the new morning crew

The new morning crew greets me as I arrive at the pond: Royal Terns on the creek (breee-eerrrrrrr), Spotted Sandpiper (piping away), Northern Waterthrush (chink, chink, chink), Belted Kingfisher (rattle-rattle), a pod of seven Mallards spinning and feeding in the middle of the pond and a Great Blue Heron and/or Black-crowned Night Heron in the narrow neck of the pond where water flows in and out of the main creek. Last night the Great Blue was deep in the channel where the water comes out of the marsh on its way into the pond. This channel which is actually a marsh creek, is now enclosed by high Spartina alterniflora and I didn't even see the heron (nor did it see me) until I was almost on top of it when its head suddenly poked up like a snake in the grass. With a loud squawk, it jumped up in the air and took off. I don't know which one of us was more surprised.

He was there again this morning but a little further up the creek. This time he burst out of the creek bed with a loud fluttering of the wings but no squawk.

The herons feed in the narrow channels where clear water flows in and out and the bait fish can be easily seen. Are the Mallards also catching bait fish? Not likely; Mallards are not, to my knowledge, fish eaters. Could they be catching insects? There are large numbers of midges (or whatever) on the water surface at low tide and they certainly are a good potential food source for someone. I think the seven swimmers are the same Mallard family seen earlier in the spring with the six young birds now grown up to full size and looking exactly like their mom (maybe there are differences but I can't see them).

The martins have completely deserted the martin houses at the end of Bay Avenue on the other side of our marsh. A bunch of them were hanging out by the boatyard at the foot of Weesuck Avenue and roosting on the wires there. The Barn Swallows have been roosting in recent days in the phragmites -- usually a sign that they are getting ready to depart. And, indeed, this morning there were none to be seen. It was a cool, dry morning with few insects and the recent spectacle of martins and swallows hunting over the marsh had simply evaporated.

Eric Salzman

birds of late summer

It's still July but the birds of late summer are starting to show. The Spotted Sandpiper has been on the pond for the past week or more. This morning, there was a Northern Waterthrush perched, preening and chinking away on a low dead branch of the scraggly Red Cedar on the opposite bank of the pond. I suspect that this midsummer arrival may have also been here for a bit; I thought I heard the call a few days ago but this is the first one that I have actually seen. And calling Royal Terns have been moving up and down Weesuck Creek this morning -- noisy enough so that I hear them back at the house; up until today, I have seen one Royal on the creek but there were many in Moriches Bay yesterday morning so they have arrived in numbers. Spotted Sandpiper is a sparse local breeder but the other two do not breed on Eastern Long Island and they are definitely arrivals from elsewhere.

Northern Waterthrush, as its name suggests, breeds to the north while the big, spectacular terns are southern breeders (north to southern New Jersey I believe). Both species disperse after breeding and both will be around for the rest of the summer. If this is early migration, how do we explain the fact that these are birds that are moving in exactly opposite directions? A while back (in an article I wrote for Birding Magazine), I suggested that these arrivals were not really migrants but rather 'summer visitors': i.e. birds that moved off their breeding territories, often with young in tow, to look for rich feeding grounds for themselves and their offspring with the goal of fattening up in preparation for the real business of migrating south later on.

Eric Salzman

Cupsogue revisited

Cupsogue on an early mid-week morning in late July -- with a fast-rising tide -- was only moderately busy. Since I last looked, there were a few new arrivals: numbers of Royal Terns (a dozen or more at Cupsogue and at least half a dozen at Pike's Beach), at least one Forster's Tern, a Lesser Yellowlegs (with a distinctly short bill), a likely Western Sandpiper (with a not-so-long bill but distinctly larger than the other peeps and with some color tints on the scapulars and tail feathers). Heard a possible White-rumped Sandpiper but never saw it. Many Semipalmated Sandpipers, one Semipalmated Plover and some of the more usual suspects: Willets, Ruddy Turnstones, Short-billed Dowitchers and Least Sandpipers. No Red Knots.

In the shrubbery around the beach pavilion there were Yellow Warblers and a young empid -- brownish olive on the back, slightly yellowish on the breast with a narrow eye ring and buffy wing bars. I suppose Alder Flycatcher is a vague possibility but this was almost certainly a young Willow (Willows breed nearby in the vegetation on the upper marsh).

Eric Salzman

low tide, low humidity but still hot

The respite from the heat did not last long (nor did the respite from the mosquitos) although the air remains dry and the nights cool and filled with katydids and tree crickets (and cicadas enlivening the day). Last night at low tide there was a Great Blue Heron, a Snowy Egret, a Great Egret and a Green Heron all in the neck of the pond. The pond water at low tide is filled with bait fish and the water is relatively clear -- good pickings for the ardeidae! There are at least two Spotted Sandpipers around since I have seen both spotted and unspotted (i.e. old and young) birds. A male Belted Kingfisher is regularly in the neighborhood, perhaps also feeding on those bait fish. And a noisy Willet was circling over the marsh and yipping away as if he owned the property (a little odd in view of the fact that, after a lot of activity earlier in the season, not a one of these birds has been seen recently). At the head of the marsh, an adult and at least two young Red-bellied Woodpeckers were working the tupelos along with a flock of chickadees; these are the first young Red-bellieds that I've seen this year. Are they eating unripe tupelo berries or are the berries actually beginning to ripen -- like almost everything else, very early. Two Flickers popped out of the shrub vegetation at the edge of the marsh but I wasn't sure if they were young birds, local specimens or perhaps even early migrants. Along with the Am Robins, the N. Flicker may be the most common migratory land bird in these parts and they may well be starting to move. Ditto the Robins which I've seen on the move in the early morning.

