New Year's Eve Special from Eric's Bird Blog

I went out yesterday morning to meet Eileen Schwinn and locate the Mountain Bluebird that has been hanging out on the edge of grassy fields on Route 25A just north of EPCAL (ex-Grumman). Mountain Bluebirds are a western species that breeds in open grasslands in the western mountains. They are migratory and, like many migratory birds, their navigational systems occasionally misfire. The bird was discovered by Dianne Teta at the beginning of the week when she was scouting her territory for the Central Suffolk Christmas Count. Eileen, who had already seen the bird on Wednesday, explained that it shows up at 10:30 am and works its way west by hopping up and down from the snow fencing bordering the field facing 25A just east of Hulse Landing Road. Oh sure, thought I; this is a well-trained bird. Nevertheless at 10:30 am I found myself facing the snow fencing at the eastern edge of the field when and whereupon a sleek grayish bluebird popped up on the fence post right in front of me! Not an Eastern Bluebird but a very distinctive female Mountain Bluebird with an eye ring, a tinge of rusty on its breast and a beautiful pale blue (almost turquoise) on the wings and tail -- best seen when the bird was flying up to perch on a fence post. As predicted, the bird would dive regularly into the grass in front of the snow fence to feed on insects and then fly back up to the fence post, moving west on each move. It was easy to follow along until the fence line ended at Hulse Landing Road upon which it flew up and away to another spot on the far side of a farm complex still further west.

There were other birds in these fields -- Horned Larks, Savannah Sparrows and a few Lapland Longspurs -- mostly hidden in the grass until they flushed (generally spooked by raptors flying over). A parade of raptors included Red-tailed Hawk, Northern Harrier. American Kestrel, and a couple of accipiters. Afterwards we found a juvenile Red-headed Woodpecker in the Baiting Hollow Boy Scout Camp along with a pair of Hairy Woodpeckers and many Flickers. From the Iron Pier in Northville, we saw both loons, White-winged Scoters, Long-tailed Ducks and a diving Gannet.

The Central Suffolk Christmas Census, curated by Eileen, was on Tuesday. We didn't get to see the Mountain Bluebird that day but it was seen by others within the count circle so it counted as a new bird for the Central Suffolk CBC. Another new bird for the count was a Black Vulture, seen by Eileen, myself and Jim Clinton, Jr., on a house chimney in the Eastport area. Black Vulture was a rarity on Long Island at any season in the past but the recent proliferation of Turkey Vultures has also been accompanied by the appearance of Blacks. If this species is now wintering on the island can breeding be far behind? Also seen was a distant Red-necked Grebe on Moriches Bay and some numbers of what used to be called "half-hardies": Catbirds, Towhees, and Brown Thrasher plus Brown Creeper, Hermit Thrush, a few Pine Siskins and some numbers of Fox Sparrows.

I did two Christmas Counts this year: Central Suffolk on December 27 and Brooklyn ten days earlier. The Brooklyn shore, from the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridge area to Red Hook and the Erie Basin had only a few ducks (Black, Mallard, Gadwall, Widgeon and Bufflehead) but a close-up of a feeding Red Phalarope was a new find for this venerable count which had an overall total of no less than 132 species on that day.

Eric Salzman

May-October, 2011

Although, I already signed off with my last regular post for the year, I thought a brief review of the season in East Quogue -- May 1 to November 1 -- might be in order.

There were two big bird news stories in the summer of 2011. One was the Raven nesting on the Hampton Bays water tower, the first ever recorded in Eastern Long Island. There were three young, one of which didn't make it (not sure of the fate of the other two). Traditionally, the Common Raven in Eastern North America has been regarded as a northern wilderness species but it has been expanding its range south along the coast and it has even nested in a Queens park. Even so, the Hampton Bays nesting can be considered a considerable range extension.

The other big story was Hurricane (or, if you prefer, Tropical Storm) Irene which brought an amazing bonanza of pelagic and tropical seabirds: Bridled Tern, White Ibis, several Brown Pelicans and Sandwich Terns (also non-tropical Caspian Terns). A "skua" was picked up in East Quogue and taken to the Hamptons Rescue Center in Hampton Bays where it turned out to be a Long-tailed Jaeger! And in the cage right next to it was a Cory's Shearwater, another hurricane casualty found in East Quogue! Both of these birds are 'pelagic' and can usually be found well out in the ocean. The Jaeger, which didn't make it, is one of the most sought-after pelagic birds and the rarest of three Jaegers. I believe the Shearwater recovered and was released. Other exotics were reported; a dead Tropicbird (I forget which species) turned up in East Marion and a Black-capped Petrel was seen in Mecox Bay (but not, alas, by me).

The Bridled Tern, a gorgeous tropical seabird, also usually found far out to sea, was on Weesuck Creek on Hurricane Sunday morning flying with Black Terns (and a Black Skimmer) so it gets added to the East Quogue list! Two other new birds turned up in 2011: a Common Merganser in the spring (sitting in the water at the mouth of the outflow from our pond) and a Red-shouldered Hawk which hung around in our woods for two or three days this fall. A few Common Mergansers can be found on East End ponds in the winter but this is not a bird that we normally see in breeding season. And the Red-shouldered Hawk is one of Long Island 'missing' species -- along with Barred Owl (which has a similar habitat) and Pileated Woodpecker -- i.e. species that are not uncommon on the adjacent mainland but are no-shows on LI. That made three new East Quogue species for a total of 239. However, for various reasons, I've taken Little Egret off the definite list and demoted it to 'hypothetical' making the total 238+1 (the Little Egret is an Old World species with two long nuptial plumes and I have seen such a bird twice on our place over the years; but apparently Snowy Egrets -- or perhaps hybrids between Little and Snowy -- can sport these double plumes).

The big disappointments in 2011 were the 'neo-tropical' migrants; both warblers and thrushes were notably scarce in both spring and fall. There is no doubt that the much-anticipated movements of these birds have fallen way off in the last few years. We can look for explanations in several directions but the simple truth is that the populations of these birds, nesting in the north and migrating to the tropics, are dramatically diminished.

The migrants that still turned up in some numbers are the vireos (Red-eyed, Warbling, White-eyed, Blue-headed and, notably, Yellow-throated) and flycatchers (Eastern Phoebe, Eastern Wood-pewee and the empids). Also Yellow-breasted Chat (not considered a warbler anymore), Ruby-throated Hummingbird, Scarlet Tanager, both orioles, the mimids (Catbird, Brown Thrasher), Rose-breasted Grosbeak, and a few other finch and sparrow types. In the last-named category' are the Eastern Towhee and a number of sparrows including Song, Swamp and White-throated which arrive in considerable numbers plus White-crowned, Chipping and Lincoln's, all seen in migration this fall on my morning walks around the place. It should be noted that most of these birds are local or near-by nesters and perhaps should not be considered long-distance migrants like many of the warblers and thrushes.

Eric Salzman

end of migration

Tuesday morning I did a 'final' walk around the place in time to see a medium-sized hawk flying with and even diving at a much large raptor. It took me a moment to figure out what was going on as the bigger bird was a powerful looking creature with broad wings and a long tail. Only when it tilted a bit soaring on the strong winds was I able to see the white rump. Northern Harrier in migration, flapping and soaring overhead, is quite a different bird from the marsh-hunting Harriers that we usually see with their up-titled V-shaped wings and slow coursing flight. The bird attacking it was an accipiter, almost certainly a Cooper's Hawk.

