traditional Carolina Wren, some so completely different that I wasn't sure who was singing. Normally the Caroline Wren sings a very sterotypced song and switches songs only once in while. This bird was composing a whole medley of song, only occasionally recognizable as Caroline Wren and wandering off into strange musical territory. I've heard the Carolina Wren called the 'mocking wren' and perhaps this kind of practice song (?) explains why.

Yesterday, I wrote about a butterfly that I called the Pipevine Swallowtail. This was a very strange lapse. As Jim Ash points out, it must have been a Spicebush Swallowtail. This is the local woodland butterfly that feeds on sassafras and it is, I protest, what I really meant to write.

Eric Salzman

helping out with a breeding bird census

I went with Eileen Schwinn yesterday to help with the ELIAS Breeding Bird Count. Our territory was in the pine barrens on both sides of Route 51 (the Moriches/Riverhead Road) including the Bald Hill Trail and Hunters Garden. The common birds of the pine barrens -- Ovenbird, Pine Warbler, Black-capped Chickadee, Chipping Sparrow, Eastern Towhee -- were active and vocal. Both the Bald Hill Trail and Hunters Garden go into richer areas with water at or near the surface and a typically dense vegetation of pine barrens wetland plants. Among the birds found here -- all almost certainly nesting -- were Veery (with its haunting song), Hairy Woodpecker (a noisy pair), Red-eyed Vireo, Tufted Titmouse, Eastern Wood-pewee, American Robin, Baltimore Oriole, Gray Catbird, Common Yellowthroat. A couple of serious misses: Scarlet Tanager and Wood Thrush (the latter quite scarce his year).

Also seen were the Pipevine Swallowtail (a woodland butterfly that uses the locally common sassafras tree as the food source for its caterpillars) and the Common Whitetail, a striking 'skimmer' with a chalk-white body that positively gleams in the dark forest understory. These dragonflies patrol territory over the mud puddles in the woods and show off their striking biplane-style wings (transparent with a dark band across the middle)

Best of all was a singing Hermit Thrush in the woods on the other side of Route 51. This is not an uncommon bird in migration and winter but it is not so easy to find and hear in singing season. The ethereal music of this bird has been celebrated by various writers, most notably that great Long Island poet, Walt Whitman. The poet described it and its habitat beautifully and accurately in "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd" where it sings the elegy for the martyred President Lincoln. It is perhaps the most inspiring bird song on Long Island or even in North America and it is most impressive in its natural woodland setting. We only heard it for a few moments but long enough to reassure ourselves that this magical bird was still with us.

Eric Salzman

summer solstice

Summer solstice. The last flowers of spring (arrowhead viburnum, black cherry, honeysuckle. locust) are gone and the flowers of summer are starting to arrive (Virginia and rambler roses, loosestrife, catalpa trees in full display). Bird song is much reduced. I saw my first female Common Yellowthroat of the year and both of our male Yellowthroats are now singing much more sporadically -- indicating, no doubt, that the eggs are hatched. A male Baltimore Oriole was singing and calling furiously, after a week or two of silence -- in this case, because he was trying to attack and chase a couple of sinister-looking crows; there is almost certainly an oriole nest in the area perhaps with young ready to fledge. The warm weather has also bought out the Box Turtles which have been exceptionally active. There is at least one turtle that likes to take mud baths in the pond at low tide; I have seen it -- presumably the same animal -- on several occasions. Some mornings there are up to five different Box Turtles active in widely scattered locales. Muskrats are active in the pond (our muskrats do not make lodges but burrow into the highish west bank of the pond). And cottontail rabbits have reappeared in a couple of places (due to natural cycles and/or the reversion of open meadow to woodland, the once-common rabbits have been drastically reduced in numbers). And, of course, there are inevitable squirrels and raccoons.

I forgot to mention a couple of things in yesterday's account of the Linnaean trip. One was the fact that Dune Road was mostly covered in sea fog which did not make for great visibility -- even so we counted close to 60 species (57 or 58 in my count) although relatively few individuals of each. But I also forgot to mention one exceptional and well-observed event -- observed out the car window! -- which took place in one of the muddy ditches right along side the road. A strange non-stop sound, coming from the marsh by the road, attracted our attention and caused us to pull over. Two Willets were standing in the ditch a few feet away, ignoring us completely. One was facing the other and chittering away, a continuous, mesmerizing roll-out of sound. The other Willet was looking away but standing stock still, clearly transfixed, mesmerized. Something was about to happen and happen it did. The chittering bird edged towards the other ever so slowly, carefully, and then jumped on her back (it was, at this point, clearly him and her). The act was consummated in a matter of seconds with a quick sudden twitching and aligning of rear ends. Off he jumped back into the mud as, with any luck, yet another brood of Willets began to take shape. It's late in the season but apparently not too late for those prolific Willets!

