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