Eric Salzman

the heat wave breaks

Yesterday evening's rain arrived with a front that broke the heat wave. Last night was was enlivened by the season's first katydid and the loud, persistent calls of tree crickets. And the night was succeeded by one of those crisp, cloudless, brilliant mornings that stir the soul. There was also a breeze and the attack of the mosquito hordes of the past few days abated. Even the birds seemed quieter perhaps because there were fewer insects to hunt. There were a few Martins and Swallows about and several Saltmarsh Sparrows were darting around the Spartina on the marsh. Belted Kingfisher came rattling by and our local Spotted Sandpiper (I assume it was the same one that has been present for the past week) came a-piping. As the tide moved in and I moved down, two Green Herons jumped up, squawking and landed on treetops on the near side of the pond. Can anyone explain why these are called GREEN Herons? As they land in the full sunlight with their thick necks outstretched, their bristly crest raised up, they show some striking colors: a purple mantle; deep chestnut neck; yellow eye, eye-ring and lores; two-tone bill (dark above, yellow below); startlingly bright yellow legs; black cap/crest; white moustache and front-of-the-neck streak. Nice show but where's the green?

Eric Salzman

P.S.: As some readers noticed, I typed Brooklyn National Laboratory instead of Brookhaven National Laboratory in yesterday's post! Brooklyn may have, as its name suggests, a 'little brook' or two but there are no national labs there as far as I know. Brookhaven is (or was) a port at the outflow of a brook; the name was originally applied to a south shore estuary but was eventually extended to apply to a huge county that covers the whole width of Long Island in its mid-section and now definitely includes a national laboratory.

a Brookhaven National Laboratory footnote

I recently wrote about a visit to Brooklyn National Laboratory with Dan Wilson. BNL consists of 5000 acres in the middle of the Pine Barrens and at the sources of the Peconic River. Although much of it is disturbed, there is also a lot of excellent habitat including extensive woodlands and wetlands. Some of the woodlands will be cut for a solar energy project and my blog on the subject provoked the following response from Mel Cowgill who is a Brookhavener, a runner and a birder as well.

"Not sure where Dan took you but it sounds as if the tour included what we runners call the river road (the winding path beside the Peconic) and the Biology Fields. The latter is a particularly good birding area, made up of four quadrants separated by a dirt road from north to south and a line of trees from east to west. Unfortunately this is one of the areas slated for the solar arrays. Other areas are located to the south and west – if you want to see it in map layout, go to the official environmental assessment document (http://www.bnl.gov/community/docs/pdf/FINAL%20FINAL%20EA%20-%20BP%20Solar%20Project.pdf) and look for Figure 3 (on page 14). The Biology Fields are located in the “north” area. The “south” area is mostly mixed (deciduous/coniferous) woods where they have already been clearing out some of the underbrush. Then, further west is a ‘”brownfield” area – no trees here and I noticed on my run this lunchtime that heavy equipment is already working in this area. So, the good news is that the wetlands are by and large left untouched.

By the way, you mention the irony of destroying the environment to save the environment. There’s one additional irony – the project is being constructed by BP Solar. One only hopes they’ll have enough money left to complete the project after they’ve cut down all those trees!"

Mel also mentions the presence of butterflies including Monarch, Red-spotted Purple and Tiger Swallowtail. This list could undoubtedly be enlarged; on the visit with Dan Wilson, we saw Spicebush Swallowtail and, I am almost certain, Black Swallowtail.

Eric Salzman

Great Blue Herons and Great Pink Hibiscus

Went back out to the spot in the marsh where I heard an interesting vocalization early yesterday but didn't hear it this morning (admittedly I was a few minutes late this morning as the sun was already well over Pine Neck across the creek). It was a busy time nonetheless. There were Saltmarsh Sparrows (formerly Saltmarsh Sharptailed Sparrows) zipping around and the swallows and martins were active as usual. Overhead was an unusual sight: a line of seven Great Blue Herons making its stately way south (do herons normally fly in neat 'flocks' like that?). And American Goldfinches were still moving around the head of the marsh; at one point, I saw two males with a female.

In the past, I have mentioned Germander or Wood Sage as a wildflower in the mint family that blooms in wet ground near the marsh edge. As the season has progressed, I have discovered this plant in many places including major stands where I am quite certain it never bloomed before (or, at least, not in this profusion). This plant is popular with insects and I have noticed bees investigating the flowers.