The N. Harrier was not the largest raptor of the day. While turning onto Eastport Manor Road a little later in the day, a huge raptor suddenly appeared right above the road, flying away from us with a series of shallow flaps followed by soaring on wide, flat wings. It was, without a doubt, an eagle, although on the basis of a rear silhouette alone, I couldn't be absolutely certain which one.

The midday winter feeding flock was active with its very handsome male Yellow-bellied Sapsucker -- red crest, red throat, yellow belly and all -- plus Golden-crowned Kinglets, White-breasted Nuthatch, Yellow-rumped Warblers, White-throated Sparrows, the other three woodpeckers and the usual Chickadees and Titmice. Flocks of American Robins are still on the move and there are many Swamp Sparrows in the marsh along with American Goldfinches and House Finches feeding on the Baccharis. But most of the passerine migration seems to be over. In fact, our personal migration is over and so this will be my last regular post for a while.

Eric Salzman

frost is on the pumpkin

Looks like there'll be frost on the pumpkin after all. Although Saturday night's nor'easter did not produce ice or snow hereabouts, Jack Frost made his appearance last night and there was an icy slick or edge or sheen on everything from the deck right through to the Baccharis and Iva bushes and Spartina marsh grass.

I didn't get into the marsh until a bit after sunrise and as soon as I got there, I flushed a Virginia Rail. It flew over to the open area where, as the tide was out, I was able to watch it run across the mud As soon as it vanished into the grass, it called -- something like the infamous 'kicker call' now attributed to the Virginia Rail -- and almost immediately another Virginia Rail came dashing across! And then a third!

It was, in fact, a rather birdy morning with, among other things, an American Woodcock springing up from hurricane debris area near the head of the marsh, half a dozen juvenile Cedar Waxwings sunning themselves in the big bare Tupelo in the same area, Hermit Thrushes in a wooded area on the other side of the property, and Royal Terns calling on the creek.

Eric Salzman

After the nor'easter

Last night's nor'easter did not bring us ice and snow but there was plenty of wind and rain. In its wake this morning, there was a dramatic sky with scudding (I think that's the approved adjective) clouds and a good-sized flight of Turdus migratorius, the American Robin. The wind continued all day with temperatures in the 40s (but feeling much colder) The only major feeding flock that I caught up with was led by a pack of Titmice but included Downy and Red-bellied Woodpeckers and a firecrest. Well, not really a Firecrest (that's a European kinglet) but a Golden-crowned male at eye level showing off his fiery orange/gold crest to excellent advantage.

Eric Salzman

winter flocks

With the temperature dropping into the '30s, there was a noticeable increase in what I would describe as winter foraging flocks with a diverse and changing line-up of species. Although the dominant birds in these loose flocks continued to be the familiar ones -- Common Grackles, Am Robins, Chickadees and Titmice -- there were others, more generic to the season: White-throated Sparrows, White-breasted Nuthatch, Yellow-rumped Warblers, Golden-crowned Kinglet and some half a dozen Dark-eyed Juncos -- the first of the season that I have seen. In and among these birds were a couple of Starlings, House Finches and American Goldfinches . There were four species of woodpeckers active including two or three Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers -- a handsome male and one or two juveniles. The objects of desire for most of these birds were the white Red Cedar berries and the red Euonymus berries but the Juncos were also feeding in the open grassy areas next to the house -- on what I have no idea.

A single lost juvenile Cedar Waxwing was seen high in the Tupelo at the head of the marsh where there had been a flock of two dozen a couple of days ago. The marsh itself was singularly unproductive. No rail calls and the only bird seen, working its way around the mud in the middle, was a solitary Song Sparrow! I did hear the unmistakeable call of a Royal Tern coming from the creek so these southern visitors have not deserted us yet.

Eric Salzman

king tides

It seems that we are undergoing a so-called 'king tide', an especially high tide due to the twice-a-year line-up of the earth, moon and sun. The entire marsh gets flooded with water covering most of the path around the edge and the pond brimming full to the top. The birds prefer the low tide in the pond when the mud and sand flats are exposed and bait fish are trapped in shallow pools. These days, if I go down to the pond at low tide, I will almost invariably find two or three of the following: Mallards, Great Egret, Great Blue Heron, Belted Kingfisher and, often, Greater Yellowlegs. Almost everything will flush except, oddly enough, the Great Egret and the Yellowlegs, both of which permit quite a close encounter. You'd think that the Mallards, which are introduced birds in these parts, would be as tame as the Mute Swans but they are not. As a side note, the Mallards are all paired up (they do not stay paired through breeding season so apparently the fall is their courtship time; gives 'em an early start in the spring).

Yesterday morning's calls from the marsh included one definite Clapper Rail and a descending call that might have been a Yellow Rail! Sora has a descending call but it sounds more like a whinny (somewhere between a horse and a Screech Owl). Virginia Rail is the famous 'kicker' (which baffled the birders and ornithologists for a long time) but it might have other calls. As I have noted before, rail calls are tough calls.

There was a bit of passerine movement including small overhead flights that I could not identify. What I was able to make out was a flock of close to two dozen Cedar Waxwings, all juveniles! Also a single lost Golden-crowned Kinglet (aren't they supposed to be in flocks?) and an Eastern Phoebe wagging its tail and hunting insects from one perch to the next.

Eric Salzman

accipiters gone, birds busy

Blue sky, breezy, cool. Feels like hawk weather but the accipiters seem to have disappeared and the other October birds are again busy. Flocks of Am Robins and Common Grackles have dropped in and Northern Flickers are noisily on the move. Yellow-rumped Warblers, now accompanied by Blackpoll Warblers, have reappeared. Other migrants noted were Hermit Thrush, Ruby-crowned Kinglet and Eastern Towhee. Squirrels are madly dashing everywhere. No acorns to speak of but the biggest crop of hickory nuts that I can recall.

Eric Salzman

where did they go?

What happened to all the Yellow-rumped Warblers that came in last week. There were at least two major influxes but most of the warblers have melted away, perhaps continuing to migrate further south or else simply dispersing in the neighborhood. Or perhaps they are just lying low. There was something like four accipters (two Cooper's and two Sharp-shinned) around this morning -- one of them appeared to be holding prey -- and both of these are bird hawks par excellence.

The other major arrival, White-throated Sparrow, is still here in some numbers and, based on past performance, will probably stay the winter. Because it hangs low and on the ground in dense vegetation, it is probably not as susceptible to getting caught by winged predators. In the current mild weather, these birds are quite vocal and it is easy to tell that they are around by their alarm calls (a loud 'chink') and various versions of their melodious songs. The only other singing birds right now are the permanant residents: Mockingbird, Carolina Wren and Song Sparrows. Most of the last-named appear to be young birds still struggling to learn their proper songs.

Royal Terns still frequent the creek along with Great Egrets and Great Blue Herons. No sign of the other egrets and herons.

At low tide, you can see where a spring comes out of the east bank of the pond creating a little freshet of flowing fresh water whose path is marked by light-colored sand on the pond bottom (the flowing water has cleared the mud around it). As I was looking at the spring, a Muskrat emerged from the spot which apparently connects with the muskrat burrows under the bank. Good to know that Irene did not drown all the Muskrats (wonder where they go during storm tides)!

Eric Salzman

'Rumps' not 'Throats'

Please note: my last post should have been titled "A Blizzard of Yellow-rumps" not "A Blizzard of Yellow-throats"! In fact, Yellow-throats, our most common warbler in breeding season and migration have almost entirely disappeared for the season.