Eric Salzman

Linnaean

I've been doing walks for the Linnaean Society (the second oldest natural history society in the US' it meets at the Museum of Natural History in NYC) for many years now. Today's walk (really a drive) followed a familiar pattern, starting at the Shinnecock Inlet, proceeding west along Dune Road all the way to Pike's Beach (just a bit short of Cupsogue and Moriches Inlet) with a windup on the periphery of Westhampton or Gabreski or Suffolk County Airport.

There were a few laggard Gannets at Shinnecock as well as a single Common Eider (a bird that has increased in recent years but was still a surprise to see in June). On the Shinnecock marshes, we had good views of several Saltmarsh and Seaside Sparrows as well as pairs of American Oystercatchers, Boat-tailed Grackles and a single Clapper Rail hustling along the muddy flat at the edge of the marsh green. Along Dune Road and some of the side pullouts there were Willets galore, several Brown Thrashers, lots of Barn Swallows, a few Tree Swallows and at least one Bank Swallow. From the boardwalk of the little Quogue Refuge on Dune Road: Willow Flycatcher, Common Yellowthroat, Yellow Warbler, Eastern Towhee and, once again, the two marsh sparrows: Saltmarsh and Seaside. Pike's Beach, the scene of thousands of migrating shorebirds not very long ago, was almost empty; we only had the local breeders: a half a dozen Piping Plovers, a few Common and Least Terns (the latter in very short supply this year), a couple of Black Skimmers (seen only by a couple of participants), some gulls including a couple of Laughing Gulls, a handful of Semipalmated Sandpipers, many Willets and a few Oystercatchers. Egrets were everywhere along with the ultracommon Red-winged Blackbirds and Common Grackles. And, of course, an Osprey or two.

The most notable sighting at the airport was a group of seven Turkey Vultures. This did not impress the Linnaean crowd but it impresses me. Let me remind everyone that Turkey Vulture 'invaded' Long island a couple of years ago and there is, to my knowledge, just a single recorded Turkey Vulture nesting on Long Island. Before the past two years, TVs were an uncommon migrant and were never seen in the summer months!

Vesper Sparrows made their by-now usual appearance on the airport fence but were seen with difficulty by most of the group; they were well seen before flushing only by the first car or two in the procession working along the north peripheral road of the airport. Only a few other birds seen or heard in this area: House Wren, Chipping Sparrow, N. Mockingbird, Am Robin and a distant singing E. Meadowlark.

Eric Salzman

Pond & Marsh

Yesterday morning, as I was standing on the dock just beyond the outlet of our pond when a female Mallard emerged cruising with her six ducklings out of the pond and into Weesuck Creek. How cute, I thought in spite of myself. Mallards are, at best, only near-natives, and they have largely replaced the native Black Duck as our common local breeding duck; in any case, I try not to get too sentimental about local wildlife but it's hard to help it with baby ducklings. Then, in the late afternoon, as I walked down to the pond, Mama Mallard appeared all by herself, swimming in the tidal stream coming out of the marsh and making soft, urgent noises. Where are the ducklings? A rustling in the vegetation on the opposite bank gave them away. Sure enough, after working their way up along the bank under cover, they popped out into the pond just behind mama -- first one, then two, then.... nobody! Just two little ducklings swimming after their mother up the pond and out the outlet into the wider creek. What happened to the other four? We don't have Snapping Turtles anymore (the pond is too salty and tidal for them nowadays) and there are no raptors around to my knowledge. My immediate suspicions fell on the crows. There were two young crows hanging around the pond and at least one noisy adult. Bloody blaggart crows! Catching and eating cute little ducklings! Yeah, I know, they have to live too! Nature, red it tooth and claw, doesn't follow human morality and isn't always pretty or cute.

Well, my dark suspicions were ill-founded. This morning, Mother Mallard and her brood of six were right in place in the pond and Momma Mallard and her two darling ducklings were in the open water area in the middle of the marsh. There were two different broods. Once again, Momma Mallard show that she was willing to abandon her little darlings for a moment to ensure their safety. Even before I reached the open water area, she had flown up and circled around, checking me out before she returned to the open puddle to urge her chicks to swim and run to safety behind the sprouting tufts of spartina.