Add to the list of flowering plants the Great Pink Hibiscus otherwise known as Rose Mallow. This is a genuine hibiscus -- Hibiscus moschuetos to be exact -- and it is pink in our area (the white form with a dark red center is either derived from a southern form or is a garden cultivar). It usually comes in August so it is blooming very early this year (along with just about everything else including farm/garden fruits and vegetables).

Eric Salzman

after the storm

A gorgeous cool morning and a wet walk. The sunrise is now noticeably later (close to 5:45) and the sun now rises a good bit to the south over Pine Neck. Although the tide was fairly high, it wasn't the tide that dampened the promenade. After last night's dramatic thunder storm(s), every bit of vegetation was soaked and the fast-growing vegetation, heavy with moisture, was bending over the narrow paths around the edge of the marsh, dousing me with water at almost every step; by the time I got out of the marsh, I was dripping wet.

Wet above and below, I nevertheless made it out into the marsh fairly close to sunrise. Overhead there were numbers of Barn Swallows and Purple Martins criss-crossing in perpetual motion. It seemed as if every single Martin from the nearby colony, young and old alike, was in the air, swooping and chirping. Martins have a neat flight mode which generally consists of fast wing beats and then long glides and they like to chirp and chuckle as they hunt, generally fairly high in the sky (or, at least, at medium and medium high levels). Lower down, the Barn Swallows were in charge, often swooping just inches above the Spartina; they also make their distinctive little noises. Perched in the vegetation at the edge of the marsh were a young Catbird and a young Yellowthroat. A piping Spotted Sandpiper popped up out of the grass and flew to cover.

But the most intriguing moment of the morning came early on -- just shortly after sunrise. As I was first working my way out out towards the middle of the marsh, I became aware of some very striking sounds coming from the main channel which carries the marsh water from the mid-marsh open area over to the pond. What was it? Impossible to see in or track it any closer without sinking into the marsh mud; the Spartina alterniflora is at its peak right now and affords very few glimpses into the depths of the marsh. The sounds might best be described as high squeaks followed by lower-pitched trills. It could, I suppose, have come from a mammal but given the location, the tide and the character of the sounds, I would guess that it was a marsh bird -- most likely a rail. Which rail? Almost impossible to say. There are six species in N. America plus the Common Moorhen or Gallinule and almost any one of them could show up; except for Yellow, they are all breeders somewhere the environs of Long Island although only the Clapper is common. Virginia Rail bred here in 2004 and raised a chick and would be a good candidate.

Eric Salzman

I can hear! I can see!

I had a cataract operation on my right eye and went down to the water this morning to try out my newly corrected vision. La and behold, in spite of the blinding sunlight, I was able to spot a Spotted Sandpiper as well as a Least Sandpiper on the muddy edges of the pond. The appearance of Spotted Sandpiper around the third week of July is just about on schedule. This bird, in juvenile plumage (no spots on the spotted Spotted), was the first that I've seen this season and, thanks to the skill of Dr. Sheren at Peconic Bay, it was very well seen indeed. Although this species is an uncommon local breeder, the birds that turn up on our pond at this time of the year are most likely early migrants. Another summer sign of fall!

A notable feature of recent days has been the presence of finches. House Finches, which have been in short supply (due largely, I believe, to a crippling eye disease), seem to be making a comeback; at any rate, they have become regulars at the edge of the woods and I have been hearing both their songs and calls. Also, a male Goldfinch has been circling the marsh on what I would have to call a Call Flight and not a Song Flight; as he flies round and round, he calls Per-chick-a-ree, Per-chick-a-ree over and over. The breeding biology of these birds is quite mysterious. They don't seem to be very territorial and they pair up and breed much later than other birds. Their extensive singing in the late winter and spring -- often in choral form -- does not seem directly related to mating activity. Some of the male's songs early in the year are among the longest and most elaborate songs that we hear but their meaning and purpose is obscure. Goldfinches are said to nest later than other species because they time their nesting to coincide with the appearance of thistle seeds (but in our case, they are feeding on Graundsel which has thistle-like seeds). If they are indeed just entering family life right now, perhaps the male's circular sumer Per-chick-a-ree flight, rather than its spring song, is connected with its breeding behavior. Perhaps.

Eric Salzman

a trip to Brookhaven

Thanks to Dan Wilson, a member of ELIAS and an employee at the Brookhaven National Laboratory, Eileen Schwinn and I had a tour of the lab grounds -- not so much to study the colliders or other mysterious scientific installations but to bird some of the 5000 acres! The Brookhaven facility, originally Camp Upton (remember Irving Berlin's "Yip, Yip, Yaphank"?), eventually became one of the country's major laboratories for advanced scientific work in arcane and sometimes scary fields of research. It was considered ideal for this because of its remoteness! Although much of the area has been disturbed, some of it has remained (until now) quite pristine or has been recovering. Although much of the property is dry pine barrens, there are also notable wetlands (the main sources of the Peconic River are inside the Brookhaven Lab fence) and there are also open fields and meadows as well as a lot of edge habitat.