Eric Salzman

A blizzard of Yellow-throats

As I walked down to the pond this morning, a big raptor sprung from the trees and, after circling a bit took off for the other side of the creek. It had the silhouette of a Buteo, probably a Red-tailed Hawk (I couldn't see any stripes on the tail). In the marsh, I popped a medium-sized dark rail with a long bill right up from at my feet; only Virginia Rail fits the bill. Dawn brought a torrent, a veritable blizzard of Yellow-rumped Warblers -- hundreds, perhaps even thousands of birds everywhere. There were a few Robins, a few Flickers and some sparrows (Song, Swamp and White-throat). Otherwise, Yellow-rumps, Yellow-rumps and Yellow-rumps. I could not, hard as I tried, pick out a single other warbler or vireo from the flocks.

A White-breasted Nuthatch was calling somewhere and a small overhead flock of flying finches with a buzzy call were probably Pine Siskins. Back at the pond, a single Greater Yellowlegs was taking in the morning sun on the fallen log at the mouth of the pond when it suddenly jumped up in the air with loud cries; it was being pursued by an accipiter that had appeared out of nowhere. The Yellowlegs zipped out over the creek and outpaced its pursuer which wheeled around and returned to our side of the creek, landing in a grove of Pitch Pines. When it flew out a few minutes I had a good look at it crossing the creek and decided that it was a immature male Cooper's with a long rounded tail, projecting head and extensive white undertail coverts that puffed out at the base of the tail.

Eric Salzman

on the rails

It gets easier and easier to get down to the water before dawn and, if the tide isn't too high, I put on my boots and venture out into the marsh. The Spartina alterniflora (the main marsh grass) is pretty high this year but there is a medium mud path that takes me out to the middle where there is a substantial piece of flotsam -- a solid wood board -- that offers me both a secure footing and enough height to peer into the open area. When the tide is completely out, this area is nothing but mud but at 7 am this morning it was covered with a few inches of water and nary a bird. I turned and retreated back out and immediately there was a distinct rail call coming from the spot. Although I was quite sure that the bird calling was a Clapper Rail, the sun was still behind a thick band of clouds on the eastern horizon -- a good moment for rails but not necessarily for much else. So I turned around and worked my way back to the board. The Clapper had indeed emerged in all its morning grayness (it comes out at this spot almost every morning) and there was plenty of light to watch it dipping around in the water and mud on one side of the marsh pond. Then it took off and flew to the other side, splashing down and even swimming a bit; then, at the near edge, it started to work its way along the side coming almost straight towards me.

Having a good close-up view of a Clapper Rail is a notable event in itself but suddenly I caught another movement on the opposite side of the marsh pond. Emerging from the reeds out into the open was a smaller rail with a black mask setting off a bright yellow conical bill, wavy stripes or bars underneath, streaked and spotted above, short tail slightly stuck up showing a white rear end: in short, a SORA RAIL in adult plumage. I've seen Sora here a couple of times before but always as a fast-moving air-borne silhouette. Altogether I've now seen four of the five North American rail species on the marsh; the missing species is Black Rail which breeds further west on Long Island but has very little population north of us.

Eric Salzman

The Big Year

We saw "The Big Year" last night and found it amusing. I had read the book by Mark Obmascik; it's based on the real story of three birders, two well-to-do types from the NYC area (Sandy Komito and Al Levantan) and a young guy from the mid-west (Greg Miller). Komito actually had already held the Big Year record of 721 (or 724, I'm not sure which is correct) species seen in a year but he was now out to top himself and create a new record. What he didn't know was that Levantan, a highly successful businessman with plenty of cash to spend, and Miller, a relatively poor young working stiff from Ohio were also out to break the record. Eventually, the competition between the three came out in the open and, in spite of herculean efforts by the others, Komito kept the title by logging 745 birds. I was not that impressed with Obmascik's book which was, it seemed to me, written by an outsider without much sympathy for his topic or his subjects. The movie Hollywoodizes the story quite a bit making everything seem quite gorgeous and glamorous (Hollywood has always had a soft spot for outsiders with stars in their eyes). Even the spartan life at Attu -- the westernmost of the Aleutian Island chain and a hotspot for Asian migrants and strays -- has a romantic glow about it (minus a rate or two). The depiction of a fall-out at High Island in Texas is a cinematographic, computer-assisted dream and not like anything you are ever likely to see in the real world. The three birders, only vaguely based on their real-life models, have invented names and characters: Komito becomes Kenny Bostwick played by Owen Wilson, Levantan becomes Stu Priessler played by Steven Martin and Greg Miller turns into Brad Harris played by Jack Black. There is considerable fictionalization, turning one of them into a competitive villain (a type that is, of course, completely unknown among birders) and creating a kind of substitute father-son relationship between the other two. The real-life Debi Shearwater (who runs the pelagic trips off Monterey) becomes Annie Auklet, played by Anjelica Houston. Because these characters are fleshed out with real motivations and personalities and woven into a story, however sentimentalized, the movie seems to me to be more successful than the book on which it is based. Gorgeous scenery flies by and the birds sometimes look pretty unreal but I can't imagine anyone seriously interested in birds and birding not having a good time. Even Birding Magazine, a publication for which I write and edit, makes a cameo appearance! Best of all, instead of the usual mocking attitude (the little-old-ladies-in-tennis-sneakers sort of thing), this movie shows birding as almost an extreme sport. And, not incidentally, it also shows bird songs and calls as an essential element of high-end birding, a notion dear to my heart!

By the way, it is likely to be a while before Komito's record will be duplicated or surpassed. Not only was 1998 an El Nino year but regular flights to Attu have ceased and it has become difficult to get to the island.

Speaking of birds and bird calls, I forgot to mention that the rails were active and noisy in the marsh yesterday morning. There were at least two Clapper Rails calling and one of them was doing his or her toilette right in the open in the center of the marsh. And a Virginia Rail was seen in silhouette against the rising sun as it picked up and scooted right across the top of the Spartina before dropping back down into the grass. Also, a very small bird dropped into the marsh right in front of me but all the pishing in the world could not lure it out for a better look. It seemed much too small to be one of the marsh sparrows and there is a good chance that it was a Sedge Wren (this is the perfect time of year for that bird to migrate) but, alas, I could not be sure.

Eric Salzman

arrival of the White-throats

The sun rose bright and clear before the clouds rolled in this morning. This was my first full morning walk since I got back from Hungary. The most striking change in the local bird life since I left was the arrival of considerable numbers of White-throated Sparrows. They were all over the place, calling and even singing, and rivaling the omnipresent Yellow-rumped Warblers in numbers. Curiously enough, I saw only one Swamp Sparrow (they had previously been common). The first Hermit Thrush of the season was calling in a pine tree; I couldn't see the color in its tail but said tail was being pumped up and down, a Hermit Thrush trait par excellence. Other birds seen included Northern Mockingbird and Brown Thrasher but not a single Catbird!

Eric Salzman

A Day's Birding in Hungary

The visit of the Center for Contemporary Opera (a New York organization with which I am affiliated) to the Armel Opera Festival in Szeged provided an opportunity to visit the southwest corner of Hungary and a chance to do some birding in the famous Hungarian steppe. Szeged is at the corner of three countries (Hungary, Romania and Serbia) and three very different language groups (Uralic/Ugaric, Latin and Slavic). Before World War I, all of these areas were part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and Szeged shows many traces of that great, long-gone imperium, not the least of which is the jewel-box opera house – an exquisite diamond horseshoe of the era with perfect acoustics and sightlines. It only holds 6-700 people, a perfect size for a quite intimate musical, operatic and dramatic experience. There were five companies from five different countries represented at the festival: from Hungary, Poland, Switzerland, the Czech Republic and the U.S. All the proceedings were broadcast on Arte, an international European arts channel and all the companies, except the one from the U.S. (us) had the support of their respective embassies. Only the U.S. does not support its own art and culture in any meaningful way.