There were no less than three Willets out this morning, two of them perched on the floating dock that floated into the marsh on a storm tide this winter; the other was on the scraggly cedar bv the pond. The Tree and Bank Swallows that I have seen swooping around the marsh this spring have not been in evidence in the past few days but the Purple Martins and Barn Swallows were out hunting the no-see-ems that were merging in good numbers on this warm, humid, sunny and dewy near-summer morning. There was also a Saltmarsh Sparrow perched in the grass and showing his flat head and orangey face. This species -- as its name suggests, it is virtually confined to saltmarshes -- is common on the outer marshes and reasonably regular on our wetlands but often hard to see, especially now that the spartina alterniflora is really beginning to cover the marsh with a tall carpet of green.

Eric Salzman

Shells on the dock, Purple Martin song

There is a picturesque shaded, mossy path on the north (or northeast) side of the property that leads to a wooden dock jutting out into Weesuck Creek. Almost every day this dock is littered with crab shells (Blue Claw and Spider Crabs) and shell shells (mostly Ribbed Mussels with an occasional Quahog Clam). We also have mussel shells scattered on the marsh grasses and on our 'front lawn', sometimes quite close to the house. Dopped by gulls? Somebody is catching these delicacies, carrying them to the dock (or wherever) and cracking them open to get at the delicious meat inside (Ribbed Mussels are, in spite of what many books say, quite edible; we used to eat them all the time in cookouts). But who are the artful, if messy diners? For a long time, I thought it was the gulls who hang out on on local docks and shores and whose powerful beaks are certainly strong enough to open shellfish and crustaceans. But more recently I have also noticed blobs of mud on the dock and some fairly neat looking pellets. Owls are famous for extruding pellets and hawks sometimes do the same. But raptor pellets are full of the undigested bones and these pellets appears to be made mostly out of grass and seeds. Mud and pellets made of grass and seeds? The culprits -- in most, if not all, these cases -- must be raccoons.

Several people have pointed out to me that the early morning Purple Martin vocalizing that I wrote up a few days ago is the famous Purple Martin 'dawn song' meant to alert other Purple Martins -- scouts as they are usually called -- to the presence of the colony and lure them in to join. This is the song that is played in recorded form on loudspeakers by Purple Martin enthusiasts when they try to set up a colony; indeed, it was used to help set up this very colony a few years ago. It fooled me at the time into thinking there were real Purple Martins there and clearly it fooled the Purple Martins as well since they arrived shortly and have been there ever since. All this makes sense except that the dawn song has been sounding over the house (a good distance from the colony) and in the middle of June (when there are surely very few Purple Martin scouts around looking for a good spot to settle down). The probable answer is that the song -- and I do regard it as a song -- is given in the air on a wide circular flight, thus advertising the whole area (and not just the actual housing site) as martin territory. Most references to the Purple Martin dawn song state that it occurs during nest building and that its primary purpose is to attract other Purple Martins to the colony. But is this true? It certainly attracts other martins (females perhaps?) but I have yet to find any authoritative scientific study on this. I went looking in the two recent books of Donald Kroodsma (the best general books I know on birdsong) but without finding anything. I suspect that, like other bird songs, the dawnsong will turn out to belong to a male or males advertising themselves and their territory in the classic song bird style although perhaps in a slightly unusual context. But how exactly does it work? Do the males take turns? Or is there a lead alpha male who does all the singing? Does being the vocal lead (the Tony Martin or Dean Martin of the colony) mean he's the one who gets the girls? Fathers the children -- or most of them? Purple Martins are not exactly obscure birds; somewhere there must be studies that illuminate their musical, social and sexual habits!

Eric Salzman

sunrise: before & after

I was awake before sunrise this morning -- it must have been about 4 or 4:30 am. The noise of squabbling raccoons and the reaction of our barking dog woke me up and there was just enough light to suggest that dawn was not so far off. As I lay in bed with the window open, I could hear the first bird songs of the day. The Cardinal was number 1, shortly followed by a distant Robin and a persistent Pine Warbler, a bird that seems to have regained its voice in the past few days (it was very vocal early in the spring but has been silent for the past week or so). Then, somewhat to my surprise, there was the loud and unmistakable chirping of a Purple Martin overhead. Do martins really fly and sing (for surely their elaborate chirping is a kind of song) in the pre-dawn darkness? I've heard this before at this magical hour out the bedroom window; in fact, I am under the impression that it happens every morning. We are far enough away from the colony so that the singing bird or birds has had to make a dedicated flight to come overhead. Might this be some kind of courtship or territorial display? In the weak light of the pre-dawn? When I go down to the pond after breakfast -- usually a half an hour to an hour after sunrise -- it's the Barn Swallows that are active over the marsh while the Martins just seem to be waking up!