All of this helps produce large numbers and a substanial variety of birds. Even on a hot, muggy morning in the third week of July, there was an amazing level of activity well into the day. We saw close to fifty species including quite a few singing Indigo Buntings (a species that has increased its number of Long Island significantly), a Yellow-billed Cuckoo (calling and in flight; Black-billed is apparently also present), Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, at least three woodpeckers (Downy, Hairy and Flicker), several Red-tailed Hawks, Osprey (on a nest on a communications tower), an angry hummingbird (presumably Ruby-throated; buzzed us literally inches from my face as we trampled on one of its flower beds), several flycatchers (E. Phoebe, E. Kingbird and Great Crested Flycatcher), a mystery thrush (either Hermit or Veery; seen in flight crossing the road), singing Red-eyed Vireos and Field Sparrows, etc. Lots of young birds including B-c Chickadees, Baltimore and Orchard orioles, Ovenbird (adult with young), Common Yellowthroat, Chipping Sparrows, Barn and N. Rough-winged Swallows. The young Rough-winged Swallows were notable as I cannot recall ever having seen this plumage before. There were two birds perched on a wire looking for all the world like some exotic species of swallow: dark around the face, buffy throat and rusty wing-bars.

Unfortunately, some of this habitat -- perhaps as much as 150 acres -- is due to be cut down for a solar energy project. How ironic that an alternative energy project -- a road presumably paved with good intentions -- should require environmental destruction on a fairly large scale. Exactly which areas are to be used I am not quite sure; I trust that it does not involve the wetlands. I have also been told that the Lab has agreed to purchased 150 additional acres outside the fence as 'mitigation' but whether these will be equivalent to what is being sacrificed, I cannot say.

Eric Salzman

Pike's Beach

This morning's ELIAS (Eastern LI Audubon Society) walk was at Pike's Beach -- the bayside beach and peninsula that was formed by The Perfect Storm and other hurricanes and which became accessible with the establishment of the village of Westhampton Dunes and the filling of the inlets by the US Corps of Engineers. This area, in eastern shadow of Moriches Inlet and Cupsogue Beach, has been fairly consistently the best accessible area for shorebirds, both common and rare, on Eastern LI (whether considered by itself or together with Cupsogue County Park a short distance away).

The outstanding sighting this morning was undoubtedly the two Roseate Terns seen flying overhead. A few pairs of Roseates are still apparently breeding on Moriches and Shinnecock Bays but their numbers are certainly low. Additionally a single Royal Tern was seen this morning perched on one of the many sad flats eexposed at low tide (the second of the year for me and the forerunner of more to come).

Two notable species that were seen in fair numbers were Glossy Ibis (many, flying overhead) and Black Skimmer (a fair number of sightings of individuals working the bayshore in classic skimmer style). Piping Plovers were in some numbers, many of them young of the year, confirming this area's prominence as the Piping Plover capital of the East End. In the migrant category, there were a few Semipalmated and Black-bellied Plovers, fair numbers of Short-billed Dowitchers and Red Knots, many dozens of Least Sandpipers and hundreds of Semipalmated. Additionally there were a few Ruddy Turnstones and a yellowlegs, probably Greater. Many Snowy Egrets (outnumbering the Great Egrets). Also the other local breeders: Mute Swans, Canada Geese, Willets, Am Oystercatchers, Common and Least Terns, Laughing Gull and the usual Double-crested Cormorants, Black-backed and Herring Gulls.

On the ocean early in the morning, there were a couple of sub-adult Gannets and a large shearwater too far away to ID as to species. The Hudsonian Godwit was reported again at Cupsogue.

Eric Salzman

Royal Tern!

The first Royal Tern of the season appeared on Weesuck Creek this morning. Right on schedule.

The pale flash of a large white tern banking over the creek caught my eye almost as soon I got down to the water this morning and I watched it set its wings and dive into the creek, gobble its small catch in midair. and then wing its way down the creek and back out to the bay. It was a Royal Tern in full breeding plumage with a yellow-orange bill and a complete black cap (many of the birds we see here are in nonbreeding or juvenile plumage with white foreheads).

Usually I recognize the presence of Royal Terns by hearing their distinctive finger-on-the-teeth-of-the-comb calls (I can hear them all the way back at the house). But this one wasn't calling, probably because it was alone (the calls being most likely a means of communication between birds). Royal Terns breed south of us (nowadays as close as southern New Jersey) and at the end of breeding season they spread out along the coast, moving north as well as south. I don't know whether to call this early fall migration or simply summer visitation but whatever label you want to put on it it happens every year, often as early as mid-July.

Great Crested Flycatchers have been calling all around the house this morning. The calls, although recognizably Great Crested, are somewhat softer and noticably different from the rasps and mocking laughs that we hear in the spring. These birds, probably a family of adults and young, are keeping in touch by sound as they spread out through the woods around the house. Hard to estimate how many birds but there seem to be at least three or four.

Eric Salzman

Hudsonian Godwit? Yes!

Went out to Cupsogue this afternoon with Eileen Schwinn and Mike Higgiston (the East Quogue bird mafia) to look for the HUDSONIAN GODWIT that was reported earlier by Pat Lindsay and Shai Mitra and seen yesterday by Eileen. The bird was right were it was supposed to be: on a sand flat directly in front of the westernmost of the Moriches Inlet islands and easily visible (with a scope) from the bay shore in front of the country park dunes.