But I did not set out to write a poltico/cultural diatribe. Suffice it to say that I had a fine day birding in the countryside with an excellent local birder by the name of Tamás Nagy. Much of Hungary is steppe country. The steppes of Eastern Europe constitute a flat open habitat that fills up with water in the spring, creating huge and dense marshes that often dry out in the summer, leaving a residue of minerals and salts (and sometimes actual salt lakes), all of which gives character to this neighborhood. Much of the steppe country (‘puszta’ in Hungarian) is not good for agriculture but, in the Szeged area at least, it has been possible to create fish ponds out of the old marshes and wetlands. Although some portions of the steppes are exploited for human use, there is a great swath that has been put aside and protected. There are some characteristic steppe birds of which the most famous are the Great Bustard and the Red-footed Falcon but, alas, the former does not occur in the area of Szeged and the latter, which nests here in numbers, had already migrated.

In spite of those disappointments, we did spend a long day visiting semi-woodland areas, fish ponds, marshes and wetlands, dry plains and salt lakes. The outstanding events of the day took place at the first stop in the morning and the last stop in the evening. The former was the sighting of a huge Saker Falcon perched on a transmission tower, seen from a rest stop on the highway just outside of Szeged.

The second was a visit at the end of the day to a salt lake in the middle one of the major pusztas which, unlike some of the others, had not dried up. The fields and wetlands here attract large numbers of migrating and wintering shore birds, waders (in our sense: that is herons, cormorants, avocets and the like) and waterfowl. Although many of the summer, breeding birds were gone, migrants and winter birds were filing in in considerable numbers. Many ducks and two species of geese – Greylag and White-fronted – were moving in for the night. But the climax of the evening’s events came in fading light of a spectacular blood-red sunset which was punctuated by wave after wave of Common Cranes moving in from the surrounding fields to the lake edge and even into the water itself. The trilling waves of sound produced by these magnificent birds could be heard in the distance even before the flocks could be seen. As they landed on the water’s edge, many of them launched into classic crane dances: nodding, bobbing, weaving, jumping up and down and waving their wings in a series of choregraphic duets. This is the opposite end of the year from breeding season but the cranes apparently continue their dancing displays throughout the year.

Below is an annotated list of the birds of the day, using mostly Svensson, Mullarney and Zetterstrom’s Birds of Europe.

Mute Swan (Cygnus olor)

(Greater) White-fronted Goose (Anser albifrons)

Greylag Goose (Anser anser)

Mallard (Anas platyrhynchos)

Northern Shoveler (Anas clypeata)

(Eurasian) Teal (Anas crecca)

(Common) Pochard (Aythya ferina)

Ferruginous Duck (Aythya nyroca)

Common Goldeneye (Bucephala clangula)

(Common) Pheasant (Phasianus colchicus)

Little Grebe (Tachybaptus ruficollis)

Great Crested Grebe (Podiceps cristatus)

(Great) Cormorant (Phalacrocorax carbo)

Pygmy Cormorant (Phalacrocorax pygmeus) – one of two new birds seen; this is a pint-sized Eastern cormorant with a small bill, long tail and a shiny all-black plumage (duller in the young birds)

(Black-crowned) Night Heron (Nycticorax nycticorax)

Great Egret (Casmerodius [Ardea] albus [alba])

Grey Heron (Ardea cinerea)

[White Stork nests widely seen but the birds had already left.]

White-tailed Eagle (Haliaeetus albicilla) – common in all wetlands areas; a close relative of our Bald Eagle

(Western) Marsh Harrier (Circus aeroginosus)

Hen Harrier (Circus cyaneus) – same species as our Northern Harrier

Common Buzzard (Buteo buteo)

(Eurasian) Sparrowhawk (Accipiter nisus)

Common Kestrel (Falco tinnunculus)

Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus)

Saker Falcon (Falco cherrug) – a huge Asian falcon (bigger than a Peregrine) with a Western outpost in the Hungarian steppe; the other life bird of the day

Water Rail (Rallus aquaticus) – heard only

(Common) Moorhen (Gallinula chloropus)

(Eurasian) Coot (Fulica atra)

Common Crane (Grus grus) – many hundreds of birds still present on the steppe

(Pied) Avocet (Recurvirostra avocetta)

Grey (Black-bellied) Plover (Pluvialis squatarola)

Northern Lapwing (Vanellus vanellus)

Dunlin (Calidris alpina)

Little Stint (Calidris minuta)

Spotted Redshank (Tringa erythropus)

(Common) Greenshank (Tringa nebularia)

Black-tailed Godwit (Limosa limosa)

(Eurasian) Curlew (Numenius arquata)

Common Snipe (Gallinago gallinago)

Ruff (Philomachus pugnax)

Black-headed Gull (Chroicocephalus ridibundus)

Caspian Gull (Larus cachinnans) – This is a split from the Yellow-legged Gull which is itself a split from the Herring Gull

Rock Dove (Columba livia)

Stock Dove (Columba oenas)

Collared Dove (Streptopelia orientalis)

Little Owl (Athene noctua) – sitting on the roof of an old barn almost literally in Tamás’ back yard!

Common Kingfisher (Alcedo atthis)

Great Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos major)

Lesser Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos minor)

Crested Lark (Galerida cristata)

Meadow Pipit (Anthus pratensis)

White Wagtail (Motacilla alba)

(European) Robin (Erithacus rubecula) – This bird (the original ‘Robin’) and the following are not considered thrushes anymore but have been transferred to the Eurasian flycatchers!

Stonechat (Saxicola torquata)

(Common) Blackbird (Turdus merula)

(Common) Chiffchaff (Phylloscopus collybita) – only warbler seen; all the others had already left

Eurasian Wren (Troglodytes troglodytes) – Until recently, this was considered the same species as our Winter Wren but they have now been split (along with the Pacific Wren in the Pacific northeast).

Great Tit (Parus major)

(European) Blue Tit (Cyanistes caeruleus)

Long-tailed Tit (Aegithalos caudatus)

Bearded Reedling (Panurus biarmicus) – beautiful views of a while family working their way through the reeds by one of the major fish ponds

Penduline Tit (Remiz pendulinus) – heard only; refused to show itself

Great Grey Shrike (Lanius excubitor)

Jackdaw (Corvus monedula)

Rook (Corvus frugilegus)

Hooded Crow (Corvus cornix)

Common Starling (Sturnus vulgaris)

House Sparrow (Passer domesticus)

Tree Sparrow (Passer montanus)

Chaffinch (Passer coelebs)

(European) Goldfinch (Carduelis carduelis)

(European) Greenfinch (Chloris chloris)

Reed Bunting (Emberiza schoeniclus)


Eric Salzman

a brief morning walk and a long evening trip

There was a pod of warblers in a Baccharis bush on the 'front range' and every single one of them looked to me like a Bay-breasted Warbler -- very black wings with striking wide white wing bars and a kind of mustardy yellow color on the face and breast. It's possible there were some Blackpolls and/or Pine Warblers mixed in but every bird I could get my glass on has that Bay-breasted look. It is certainly unusual to see that many Bay-breasted at once but, like other migrants, they do sometimes travel in birds-of-a-feather flocks.

I took a short walk this morning in anticipation of a long trip this afternoon. I will be in Europe (Hungary to be precise) for the rest of the week and probably will not resume this blog until I get back. I expect to get in one day of birding on Saturday so I'll certainly report on that.