I dozed off again and, when I awoke, the sun was up. A quick trip down to the pond revealed that, across the marsh martins were flying but just from the martin houses up into the neighboring trees. These looked like young birds on their first flights, flying up just far and high enough to land on the treetops. It's early for a neotropical migrant that returns at the end of April but maybe time enough for the young to hatch out, grow up and learn how to fly. And not just one or two but perhaps a dozen birds.

Eric Salzman

a raccoon cat fight

Early this morning, I was coming out of the head of the marsh on the 'official' trail through the woods when a strange whimpering sound attracted my attention. As I came out onto the Randall Lane right-of-way (Randall Lane is U-shaped dirt road off Foster Crossing and we have right-of-ways at both ends), the whimpering increased in intensity and then exploded into a series of rather spectular growls and snarls, all coming from a densely foliated, vine-covered tree just to the left. The whole top of the tree and all the vines were shaking but nothing was visible until a medium-sized raccoon -- it appeared to be the smallish young raccoon that was in the 'Rocky' pitch pine yesterday -- emerged, moving carefully through the canopy foliage. This was not a love feast and this fellow must have been the loser in a territorial scrap. Whatever the altercation, it ended when son of Son of Rocky cautiously backed off. No sign of the winner whose lofty perch, now undisturbed, was entirely hidden by the vines and tree foliage.

Willy the Willet, our friendly local lookout who stands guard at the edge of the pond every morning has been taking new outposts further and further up the marsh. He was at the top of a live cedar by the trail that goes to the head of the marsh, a tree that is more usually the playground of Song Sparrows, yellowthroats and chicakdees not overgrown noisy sandpipers. When I got too close on the trail, he flew even further up and laded on a dead stub by one of paths that comes out of the woods. This time, when I approached, he reversed himself and flew back to the pond. In addition to the Willet (significantly now a singleton), a couple of Green Herons were active flying up and down the marsh. These birds simply have to be nesting somewhere close by.

Eric Salzman,

a vireo, a couple of flycatchers and a procyonid

A Red-eyed Vireo came by yesterday, working his way through the oak trees and singing in a desultory sort of fashion. Vireos are neat birds to ornithologists and birdwatchers but almost unknown to the general public -- they even lack a common name. Vireo is their Latin name and it means "I am green". They hang out in the leafy treetops and are not very easy to see even with binoculars; the Black-whiskered Vireo, a close relative, was everywhere in Jamaica on our recent trip there but in almsot a week there, we had good gloimpses of it on perhaps two occasions. The Red-eyed Vireo is also a very common woodland bird on Eastern Long Island and generally in the northeast (Roger Tory Peterson once called it the most common bird in North America!) but it turns up on our place mostly on migration. Yesterday's bird was probably a bachelor male but if he was looking for love, he didn't seem to be trying very hard. Vireos, being so visually retiring, communicate by sound. They are normally obsessive singers and they sing well into the heat of day and well into hot summer weather; their incessant question-and-answer call -- "I am here. Where are you? Look up here? Are you there?" -- is one of the most common sounds of the late spring and summer woods and provides the real clue to the presence of the birds. I can remember first hearing the song and struggling to figure out who was singing where! Now I find the song easy to recognize but I have to say that yesterday's bird was not a vireo songster at the top of his game. I suspect that, if the Red-eyed Vireo ever becomes a local breeder here on the property, it will require a better display of musical abilities!

I think I know where the Great Crested Flycatchers are breeding. It's in a little patch of woods on the opposite side of Bay Avenue. The birds often call from there and I found dead tree limbs with suitable woodpecker holes. Unfortunately, although I tried to watch patiently from a distance, I was not able to observe the bird going in and out of any of the holes. Speaking of flycatchers, I did see the Eastern Kingbird soaring over the creek and doing amazing antics to catch insects. Instead of the flytrap method used by swifts, martins and swallows, he did a series of quick somersaults in midair, apparently to snatch his prey out of the thin air.

Yet another raccoon spent the day in the crotch of the big old pitch pine where Rocky Raccoon used to hang out. If the recent occupant of the spot was Son of Rocky this one might be son of Son of Rocky. He's a fairly good-sized animal with wooly or fuzzy and very light colored fur that appears to suggest a different animal, perhaps a young one. The nocturnal prowling of these animals -- sometimes quite noisy -- sets off Rimsky, our Wheaten terrier, on a middle-of-the-night barking spree and invariably wakes me up. To no one's surprise, Procyon lotor is thriving in these parts.