Hudsonian Godwit is one of the most spectacular of the North American shorebirds. It is about the same size as a Willet, with long knobby legs and a longish somewhat upturned two-tone bill. This bird was seen in the afternoon at low tide when the flats are exposed and it was feeding on a sand bar and in the adjacent shallow water. It showed a rufous breast; that and the rather gentle curve of the bill suggest that it is a breeding-plumage male (the females have barred breasts and distinctly longer upturned bills). It also has something of an eye stripe (supercilium if you prefer) as well as a black tail and white rump, visible only when the bird shook its butt hard enough for the tail and rump to show. Since it didn't fly, the wings were not well seen although the wing tips appeared black with a trace of white occasionally visible. It was seen to catch some kinds of small crustaceans and to extract long slinky worms out of their deep coverts in the sand -- a good use for that long bill no doubt. Apparently for good reason, the bird is faithful to this spot and, if it hangs out for a while, this would be the first place to look (check for a good low tide).

Hudsonian is by far the rarer of the two native godwits and it has not been much in evidence out here in recent decades. Ironically, in recent years, we've had visits from both Eurasian godwits -- the Bar-tailed (which actually crosses the Bering Strait to nest on the shores of Western Alaska) and the Black-tailed -- as well as the more common Marbled Godwit. But Hudsonian has been hard to find. The consensus is that this bird was badly reduced in numbers during the days when shorebird hunting was a major sport as well as source of food and, for reasons that are not well understood, it has never really recovered. When I started birding in the '70s and '80s of the last century, it turned up with some regularity but since then it has become a real rarity on the East End. So it was a pleasure to see it among the other early shorebird migrants: Short-billed Dowitchers, Least Sandpipers, Black-bellied Plovers, the usual Willets and Oystercatchers and, yes, a real live Hudsonian Godwit.

Eric Salzman

Autumn in July?

It's hard to imagine, but fall migration begins in July!

There are even a few birds that show up in late June (notably Short-billed Dowitchers; I've seen 'em myself). But a more general migration usually gets underway by mid-July when warblers, shore birds and some others start to move. Unlike spring migration (when birds are in a hurry to get to the nesting grounds), the fall migration is leisurely and somewhat protracted -- mid-July to mid-October and later -- as birds seek out good feeding grounds to fatten up and get ready for the long haul.

I have mentioned the flocking up of Common Grackles as an extra-early sign of fall but this morning I had a better one: a Least Sandpiper that popped up peeping right out of the marsh. Leasts are very easy to recognize from their calls (don't call 'em 'peeps' for nothing) but they also have a very distinctive hunched flight silhouette and mode of flying with stiff wingbeats. The effect is a little like that of a Spotted Sandpiper but, unlike their Spotted counterparts, they are much smaller and rather uniformly brown. If there's a peep on this side of the bay, there will be a lot more down by the ocean.

Eric Salzman

young birds

This is the season of young birds: the young of the year, out of the nest, flying a bit unsteadily and moving around in groups, usually with the adults nearby to help out as they learn to find food for themselves. The biggest numbers are in the flocks of Common Grackles that move considerable distances and drop in unexpectedly, often combing through the woodland floor or semi-open fields for sustenance. At the other end of the spectrum are the young orioles which are easy to identify by sound but hard to spot in the tree canopy. The traveling groups of chickadees and titmice consist of 2/3rds young birds moving around with their brethren and sistern and an adult or two. Yesterday there were three Downy Woodpecker young chasing each other around a bare tree limb -- whether for play or in serious competition I couldn't tell. There has also been a young Red-bellied Woodpecker calling forlornly -- perhaps looking for a handout from its parents which were nowhere in sight. Northern Flicker has been calling rather consistently and Great Crested Flycatcher is also in the area but I haven't seen any evidence of successful reproduction in either species (also the Eastern Kingbirds have apparently disappeared; perhaps their nesting attempt was unsuccessful). A young N Cardinal, seemingly attended by both parents, was easy to identify with his black bill and rather dazed look. Some of the local Song Sparrows are also almost certainly young birds although they very quickly look like the adults (but something about their behavior and appearance usually gives them away).

In the flocks of swallows and martins that feed over the marsh there are now also a high percentage of flying young although it is not always easy to pick them out in flight. However I did see a couple of young Barn Swallows seemingly leapfrogging over each other just across the tops of shrubs along the water's edge; it certainly looked like a game. If Tree Swallows can play games with feathers why can't teen-aged Barn Swallows play leap frog?

In my recent enumeration of flowering plants, I neglected a remarkable local plant which is in flower right now. This is poke or pokeweed which has rather unprepossessing greenish white flowers that will later turn into those purple poke berries.