Eric Salzman

accipiter and sapsuckers

Eileen Schwinn came by to help me find those pesky rails in the marsh but, although we heard a Clapper Rail call, we could not flush anything in spite of some heavy marsh sloshing in the pre-dawn light. There were some warblers and sparrows popping out of the vegetation at the marsh edge at daybreak but, except for a Winter Wren, it was mostly just the usual suspects for the season. However near the end of our walking tour, an agitation of small passerines alerted us to the possibility of raptor and a whoosh of a flyby -- at eye level -- confirmed the suspicion. We actually succeeded in following the trail of this swiftly moving accipiter and found him/her perched on a low branch above some dense shrubbery which, as the hawk was clearly convinced, contained its breakfast. It was fascinating to get such a close-up look at a large and fierce predator and watch it dive down into the shrubs, apparently always in vain. Each dive spooked one or two birds that had taken shelter in the vegetation but this deadly bird hawk (clearly a young bird by plumage and by action) could never come up with anything and eventually flew off.

Having seen it so close up it should have been easy to tell what it was, right? Wrong. The rounded head suggested Sharp-shinned but the rounded tail and the good size -- close to a foot and a half -- pointed to a Cooper's Hawk.

I thought the day was over but we tried one more circle down to the pond and, on our way back, spotted not one but two Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers, the first of the season for me. One was a male, the other a female and there was a clear size difference between them (bigger male). I'd have to do a little research but I don't think this size difference is mentioned in any of the common references; perhaps the smaller one was a young bird.

Eric Salzman

Rails a-calling

Yellow-rumped Warblers continued to dominate the early-morning scene at Weesuck Creek; there must have been 20 or even 30 of them for each non-Yellow-rump in the mix. Nevertheless there were other birds and some of them were of considerable interest. There were at least two different rails calling from the marsh or, at any rate, two different calls. One of them was the Descending Cackle heard, as yesterday, before dawn and suggesting that there are still Yellow Rails about! The other was a loud, rather random series of croaks or 'kiks' that may have been from a Virginia Rail. Of course, I went splashing and mucking about in the marsh without flushing anything at all -- not once but twice!

Are rail calls difficult? Are rails difficult? You bet'cha!

The very first bird in the morning, even before sunrise, was a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher which came zipping across the marsh and landed kerplunk high on the leafless oak that stands sentinel at the marsh corner. Both kinglets turned up; yesterday, I thought I heard the high pitched 'see-see-see' of the Golden-crowned but this morning I actually saw the bird along with a lot of Ruby-crowns. Amidst the crowds of Yellow-rumps, I was able to pick out only two other warblers: a Blackpoll (with streaks on the back) and a Pine (no streaks on the back). Three Cedar Waxwings in juvenile plumage perched on top of the bare branches of the big Tupelo at the head of the marsh was an unusual sight; they looked almost white in the bright morning sunlight. Eastern Phoebes continue to haunt the entire area at the eastern edge of the woods facing the marsh and pond.

Eric Salzman

a lighter flight but a good one

This morning's flight was lighter than the flights of the past couple of days but even more interesting. There was a definite sparrow flight including White-throated Sparrows, Song Sparrows, Chipping Sparrows and two new birds (both new for the year): White-crowned Sparrow and LINCOLN'S SPARROW. I'm putting the latter in caps because I've seen it out here only two or three times before: finely streaked breast over a buff wash (with the wash extending up the face above the malar stripe) and contrasting with the white throat; reddish cap divided by a whitish strip (both red and white flecked with black), a wide gray supercilium or eyebrow, eye-ring, white breast and belly. I found my first local in Maple Swamp in '09 and the first one on the property only a year ago. I suspect that this bird has been here before but it is not the easiest bird to pick out in dense shrubbery (we don't have much in the way of open grassland and most of our sparrows are working the marshy ground under the edge vegetation; this bird had the decency to walk out in the open onto hurricane debris and then perch on a bare branch for further close inspection.

The number of Yellow-rumped Warblers in this flight was noticeably fewer but there were again Blackpolls mixed in along with a number of Ruby-crowned Kinglets, the first of the season that I've seen. I also heard what I thought were Golden-crowned Kinglets but I never saw them. In the raptor division, there were the usual Osprey but also a very sleek, handsome and deadly-looking Merlin zipping in and out of the woods.

Eric Salzman

P.S.: Yesterday I wrote about a most improbable event: a Canada Warbler flight in a V formation. Oooops. Of course, I meant Canada Goose. Thanks to the alert readers who, unlike this correspondent, can tell a hawk from a hernsa and a warbler from a goose!

cackles and warbles

Just before sunrise this morning I heard what I'm quite sure was a Descending Cackle coming from the marsh. What is a Descending Cackle you may ask? It's a call of a Yellow Rail, named by the only person to have studied the life history of this enigmatic bird and it is apparently a communication call, most likely to be heard in migration. I can send an article on my history with Yellow Rail and the little-known Descending Cackle to anyone who is interested. Almost exactly nine years ago, on October 15, 20052, I flushed Yellow Rail twice in the marsh just before dawn and both times heard this call as it was landing. This time I ran, or rather sloshed into the marsh in the direction from which the call had come but succeeded in flushing nothing at all. Ah well.

Also seen at first light, two crows and a Sharp-shinned Hawk chasing each other around. It was difficult most of the time to tell who was chasing whom but the size differential between the crows and the hawk was very noticeable.

As the sun hit the trees and bushes on the 'front range' facing east, the place became alive with small birds and I ended up dashing from one end to the other trying to keep up with the activity. Oddly enough, the Yellow-rumped Warblers did not show at first. In the confused arrival and displacement of small passerines, I managed to pick out a Black-throated Green Warbler, an Indigo Bunting, a Brown Thrasher and several Eastern Phoebes (alas, no Say's Phoebe). Plus the usual woodpeckers, Robins and Blue Jays. There were also three species of sparrows: many Swamps, a few White-throats and the usual Song. The Yellow-rumps gradually began taking over the scene until there seem to be nothing but Yellow-rumps around. Well, not quite. I managed to pick out a a very handsome first-year Parula female, the daily Redstart, a couple of Blackpolls, Red-eyed and Blue-headed Vireos and a White-breasted Nuthatch. Overhead flights featured mainly D-b Cormorants but there was one striking Canada Warbler V that was reminiscent of the old days when that bird was a truly magnificent wild creature and not just a lawn pest.

Eric Salzman

a burst of activity

A burst of activity at sunrise this morning right across the 'front range' -- the bushes and trees facing the marsh between the pond and the corner where the marsh makes a right angle turn. Most of it was due to Yellow-rumped Warblers but there were other birds in the mix. Just before the sun came up, I saw the silhouettes of arriving birds that were probably sparrows and sparrows is what I saw shortly thereafter: both Chipping and Swamp Sparrows newly arrived. Eastern Phoebes were popping up all over the place and several were singing, alternating the two phoebe songs -- FEE-bee and a longer version with a trill on the end. As was the case yesterday, there were a few Palm Warblers mixed in with the Yellow-rumps. Other warblers included Prairie, Blackpoll, Black-and-white and a handsome male Black-throated Blue. Also Red-eyed and Blue-headed Vireos. A few Monarchs and quite a few large dragonflies -- mainly, as far as I could tell, Green Darners and Black Saddlebags.

The open area in the middle of the marsh has been filled up with water in the early morning but that did stop our friendly neighborhood Clapper Rail who just swam across. A swimming rail is almost unrecognizable as a rail but Clappers do swim and they swim very well.