Eric Salzman

Fish Hawks

There was an Osprey carrying a long streamer of nesting material flying up the creek this morning. What is a Weesuck Creek fish hawk doing working on a nest in mid June? The answer to the question lies in the fact that this bird was flying 'up the creek' and away from the long-established nest in the Pine Neck marsh just barely visible beyond land's end opposite us. The bird with the nesting material disappeared into the woods somewhere around Little Weesuck, a side creek that flows into the main creek from the east side. A few minutes later, another bird was heard calling and seen soaring over the creek and flying up to a perch in the Pine Neck woods.

A quick check of the existing Osprey nest revealed a bird flying to the nest and landing on the edge while yet another was standing guard on a nearby dead stub. This nest -- which was originally in a dead pine right on the creek opposite our shore -- was moved onto a pole in the Pine Neck marsh a number of years ago. It is a huge mass, built up over the years, and is visible from our side but it is far and the details of Osprey family life thereunto are now much more difficult to observe. Still, from what I could make out, the bird on the edge of the nest appeared to be tearing at a fish held in its talons and feeding bits to unseen nestlings hidden in the thick bowl of the giant stick nest. If I have figured all this out correctly (I need to put a spotting scope on the nest or, better yet, to pay a visit to the Pine Neck Preserve to double-check), the old nest has an established pair and they have hatched out young which they are feeding.

Not too long ago, I reported on calling, courting Ospreys active over our house and over the creek. As I noted at the time, this activity seemed to me to be very late in the season and I was speculating that the local Osprey had lost their first brood and were trying to renest (possibly even re-pair). But now it seems that there is a simpler explanation: a second pair of Osprey on the creek! They are probably young birds -- perhaps a yearling couple that have just paired and are building a nest at the base of Pine Neck. If this is correct, they are probably too late to raise a brood this year. But it is not uncommon for young birds (birders and ornithologists call them first-year birds but this is really their second summer) to establish a pair bond and build a practice nest (or get a head start on building a foundation for their eventual home nest) in the spring and summer of their second year. Osprey are not terribly territorial, at least in their nesting sites; a century ago or more, Gardiners Island was said to have had over 100 nests, some quite close together.

There are now quite a number of Osprey nests around Shinnecock Bay and some of them are quite far inland (there is an active nest on the big communications tower in moraine just south of Sunrise Highway, Rt. 27, between the Quogue and Hampton Bays exits). One can only hope that fish stocks in the bay remain robust enough to support all these fish-eating hawks.

Eric Salzman

birds of a feather

In the past few days I've been looking out for the Bank Swallows that have recently been hunting over our marsh and pond but instead I'm finding Tree Swallows. This morning there were two Tree Swallows over the Weesuck Creek shoreline directly opposite my vantage point on the west side of the pond. These birds were -- and I choose the verb carefully -- playing with a white feather, tossing it into the air and pursuing it with determination. Tree Swallows are known to love feathers which they use to line their nests and there is an excellent source of white feathers right on our shoreline where the Mute Swans and their cygnets habitually roost; from the dock next door you can see the hollowed-out dune grass lined with white swan feathers and, on occasion, occupied by the swans themselves (I think they may spend the night there). According to Pete Dunne's "Essential Field Guide Companion" -- a book I highly recommend as an aid to serious birdwatching -- the Tree Swallow "carries (usually white) feathers aloft and, releasing them, playfully pursues them in the air" which is exactly what these swallows were doing. They are good flyers (almost as good as the Barn Swallows) and put on quite a show until eventually the feather was carried way into the marsh by a gust of wind and the birds moved on. I assume that this behavior is associated with courting and/or breeding season activities which would imply that these birds are nesting somewhere around. They are cavity nesters using mostly tree holes or bird boxes. Perhaps they are using boxes on Pine Neck on the other side of the creek. On this side the only possibilities would be old woodpecker holes or perhaps one of the Purple Martin boxes or gourds set up at the far corner of our marsh near the town dock. It that possible? Would the martins allow it? Must go over there some time and check it out.

Two other marsh/creek birds that show up occasionally were both seen this morning: Green Heron and Belted Kingfisher. They are, one hopes, nesting somewhere in the area but they seem to here only irregularly. Also a single Willet was on guard duty at the top of the scraggly cedar on the pond. He (I assume it's a he but there's no way to tell) seems to be getting used to me and has stopped coming after me. But there is one common local creature that he loves to chase. Yes, the American Crow. The Willet, like the Eastern Kingbird, goes right after marauding crows. Willets are not quite as aggressive as the kingbirds but they are big, have a long and threatening bill and make a lot of noise. All the commotion brings in the Red-winged Blackbird males which come out of the reeds one by one, like RAF Spitfires in the Battle of Britain, dive bomb the crow and peel off as the next spitfire enters the fray. The crow seems to get the message and hightails out of the marsh, the blackbirds head back to home base and the Willet returns to its sentinel post in the scraggly cedar.