Eric Salzman

out on the marsh

Yesterday I woke up to the sound of distant surf. A very light breeze was coming off the ocean and across the bay, saturating the air with the sound of the ocean and permeating everything with moisture. The marsh was at its mature peak with a fairly high tide rolling in amidst the deep dark green of the Spartina patens and the lighter green/yellow of the Spartina alterniflora, the two principal salt marsh grasses which survive two tidal inundations a day by exuding salt. In the soft, sweltering morning air, under a rising, already hot sun, the marsh was generating both moisture and bugs in considerable quantities. Swallows were darting everywhere feasting on the insects. There were at least three or four families of Barn Swallows weaving in and out, up, down and around, in remarkable displays of aerial skill. Among them were a few Purple Martins from the nearby colony and at least one Rough-legged Swallow -- coming from where? -- brown on top, white below with a dirty chin. A Downy Woodpecker came streaking across the marsh in a typical woodpecker bouncing flight. Unlike the martins, who can glide all the way across the marsh without a wingbeat, the woodpecker gains altitude on each furious flutter of wings and then loses it as it folds its wings, forcing a new wing flutter. This strange method of alternately folding and flapping produces a see-saw flight that is instantly recognizable as woodpecker-on-the-wing. Small flocks of Common Grackles also move across but higher in the sky, a reminder that even at the very start of summer, fall is not all that far away! A young Catbird pops out of a shrub and checks out a scene that is familiar enough to some of us but perhaps new to him or her.

At the edge of the marsh, gurgling and chucking Red-winged Blackbirds and singing Song Sparrows continue to hold sway but, except for one distant holdout, the Yellowthroats have stopped singing. Further inland, the Cardinal has resumed singing but in a very stereotyped way; I can hear the begging chips of young cardinals which are obviously flying now (which is why the male can afford to resume marking his territory after some weeks of silence). The Carolina Wren is still the loudest and most persistent of the local songbirds. A Mourning Dove is hooting away and in the background is the crisp buzz and crackle of touring Chickadees -- there are at least two family's worth in the neighborhood. Every once in a while, the great creasendo of the cicada chorus breaks in to remind us (as if we didn't already realize it) that summer is well underway.

Eric Salzman

flowers

Germander has started to bloom. Its delicate and somewhat exotic pink flowers sprout from a spike that emerges from a low cluster of pointy, smoky, lightly notched green leaves that sprout from moist soil just back of the marsh in an open area at the edge of the woods. Germander, also known as Wood Sage (the scientific name is Teucrium canadense) is in the mint family and like other members of the family, has a rather striking little flower with projecting stamens from where the upper lip ought to be and a broad extended lower lip which perhaps offers a landing pad for fertilizing insects. This is the narrow-leafed variety known as littorale; it is certainly one of our more unusual wildflowers.

Another strange wildflower currently in bloom is easily overlooked as it is an unpossessing green plant with only the tiniest of tiny white flowers. But it has a whopper of a name -- Enchanter's Nightshade -- that gives this modest-looking botanical specimen more than a touch of mystery. To add to the strangeness, it's not a nightshade at all and the enchantment is elusive. The tiny white flowers are on longish stalks or racemes and each petal has two tiny little lobes (which makes it appear -- if you look through a magnifying glass -- as though each flower has four petals). and long stamens. The seedpods are tiny little flat paddles with a curious fringe on each paddle; apparently these pods will stick to clothes or fur. This plant is in the Evening Primrose family although it looks nothing like the familiar Evening Primrose. Its Latin name, Circaea, obviously refers to the fabled enchantress Circe. But why is this plant associated with magic? What magic? How did Circe get a hold of a presumably New World plant many centuries before Columbus? Apparently Circe seduced sailors like Odysseus into sticking with her just like the seed pods of her magic plant which she magically obtained from far-off America.

Another striking local plant currently in bloom is Spotted Wintergreen which, with its two-toned leaves, looks like a hot-house plant recently removed from the rain forest. The flower is a nodding, white, waxy affair that look positively unreal. Spotted Wintergreen grows in the mixed duff of pine and oak trees in sandy, pine-barrens soils. The fact that it grows in our woods tells me that these woods are an extension of, not the rainforest, but the pine barrens.

Other flowers of early summer: Yucca, Queen Anne's Lace, Black-eyed Susan (Rudbeckia), Rambler Rose (on its last legs) and the oddly named, blue-flowered Sheep's Bit (try saying that name several times quickly). Most of these are flowers of open areas and to find them I have to go to the edges of the property. The open area in front of the house is now too reduced by the encroaching woodland and too shaded during much of the day for most of these open-field plants to flourish.

Eric Salzman

young birds

Young orioles showed up this morning moving through the tree foliage in a loose group -- presumably all in a family. The easiest way to find young orioles is to listen for their distinctive calls. The first time I heard the double (tew-tew) or triple (tew-tew-tew) calls, I was genuinely puzzled as it resembles no other normal bird song or call. These birds

-- they usually come in small groups -- always strike me as quite greenish perhaps because of reflected light from the leaves. If you look in the guide books, you won't find anything that quite matches this color and at first I thought I had something exotic. A closer look reveals the oriole shape and structure, wing bars, pointy bill, etc. The closest match in print is probably Orchard Oriole but our birds are Baltimores, not Orchards (Orchards turn up here only once in a while). Usually the young Baltimores travel with one or the other adult. whose presence gives the game away. The calls -- distinctive young Baltimore sounds -- seem designed to help the orioles, young and old, to stay together but are also a kind of begging: "I'm over here, dad, and I'm hungry! Additionally, these excursions seem designed to help the young birds learn how to find food for themselves.