Eric Salzman

a flock or two

The first flock of Yellow-rumped Warblers of the season hit the 'migration trap' right at the spot where the marsh makes a right-hand turn. The majority of the them must have arrived well before dawn but when I got there -- just before sunrise at about 6:45 am -- there were still one or two birds coming in (as usual, arriving from the southwest -- probably because they were flying over the ocean). There were probably something like a couple of dozen birds (perhaps more) and the flock also included a few Palm Warblers, a Blackpoll or two and at least one Am Redstart (but the last two species were also seen yesterday so they may have been here all the time). There was also a handsome male Common Yellowthroat with a full mask -- probably a molted migrant as I haven't seen one with a full mask for some time. As usual, the Yellow-rumps (a.k.a. Myrtle Warblers) were extremely active for the first hour or so of the morning and then disappeared.

Another new bird was seen yesterday: the first White-throated Sparrow of the season. This must have been an advance scout as no other White-throats were seen or heard yesterday or today.

The Downy Woodpeckers are all moving around in twosomes and there seem to be several pairs on the property. This morning I saw a male perform an astonishing loop-de-loop flight right at the edge of the woodlands: a repeated figure-8 pattern in a very fast flight. You don't expect anything so spectacular from a little woodpecker. Since it did not seem to be chasing anybody (nor was it being chased), I can only assume that it was a courtship flight! My guess is that resident birds pair up and do a lot of their courting in the fall so that they are ready for an early start on nesting activities in the spring. This would include the non-migratory woodpeckers, owls and wrens.

Eric Salzman

Return of the Jedi

Between the raindrops, I managed to re-find some of the best birds of the past few days. The Red-shouldered Hawk came back (or never left) and I had some good views of it skimming over the woods, being chased by crows (which are almost exactly the same size and somewhat similar in shape) over the marsh, perching and flying by Aldrich Boat Yard and, eventually, heading across the creek to Pine Neck. The Clapper Rail was in the marsh, clapping away, and running around in the open area where it was joined by its familiar of recent days, a noisy Lesser Yellowlegs.

Carl Safina tells me that he once saw a Red-shouldered Hawk perched on Sunrise Highway just south of Riverhead. So it does turn up now and then although it is, for unknown reasons, a great rarity in these parts.

Otherwise the most active inhabitant of the marsh these day is the Baccharis or Groundsel, which dominates the marsh edge along with Ivo or Marsh Elder. Baccharis is 'dioecious', a fancy Greek way of saying that it has male and female plants. The male bushes have already flowered; their pale yellow are not very impressive. But the females, presumably wind pollinated, develop a bushful of bundles of white feathery bristles, each one with a seed at the bottom end, which produce a fine effect all around the rim of the high marsh. They make a bright autumn show and provide food for various finches and sparrows. For the Goldfinches, a Baccharis bush is as good as a stand of thistles (and not so very different after all).

Other late bloomers now in progress are several species of small blue and white asters. I'm going to make an attempt to ID them but asters are at least as difficult as goldenrods.

Eric Salzman

why do the tails of our Osprey look different than the pictures in the field guides?

I woke up this morning at 6 am to the sound of a roaring rainstorm so I went back to sleep only to wake up an hour later with bright sunshine flooding in the room. Down at the pond, there was an Osprey sitting on the tall dead stub overlooking the water and having found this excellent perch he was clearly in no mood to give it up. Our resident Belted Kingfisher swooped in to claim her favorite outlook but it was already occupied by a much bigger bird and she had to take a lesser post. An Eastern Phoebe then moved in only to find both of its favorite perches taken and she had to settle for the dead cedar across the pond. Even as I approached the Osprey with my binoculars trained right on its majestic figure, he (she?) seemed determined to hold his (her?) ground. For a moment, one cold yellow eye caught mine. But then, seemingly uninterested in my approach, he looked down and all around; perhaps he was just checking out his getaway route. Eventually, he uttered the typical Osprey yip-yip-yip warning cry and took off.

We have both resident and migrating Ospreys here on the creek. The migrating Ospreys, like other soaring raptors, utilize updrafts in order to gain altitude; as they spiral up, the tail catches the sunlight and here's where I have noticed something odd. The tail on these soaring Osprey often show a distinctive reddish color; when they are high enough in the sky, it is easy to think you are watching a Red-tail Hawk. This color effect, which I have seen many times, is not shown in the field guides. Why? Is it a character of young birds? A local variation?

Osprey wasn't the only raptor in view this morning. A stocky, heavy-bodied falcon streaking across the creek and marsh, only a silhouette against the sun, was a Peregrine Falcon in full flight, always an exciting bird to see.

Speaking of Phoebes, I forgot to mention that there were several around yesterday, including one that was actually calling the phee-bee call. Also in the spot where the Winter Wren appeared, there were two or three Red-eyed Vireos and at least one Blue-headed Vireo. The vireos have been putting on a better fall migration show around here than the warblers.

Eric Salzman

size place

There were a dozen or more birds in the 'migration trap' this morning and I think every one of them was a Common Yellowthroat. The only other warblers I could get my binoculars on were Blackpolls moving with the parids (titmice and chickadees).

One of the most attractive spots on the property was a forest glade dominated by a large Pitch Pine, various oaks, maples and tupelos and a lot of vines. The Pitch Pine, already leaning from winter storms, went over in Hurricane Irene and took a lot of the surrounding vegetation down with it. The lovely forest glade is, alas, no more. However, the jumble of hurricane destruction -- surrounded now by leafless trees of various denominations -- is proving to be quite birdy. The wrens in particular like this vegetative wreckage. The other day I thought one of them was a Winter Wren but it somehow turned into a plain ol' House Wren. But this morning I had good looks a undoubted Winter Wren with its stubby tail, striped belly, sparkly plumage and tiny size.

Not very far away, Marsh Wrens were calling in the reeds. Clapper Rail was back in the middle of the marsh with a yellowlegs which looked like a Lesser but which had apparently just called like a Greater. The solution to this conundrum came a moment later when a calling Greater Yellowlegs came flying in and landed right next to his smaller cousin.

Eric Salzman

a mystery solved

The sun finally surmounted the last cloud bank this morning and emerged into a blue sky, the first in what seems like weeks. Even before that notable event took place, I was back in the marsh hoping to find my mysterious 'black rail' (not Black Rail) from yesterday. I did hear a Clapper calling but no sign of anything smaller in the rail department. There was a Marsh Wren (perhaps more than one) chattering away -- strangely enough, the first of the season. A very active troupe of Tufted Titmice included a guest appearance by a Blackpoll. I could have sworn the Titmice were looking for the Screech Owl -- it has been calling every night and was even still at it when I first went out this morning -- but seemingly without success.

I got an interesting e-mail yesterday from Melvin Cowgill who reports that there was an immature Virginia Rail at Brookhaven Lab yesterday. It never occurred to me that my 'black rail' might have been a juvenile something but young Virginia Rails can apparently hold onto their immature plumage right through September and into migration season. For many reasons, I now think that is what it was. We had a breeding Virginia here a few years back and I saw the single black chick a couple of times but never in its juvenile stage. The Virginia's version of a teen-ager is quite blackish with a white chin (which accounts for the glimpse of white that I saw); I never got a good look at the bill or I might have figured it out sooner! Not a new bird but a new plumage of a familiar bird; after the Clapper, the Virginia is the most common rail in these parts.

Eric Salzman

marsh madness

This morning we had all the local weather in a single package: heavy fog, wind, rain, damp and wet everywhere, poor visibility.