Eric Salzman

a tyrant flycatcher

The kingbirds have settled into the screen of pine and oak trees on the high west bank of Weesuck Creek that borders our place. This is in front of the big house on the neighboring property to the north, just beyond where the outflow from our salt pond comes out into the main creek flow. The best view is from the dock that juts out into the creek at the end of the path that divides our woodland from this property; I walk out on this dock almost every day as part of my morning circuit. Earlier on, I saw courting activity in the form of kingbird display flights. Now, for the past week or ten days, I have been hearing the electric buzzes of these birds from somewhere in the trees and, on occasion, I can see a kingbird lookout perched on a dead stub at the highest point. Somewhere in here, there must be a kingbird nest but as carefully as I scan the foliage, I cannot see it. Kingbird nests are substantial affairs, very large for the size of the bird and often built out over water on a dead branch in way that makes them obvious from the right vantage point. But if there is a nest in here, I can't find it.

One indication that the kingbirds might have eggs or young comes from the presence of crows and the kingbirds' reactions to any crow that ventures too close. Crow adults are calling in our nearby woods and the young from at least one crow nest have recently fledged. This means that there are adults cruising the neighborhood looking for fodder. And a crow's idea of fodder includes the eggs and nestlings of other species -- kingbirds included. The kingbirds, quite rightly, regard the crows as their worst enemy (they will also chase raptors but the only raptor presently visiting the creek is the fish-eating Osprey). When a crow ventures too close, a fierce, electric buzzing comes out of the trees, signaling the attack. The attack bird -- I assume it's a male but there is no obvious way to tell -- comes after the crow in a fury and starts dive bombing the intruder in a serious attempt to drive it away. On occasion, a second kingbird joins in. Is it the female pulled off the nest to help out? Again no way to tell but it is possible that, in this moment of danger, the female will momentarily leave the nest unguarded (one hopes that there is no second crow sneaking around). But this morning, no less than three birds came out of the trees in a coordinated buzz attack on a trespasser. Where did that third bird come from? Do Eastern Kingbirds have helpers at the nest (as some other birds do)? Or are there extra attack males hanging around in the neighborhood (it would certainly be better for the female to stay on or by the nest in case of a second crow). This time the intruder hastily departed the premises and I didn't see any evidence of any other crows so perhaps the danger was averted. These good-sized flycatchers are fearless and they are famous for their pugnacity. Their scientific name is Tyrannus tyrannus and they have given their name to the entire family of 400 species of New World flycatchers, known as tyrannid or tyrant flycatchers. Today at least these tyrants were certainly lording it over the crows..

Eric Salzman

out of the nest

As I suspected, the Downy Woodpeckers have fledged. There are two young and each adult is moving around the woods with one youngster in tow. They move quietly now, poking around the mid-tree level for insects which they feed to the young birds, now in subadult plumage. Catbirds and Blue Jays both drop out of low branches to capture insects in the open area in front of the house; since they appear to carry the insects away, they are probably feeding nestlings. A pair of Willets continues to frequent the marsh and salt pond. One of them came flying right at me, calling noisily, this morning as I walked down to the pond. Sometimes I only see one bird but there are often two roosting in the half-dead cedar on the opposite side of the pond. Is this really a pair or are there two males watching over a territory where females are sitting? Are they even nesting on our marsh or is this just a feeding area over which they are trying to exert territorial rights. There must be a nest or nests somewhere; perhaps on Pine Neck, on the opposite side of Weesuck Creek.

The butterfly working the semi-enclosed area between the porch, kitchen and barn was back last night but, to my surprise, it was the Red Admiral again and not the Question Mark which had been there the day before. What is it about this (rather limited) area that is so attractive to these insects? If these are 'territorial' flights (both insects were making similar circular flights around the area) how can two different individuals of two different species 'own' the same territory? In fact, how do I know there were only two individuals. Perhaps there have been a whole succession of Red Admirals and Question Marks stopping by to survey the scene. But survey for what? It's hard enough to ask questions of the birds but asking insects is even more difficult.

Eric Salzman

natural history bulletins from Weesuck Creek

Young crows have fledged. The adults, who have been flitting around the woods very silently, are suddenly very agitated and noisy at my approach. This almost certainly means that there are young just out of the nest in the neighborhood, a supposition that is supported by the hoarse calls heard later in the day -- the sound of young crows (and not Fish Crows with which they are sometimes confused).

Other birds are hatching as well. Madame Mallard swam out of the pond early this morning with six minimallards in tow. A small flock of Black-capped Chickadees almost certainly included some recently fledged young.