The Congress of Young Crows has been regularly reconvening in the open area in front of the house. There are at least eight or nine birds that participate in these events so these are individuals from more than one nest. At first, I thought they might be looking for food. They occasionally peck at the ground or even fly into low bushes where they seem to be nibbling at berries or insects. Sometimes they stand quite still on the ground facing away from the others with heads tilted back and beaks open as if waiting for someone to come and fill it (as they are standing in full sunlight, perhaps they are sunbathing). As I watch these congregations, I have become convinced that they are mainly practice socialization for young birds. There is a certain amount of hopping around and even some flying up on to branches and jumping or flapping back down again. And there is an almost constant sequence of vocalizations in that nasal honking tone that is typical of young American Crows. They are, I think, sorting out their places in crow society!

Eric Salzman

P.S.: Mike Higgiston reports a White-breasted Nuthatch at his place in East Quogue which reminds me that I forgot to mention the calling (singing?) Nuthatch on yesterday's report of our Grace Estate birdsong walk.

celebrating Independence Day with birdsong

I did a July 4th walk this morning for Sofo (South Fork Natural History Society) at the Grace Estate, a walk that was focused on birdsong. It was not obvious that either birders or birds would show up but in fact there was a reasonable turnout and, with a little effort, we were able to pick out some typical songs and calls. Although peak singing season is past, there is often a revival of song in early July and I was banking on that when this event was scheduled. Many, perhaps most advanced birders do a lot of their birdfinding by sound but a lot of people who enjoy watching birds struggle with the challenges of identifying the songs and calls. So the idea was to offer some help in how to recognize the common songs of our local birds and also to explain the distinctions and differing functions between songs and calls. But it's difficult to do a field exercise in avian vocalizations if the birds are not vocalizing or sounding off only once in a while.

The walk started at 8 am on Northwest Road by the wooded wetlands near Scoy Pond. At that hour of the morning, the air was still cool and a few birds -- Yellowthroat, Catbirds, Chickadees -- were singing. Further up on the trail, near Scoy Pond, we had glimpses of singing Yellow Warblers and calling Downy Woodpecker as well as glints of American Robins, Red-winged Blackbirds and distant Great Crested Flycatchers, Eastern Wood-pewees, Red-eyed Vireos and Red-bellied Woodpecker. Other birds heard were far-off Baltimore Orioles (probably young begging orioles), Brown-headed Cowbird, Northern Cardinal, Blue Jays, Crows and a calling raptor, probably a Cooper's Hawk. Plus a few unidentified calls and at least one mystery warbler (a possible Am Redstart but it didn't sound like one). Plus croaking frogs at the end of the pond.

At trail's end, on the bay opposite Barcelona Neck and the entrance to Northwest Harbor, we had good views of singing Prairie Warbler, always a nice find. Prairie Warbler is the singer with the unforgettable little rising chromatic scale repeated over and over again. This bird, seemingly offended by our intrusion, followed us a ways down the trail as he (yes, it was a male) escorted us out of his territory!

No Ovenbird, and only one or two Wood Thrush calls. By the time, we headed back on the trail, the heat of the day had overtaken both birders and birds. A veritable heat wave was upon us and the birds mostly closed down. Next time, I'll try to schedule this walk earlier in the season and earlier in the day!

Eric Salzman

more herons

Yesterday afternoon, a loud squawking sound from the marsh sent me running down in time to see two large Ardea herons flying up. They soared overhead and eventually out over the creek and into the misty distance -- but not before I got some good looks. They were, let's say, funny-looking Great Blue Herons, rather streaky-looking with dark crowns and, as far as I could see, no reddish trousers. But the outstanding feature on both birds was a pair of bright white 'headlights' on the carpal joint (i.e. the bend of the wing). Now if you look at North American bird guides, you will not find Great Blue Herons illustrated with white 'headlights' but if you look in British or European guides you will find that the Grey Herons -- apparently in all plumages -- are almost always shown with this prominent feature!

I should say that Great Blue Herons are here on Eastern Long Island all year round but they are scarcest in June and July when most of the wintering and migrant birds have returned to their breeding colonies inland and to the north.

After the flap with the Little/Snowy Egret this past, it seems almost too much of a coincidence to bring up the Great Blue/Grey Heron problem. But once again, we have two members of a superspecies (or species pair), one in Europe, the other in North America, with a serious problem about how to distinguish them. In fact, Little Egrets are regularly seen and identified on this side of the Atlantic (although some of them may be aberrant Snowy Egrets or hybrids). But does anyone see or claim to see Grey Herons? If one showed up, what should we look for?

No photographs this time. The birds soared high and disappeared to the east.

Eric Salzman

The Great Little Egret Debate

When is a Little Egret not a Little Egret?