Although the tide was somewhat high (and still coming in), I decided to wade out into the marsh with the idea that rails like the cover of darkness and gloom. And, sure enough, a rail starting calling from the open area in the middle of the marsh. Then, as I slogged my way out, a small dark rail suddenly jumped up in front of me and flew past, going a short distance before dropping out of sight. It looked absolutely black and that had me psyched; I turned around as fast as I could and, sloshing into the mud, headed back towards where the rail had dropped in. It flushed again. This time I had a slightly better look. It still looked completely black but there was a patch of white somewhere at the side as it flew. Alas, it was too large for a Black Rail. It might have been a Sora but it seemed too small and too dark and the flash of white was too distinctive (and not on the undertail). It was, most likely, a Yellow Rail, a bird that I saw on this marsh twice in mid-October, 2002. The white flash was probably the white wing patch that is the distinctive feature of this bird. Yellow Rail is a dark bird and it can look quite black in poor light. In 2002, the birds gave an almost unknown call that I later tracked down under the name Descending Cackle (don't bother looking for this on any sound recordings because you won't find it). Alas the 2011 bird did not call.

However the rail in the middle of the marsh continued to call. It sounded like a Clapper Rail but called once or twice with a descending pattern of sound. I finally gave up trying to flush the 'black rail' again (you can flush a rail twice but never, it seems, three times) and headed out to a spot where I could see the open area. There were at least a dozen ducks puddle-ducking in the hole and right in the middle was a Clapper Rail. At least I think it was Clapper Rail. In the gloom, it was impossible to see any color or markings but since there has been one or more Clapper Rails around for the past week or so, I don't have any reason (aside from some slight differences in the calls) to think it was anything else.

Then I saw something that surprised me. The Clapper attacked one of the ducks and put it up in the air, calling loudly all the while. Could a Clapper really spook a Mallard? Oddly enough, the duck didn't look much bigger than the rail. Suddenly I realized that most of the dozen puddle ducks -- perhaps two-thirds of them -- were not Mallards at all but Green-winged Teal!

Eric Salzman

new bird

Yesterday, while walking down to the pond, I put up a good-sized hawk with a heavily striped tail, a lot of white on the wings, and a lot of reddish below. Although it was a striking bird, I had only a momentary view of it in flight; I decided it had to be a big female Cooper's Hawk and put it out of my mind. This morning I flushed it again -- clearly the same bird -- and was able to catch a glimpse of it perched before it took off again. Not a Cooper's Hawk! It had to be...but it couldn't be... A fearful racket from the local crows by the woods north of the house told me that they had found my bird. As I stood just by the path into the woods, I could see the hawk flying in from the edge trying to escape its crow tormentors. Amazingly, it perched on a branch just below the canopy giving me picture-perfect views of a RED-SHOULDERED HAWK! I could see the reddish nape and shoulders, the heavily striped orange breast, the square-cut head, the extensive white spotting on the wings. And then, just to make sure there was no mistake, the bird called twice: keee-yearrrr, keee-yearrrr! This species, like the Barred Owl and Pileated Woodpecker, is extremely rare on Long Island and there are just a handful of records. I saw it once on one of the Calverton Ponds where I believe it tried to breed many years ago. This was, I don't need to add, a new bird for these whereabouts.

Although the sun is coming up at a conveniently late hour, it's been quite a few days since I've seen the sunrise. We've had densely foggy mornings alternating with heavy overcast; this morning was a bit of both. Not ideal migrant weather one would think but the birds have nonetheless been moving through. Early in the morning, there were little chips and chirps all around the pine and cedar grove by the pond and I actually saw a warbler flying in. But it was impossible to get a good look at any of 'em. As the day brightened a bit, I saw several warblers with wing bars and immediately assumed that they belonged to the Blackpoll and Yellow-rumped Warblers that had moved in a couple of days ago. But this was an entirely new set of warblers: notably Bay-breasted, Pine, several Parula Warblers, Northern Waterthrush, American Redstart and Black-and-white. Also a female-type Rose-breasted Grosbeak, the first Blue-headed Vireo of the season, a handsome Baltimore Oriole, Eastern Towhees (male and female) and several Northern Flickers.

Eric Salzman

calls

I am slowly and unsurely trying to work my way through the various insect calls that enliven the late summer and early fall. The loudest day-time calls are from one (or more?) of the Dog-day Cicadas which have a pattern of crescendos and decrescendos of their characteristic buzz. The effect is (especially close-up) like a motor starting up, sometimes with repeated fresh starts within, and then dying down only to rev up again before finally dying away completely. Some of the calls seem more high-pitched and steady but I'm not sure if this isn't an effect of distance or perhaps individual variation. They are concentrated in the hottest part of the day and the hottest part of the summer; hence the very evocative name.

Night calls are dominated by the numerous Katydids with their incessant "katy-did, katy didn't" and, as is well known, the speed of the katydid calls varies according to the temperature (Katydids keep going right into cooler weather but at a much less frenzied tempo). But they are not the only night-callers. Their familiar sounds are set against a steady buzzing background of another insect. Are these also cicadas or some other species that sings only at night? The high-pitched background buzz is strong and steady and seems to last the whole night long. It's the sort of insect sound that movie makers put on the sound track of their night-time scenes, especially night-time scenes in the swamp or the jungle. But what is it? And then against that wall of sound, there is another set of insect sounds, lower in pitch and seeming to constantly stop and start. The start-up is clearly audible as a rising in pitch, then followed by a steady state and then stopping abruptly only to start up again moments later. Again, what is it?

Other kind of insects calls that are easily distinguished are the chirps and clicks of various species of crickets. These are more common in the evening and some, Tree Crickets perhaps, continue to call into the dark. There are notably crickets calling in the marsh but they sound quite similar to those that call around or even in the house. Again, I would like to know what species.

I can do a certain amount of birding simply by listening out the window (we have a screened porch where I like to work and it is essentially all windows). Certain sounds from the creek are quite regular: the rattle of the Kingfisher, the loud squawks of the Green Herons, and the various Osprey whistles. I also hear the call of Yellowlegs (mostly Greater) and sometimes the distant but clear scream of a Red-tailed Hawk soaring over Pine Neck on the opposite side of the creek). The noisy Willets that were here all spring and into the early summer are gone and their loud calls no longer provide the day's background music. The tern calls are now reduced to occasional Royals; the Commons and Leasts heard earlier are gone. The gulls -- Herring, Black-backed, Ring-billed and sometimes Laughing -- get into bouts of loud angry calling but I can never figure out what the racket is about or which noisy call belongs to whom.

Eric Salzman

a flight!

Another warm, sunless sunrise with little promise. But surprise! As I sauntered down to the pond, a Pine Warbler popped up in front of me. Probably one of the Pine Warblers seen yester... Wait! Not a Pine Warbler. A yellowish-green wash on the breast, streaky at the sides and streaky on the back. A fall Blackpoll! As I walked down the marsh edge trail, Blackpolls began appearing everywhere. This warbler is famous for its long migratory flight over the Atlantic Ocean to South America. It is rare in the fall south of here but it turns on Long Island in fall migration and often in some numbers. Are these flocks caught out over the ocean in bad weather that have retreated to our shores? Or do some of the birds come here overland (from the Adirondacks, say) before taking off on their oceanic trip?

In any case, there was a marked flight last night and it was led by some considerable numbers of Blackpolls. And they were not alone. The first Yellow-rumped Warblers of the season came in along with a handful of other warblers: Black-throated Blue (female or 1st-year type with just a touch of white on the primaries), Black-and-White, Common Yellowthroats and at least one other skulking warbler, yellow underneath and in Yellowthroat habitat but not a Yellowthroat. Several Eastern Phoebe and at least one Eastern Wood-pewee, were in the mix plus a hummingbird whizz-by. Northern Mockingbird put in an appearance (they usually hang out by the Town Dock) along with some handfuls of Gray Catbird. Over or near the water there were Royal and Forster's Terns, a couple of Great Blue Herons, Great Egrets, Green Heron and Belted Kingfisher.