Along with the Purple Martins and Barn Swallows that hunt insects over the marsh, I have had quite consistent glimpses of a smaller brown swallow. The small size, the fast, continuous wingbeats and the bullet-like jizz of the bird all led me to think that it was a Bank Swallow. But one Bank Swallow does not a summer make. This is a bird that travels in flocks and nests in colonies and I would expect to see Bank Swallows in the plural. However this morning I had a good view of the black collar as the bird flew right towards me with the rising sun over my shoulder. Also, this time I had the impression that there was more than one Bank Swallow zipping about. Which brings up the interesting question of where these birds are coming from. Right now they should be nesting in sand cliffs and banks. They used to breed (along with Belted Kingfisher) in the East Coast Sand Mines in the moraine north of East Quogue but I have the impression that those Bank Swallow banks have long since been dug up and it is not possible to get back there to check things out as the owners have become very wary of visitors. Perhaps these deft little aerial aces are coming over from the cliffs facing Peconic Bay where Bank Swallows do nest. It's a bit of a trek perhaps but not an impossible distance as the swallow flies.

One more nature news bulletin. There is still a butterfly doing territorial flights in the semi-enclosed area between our parch, kitchen and barn but the Red Admiral that was there in May has now been replaced by a Question Mark -- easy to identify because of its size and the details of its colors and markings. After doing a series of circular flights, the butterfly landed right outside the kitchen window on a shady bit of open ground allowing for a close inspection of this striking lepid.

Eric Salzman

from East Quogue to Aquebogue

Although this morning was overcast rather than foggy, the local East Quogue scene was something of a repeat of yesterday with the Mute Swans puddling up the underwater mud in Swan Pond (our salt pond at low tide) apparently stirring up bits of food for their five cygnets while the whole operation was being supervised by a pair of Willets perched on the top of a scraggly Red Cedar on the far side.

The morning's expedition out of East Quogue started in the open bearberry heath just north of the Westhampton or Gabreski Airport. This area, used on weekends by model airplane fliers, is marked at its entrance off the Westhampton-Riverhead Road with a sign that says "Caution: Low Flying Planes". No low-flying planes today, model or otherwise, but a few sparrows: lots of Chipping plus singing Field and Vesper as well as that honorary sparrow known as Eastern Towhee; also Northern Mockingbird, Black-capped Chickadee, Prairie Warbler and assorted others. A surprise was the appearance of three good-sized raptors with long tails and wide wings -- probably Cooper's Hawks -- being chased by crows. As the Northern Harriers and American Kestrels disappear from our area as breeding birds, they are apparently being replaced by Turkey Vultures and Cooper's Hawks.

Our next stop was a little-known upland and coastal fringing area in Aquebogue. This beautiful property, which includes derelict structures being swallowed up by resurgent vegetation, has remained undeveloped for many years and should really be preserved as it encloses valuable wetlands and some gorgeous oldfield and savannah habitat. It appears to have had a history both as a duck farm and a shooting preserve. In its present state, it is one of the most attractive natural areas on the North Fork and would make a great addition to our parks system. For the record, the birdlife there includes Warbling Vireo (we heard at least two singing birds) and Willow Flycatcher. as well as Red-tailed Hawk, Ruby-throated Hummingbird, Eastern Kingbirds, Cedar Waxwings (many), House Wrens, Yellow Warblers, Baltimore Orioles, various swallows, and an incredible number of Chimney Swifts coursing low over the meadows. There are also various wetlands species (Marsh Wren has nested here) and the whole area is a wild flower garden with blooming thistle, wild rose, pinks, toadflax, prickly pear cactus, elderberry and who knows what else. The presence of Willow Flycatcher is notable. This species was previously largely confined to dense dune and wetlands vegetation on the south shore but recently I have had it on the Bicycle Path off Route 51 and Harry Maas had it in Calverton. It's nice to be able to report a species whose LI range is expanding instead of contracting!

Eric Salzman

Swan Pond & Gabreski Airport

A warm, buggy morning with a summer feel. The Willlets were hovering around the scraggly Red Cedar on the far side of the pond, apparently supervising the swans that were feeding in what we can now call Swan Pond. It was low tide and the two adults were stirring up the pond bottom with their feet, apparently liberating enough organic bits for the five cygnets to nibble on. As I circled on the path on the edge of the marsh, a female N. Flicker exploded up from the vegetation, landed on a tree at the edge and, after hitching up the bark, flew off quietly into the woods. Perhaps it is feeding young in a nearby nest; at least I would hope so.