As readers who follow this blog will know, a smallish white egret with a long nuptial plume or two has been hanging around Weesuck Creek and, since Snowy Egrets do not normally have such plumes, the bird was identified (by me) as a possible Little Egret. However caution has been advised as, it is said, Snowy Egrets can sometimes have long plumes (usually together with the short, ragged head and nape plumes that are normal on breeding Snowys). Also this bird appeared to have jet black legs and some yellowish on the base of the lower mandible, both possible points in favor of Little. The skin around the eyes and on the lores is yellow which favors Snowy. I also thought the bird was slightly bigger and the base of the bill somewhat broader than on a typical Snowy but this was hard to judge (and there were no Snowys in the neghborhood for comparison.

How do you tell Little Egret apart from Snowy Egret or, for that matter, Reef Heron -- now usually called Reef Egret (the three species belong to a superspecies and are closely related)? If the bare skin around the eye and on the lores is blue-gray, the answer is probably Little Egret. If the color is yellow (as it appeared to be on our Weesuck Creek bird), the issue is up in the air as Littles can show yellow skin. Most of the other features are variable or subjective.

One correspondent even wrote to me describing a plumed egret seen somewhere in Long Island that was deemed to be a Snowy because its plume or plumes were feathered! This would seem to imply that the Little Egret plume is not feathered but I don't believe that for a second. I've seen Little Egrets in the UK, France, Spain, Africa and Asia and the plume or plumes always looked white to me. A plume is by definition a feather!

In the meanwhile, Luke Ormand, who took the pictures that accompanied Tuesday's post, sent them to -- of all people -- Bill Maynard, the editor of Winging It (for which I write the "Books for Birders" column!). Bill, in turn, sent it to Paul Lehman, the former editor of Birding Magazine and the person who hired me to work for Birding and Winging It! Paul has a slightly different take. He thinks that if it were a Little, the bill would look larger than it does. Even more tellingly, he points out that the yellow lores and feet are brighter on this bird than would be on a Little Egret (whose feet tend to be more of a greenish yellow). He also suggests that the bird is either an aberrant Snowy or a hybrid.

A hybrid? Why not. That would certainly explain a lot of things. If I'm not mistaken, Little Egrets breed in Barbados and occasionally mixed pairs of Little and Snowy Egrets are seen. I vote for a hybrid.

A footnote: Jean Held writes to point out that the dragonfly shown in a Purple Martin beak (another photo by Luke that was posted yesterday) is not a Seaside Dragonlet but one of the Aeshna or Epiaeschna darners. I know it looks like there's some kind of spelling error in there but I think I got the names right. On a closer look at the photo, I can see that Jean is right. That second tongue-twister of a name belongs to the Swamp Darner and Swamp Darner matches up in several points, notably the greenish rings around the abdomen not to mention the obviously large size. And, even as I write this, the ID is confirmed by Steve Biasetti! I didn't expect it to turn up on our salt marsh (as opposed to a fresh swamp) but thanks to the Purple Martin for showing it to us; I'm pleased to announce a new (new to me, at any rate) dragonfly for our local list!

Eric Salzman

getting around

The search for better looks (and better photos) of Tuesday's mysterious plumed egret has sent me on an exploration of the neighborhood Shinnecock shores, visiting spots that are new to me or that I haven't traversed in a long time.

This morning I varied my usual route by cutting over to Bay Avenue, walking down to the town dock and, after vainly scanning the marsh and shoreline from that vantage point, returning via the Weesuck Creek shoreline, crossing a segment of marsh to reach the 'outer' bank of our pond. The tide was very low so it was easy to wade across the narrow neck where the water from the marsh drains out into the pond (and where, in a couple of hours, the tide will push back in). The few egrets that I could see were all Greats and one or two distant possible smaller egrets were just too far away and directly in the glare of the morning sun. I did spot a pair of Cedar Waxwings coming over the marsh and heading into the trees. These birds may just be starting to nest right now.

A locale that was new to me was the boat basin at Pine Neck landing. From this spot, it is possible to work one's way along the shore and bay edge of the Pine Neck Nature Sanctuary, formerly the De Ropp Estate. This property faces us on the east bank of Weesuck Creek but most of the marsh and shoreline is hidden from view from our side. Here it was possible to see that the Osprey nest (barely visible to us) has two flying young. This marsh is also home to some very vociferous Willets and considerable numbers of Saltmarsh Sparrows.

Both locales feature close-up views of martin colonies. The principal food of these giant swallows is dragonflies -- mostly, it would seem, the Seaside Dragonlets which hatch in some numbers in the two marshes. But they also take butterflies including a surprising number of Red Admirals. You might think that the striking colors of these beautiful butterflies would signal that they are distasteful but apparently the birds do not subscribe to this theory. Below are photographs of a captured dragonlet, a Question Mark, and a Red Admiral, all being sacrificed to insure the future of the martin tribe. The shots are by Luke Ormand (note the correct spelling of his name; I misspelled it yesterday) who was also looking for plumed egrets but took time out to document these elegant Purple Martin food preferences.

Eric Salzman

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