A trip to Gabreski (Westhampton) Airport to look for Upland Sandpiper was unsuccessful in that respect but very successful in every other way. Among the birds seen were Eastern Bluebirds, House Wren, Vesper Sparrow (see photos), Field Sparrow, Chipping Sparrow, Eastern Meadowlark (heard) and a Baltimore Oriole (a very yellow singing male; a surprise in the shrubby, piney vegetation of the Dwarf Pine Plains). Also: Turkey Vulture (soaring), Red-tailed Hawks (a soaring pair), Killdeer (a pair with four chicks), N. Flicker, Barn and Tree Swallows, Eastern Kingbird, Blue Jay, Northern Mockingbird and Brown Thrasher (both singing), Am Robin, Prairie Warbler, Eastern Towhee and a calling cuckoo (probably Yellow-billed). These birds were mostly in the park-like vegetation around the storage bunkers and in the adjacent Dwarf Pine Plains.

The Bluebirds, like the Tree Swallow and the House Wren, are probably breeding in one of the many holes in the various telephone poles scattered around the storage area in the back of the airport (probably excavated by Flickers although other woodpeckers may help out; unlikely as it may seem, I believe that both Downy and Hairy can also be found here). The Vesper Sparrows (there were at least two of them) were sitting on the new Homeland Security airport fence. Note the facial pattern in the left photo and the white tail feathers on the right. I should point out that, of the ten breeding sparrow species on Long Island, the Vesper is the most difficult to find. (Photos by Eileen Schwinn)

Eric Salzman

a foggy day in East Quogue town

It was so foggy this morning that I could not see the other side of the creek -- not to mention the bay or the barrier beach beyond. All the local birds were vocalizing non-stop in the extended low light, giving a good survey of who was around, defending territory and trying to nest: Willets, Common Yellowthroats, Yellow Warbler, Purple Martins, Barn Swallows,, Red-winged Blackbirds, Common Grackles, Song Sparrows, Pine Warbler, Great Crested Flycatcher, Eastern Kingbird, American Robin, Baltimore Oriole, Carolina Wren, Tufted Titmouse, Black-capped Chickadee, Blue Jay, American Crow, N. Cardinal, House Finch.

Mourning Doves seen in flight and probably nesting. Calling Fish Crow flies over regularly and is probably nesting somewhere to the north. Also calling in flight: American Goldfinch and Cedar Waxwing, both gulls and Common Terns (the goldfinch and waxwing, probably not nesting yet; the others nest on the other side of the bay).

No sign of the woodpeckers although I suspect that the Downy young are out and both Red-bellied and N. Flicker are probably nesting as well. Osprey (the nest is in sight on Pine Neck) are probably trying to re-nest (I suspect their first attempt failed due to high winds and rain this spring).

Those three interlopers -- Rock Pigeon, Common Starling and House Sparrow -- are also around and certainly nesting somewhere in the neighborhood.

The Common Yellowthroats on territory are two loudly singing males at the marsh edge some distance apart; there was a third but he has not been heard from for the past week or so. The two males that carry on seem to do a lot of responsive or alternate singing and they are not shy, often taking high and quite visible posts where they can show off their bright yellow throats/breasts, black masks and white eyebrows. But they continue to sing regularly even while moving through the foliage and feeding. Although Yellowthroats are commonly thought of as shrub warblers, these birds are consistently high up in the branches ot the (admittedly not very tall) trees at the marsh edge -- perhaps the better to broadcast their presence.

The Yellow Warbler is much more sporadic in its singing habits but I do hear it regularly; I'm not clear as to whether it has ever succeeded in breeding on the property (there are many Yellow Warblers breeding in the area on both sides of the bay and we appear to have good Yellow Warbler habitat). Another occasional singing visitor is Red-eyed Vireo but it never seems to stay.

Eric Salzman

Pike's Beach, Dune Road and Birding by Ear

Dune Road yesterday. Nothing like Pike's Beach on Monday (see pictures below) but there were many Ruddy Turnstones accompanied by a handful of Red Knots plus at least three shorebirds that were not seen on Monday: Black-bellied Plover, Killdeer and Least Sandpiper (exactly one of each).

Tonight, Wednesday, from 6-7 pm, I'm doing a program on Birding by Ear at the Long Pond Greenbelt Nature Center (Schaffner House) 1061 Bridgehampton/Sag Harbor Turnpike, sponsored by the Southampton Community Preservation Department and Friends of the Long Pond Greenbelt. [As many readers of this blog will know, I'm a composer and am very interested in the issues of birdsong and birding by ear.]

Eric Salzman

Western Sandpiper in the middle of a roost of Semipalmated Sandpipers/Pike's Beach May 31, 2010

mixed flock of shore birds (with Red Knots), Pike's Beach, May 31, 2010

birder and birds