I got a good view of a finch with that dipped-in-raspberry look that belongs (so all the books tell us) to the adult male Purple Finch but the heavy streaking below the color gave it away. Just a handsome freshly-molted House Finch trying to pass.

Eric Salzman

Who says that's not a Screen Owl?

The other day I was musing on a couple of incidents in which titmice appeared to be mobbing something but I could not make out what it was. Various theories were offered but the issue was never settled. I've also noticed that the local Blue Jays set up a racket every evening in the same spot near the house: a patch of woods just behind an old Red Cedar, some oaks and a tangle of vines. Sometimes the titmice and chickadees join in. But when I duck behind the cedar to see what's causing the commotion, the Blue Jays all take off; the other birds linger a bit but then they also leave and I never can see what caused the row. On reflection however, it occurs to me that there is a big ball of leaves in the crotch of of oak, perhaps an old squirrel nest that has outlasted its use. Every time I see it, I raise up the binoculars just to make sure that it isn't an owl. Now this routine goes on night after night. Could it be that the birds have mistaken this ball of leaves for an owl and they feel duty-bound to come in every evening and try to chase it away or at least make it feel uncomfortable. In the past, there have certainly been Screech Owls in this area; I have heard them calling many nights and their trills often seem to come from this spot. But this nightly gathering seems almost ritualistic as if the birds feel obligated to go through the motions.

Can this really be the case? Let me additionally offer the behavior of my dog, Rimsky. Rimsky is a feisty Wheaten Terrier and his ambition in life is to chase deer. He never actually gets to do this but his interest in the deer never wanes. There are two females with two fairly well-grown fauns and at least one male that cruise through the woods that encircle the house and occasionally even venture out into the open, most notably in the evening. Rimsky, who is not allowed out at this time of day, is very keen to look for these animals and he goes out every evening onto the screen porch which offers a 180-degree view of the surroundings. Rimsky is on high alert. He stares, growls and sometimes starts to make a huge fuss, barking and whining as if he has actually spotted (smelled? seen? heard?) something. Sometimes there are deer. But much of the time I can see nothing. But that doesn't deter Rimsky the dog. He is convinced that there are deer or, at any rate, that there ought to be deer! If Rimsky can see, hear, smell deer when there are none around, why can't Blue Jays and Tufted Titmice feel the same way about a Screech Owl which may actually only be a ball of leaves that looks like a Screech Owl?

Overcast, light mist, almost no wind, a few birds. The usual flocks of titmice and chickadees active with at lest two Pine Warblers and a Red-eyed Vireo in the mix.

Eric Salzman

fog

There was supposed to have been a headline in a British newspaper that read "Fog in channel; Continent cut off". That's the sort of fog that we've been having here, Wednesday and again this morning: "Fog in Creek; East Quogue cut off". I could hardly see the other side of the pond, let alone the other side of Weesuck Creek. Although it wasn't raining, there was the incessant sound of dripping leaves. Otherwise a great stillness broken only by the occasional chirp of crickets and a few distant bird sounds -- mainly chickadees/titmice and wrens. One local Carolina Wren started its fall concert, a medley of tunes that far surpasses its usual monotonous chant (why does it do this in the fall but not in the spring?). I started up a Green Heron by the pond but for a moment I couldn't even make out the bird -- only its reflection in the pond water (which, for some reason, did not seem to reflect the dense whiteness of the fog). An Eastern Phoebe popped out of the blankness and materialized onto a near branch. Not much else and then the rains came.

Karen Blumer tells me that the monster grass pictured in a recent post is likely Miscanthus sinensis, also known as Chinese or Japanese silvergrass. Although a favorite of Hamptons landscapers, she advises me to get rid of it as an invading alien. It was not, however, planted here by a landscaper but came up by itself. When we cut the grass around the house (which we actually do once or twice a year), I asked Nathan to leave a few things (Evening Primroses, Butterfly Milkweed, Yucca, Prickly Pear Cactus). In fact, there was no Butterfly Milkweed or Prickly Pear left (all shaded out at the edges of the open space). But he did also leave a species of Bush Clover and the monster grass.

Eric Salzman

Eric Lamont, the founder and president of the Long Island Botanical Society (and a fellow member of the SOFO board), sent me his key to the Long Island goldenrods enabling me to identify a common species that runs all along the woodland edges and even into the more open portions of the woods. This is a plant with rather delicate sprays of golden flowers but rough-textured stems and leaves. In fact, its common name is Rough-stemmed Goldenrod, otherwise known as Solidago rugosa or the wrinkled goldenrod.

Our other common goldenrod is Solidago sempervirens or Seaside Goldenrod and it is coming into bloom, a little behind rugosa. 'Sempervirens' means 'evergreen' and the name is well chosen. These plants were all in the direct path of the storm tide on Irene Sunday and they were all inundated with salt water. But Seaside Goldenrod is almost a succulent and it has the ability to withstand a lot of abuse and many of the plants seem to have recovered nicely. The flowers are a golden yellow and can be quite spectacular. If it were not for the old prejudice that connects goldenrod with hayfever, this would be one of our most celebrated wildflowers. The prejudice is urban folklore; goldenrods are insect pollinated (that's why the color is so striking) while ragweed, the true cause of hayfever suffering, has green flowers and is wind pollinated. It is ragweed pollen that sows confusion as it invisibly fills the air and the respiratory system while the innocuous and beautiful goldenrod blossoms only fill the eye.

Are there more goldenrods around? Now that I have Eric's key, I'll be looking out for them.

In the meanwhile, I have a great big clump of grass growing in the yard just outside the porch. Grasses are at least as difficult a goldenrod to ID. Here's a picture. Anyone know what it is?

Eric Salzman

snakes and 'dragons

In the last week or so I have seen flocks of Tufted Titmice mobbing what seemed to be nothing at all. One suggestion was that they were mobbing an unseen snake but this was challenged on the theory that most snakes don't climb. However Suzanne Ruggles writes "I've come face to face with a garden snake hanging out about 3' up into a shrub. I have also unwittingly poured bird seed on top of a snake that was in the feeder about 8' above ground level."

I'm intrigued by the appearance of a flower I haven't seen before in an area along one of the right-of-ways that give access to our place. There are sometimes escaped flowers here or perhaps flowers that result from seeds scattered by a neighbor. This one has the aspect of a wildflower rather than something cultivated from an alien species. It looks something like a snapdragon but has the square stem and opposite leaves of a mint. The leaves are narrow and toothed. The tubular flowers, colored somewhere between pink and violet, have a 3-lobed lip; they appear on a spike above the leaves and they are numerous (although the whole plant is grows only a foot or two). I think it is a flower with the wonderful name of False Dragonhead, Physotegia virginiana. Perhaps this is a cultivated variety as the lip does not appear to be spotted, a feature that is mentioned in at least one of the guides. The bees are very fond of it as there are lots of flowers each one with a tube just large enough for a bee to fit nearly inside as they go about their (and the flower's) business.

There have been a few raptors coming through. A small accipiter (I first thought it was a Kestrel or a Merlin) was undoubtedly a Sharp-shinned Hawk. A Red-tailed Hawk came soaring over the creek, spiraling up and up on a thermal. There are still several Osprey around with a mixture of the local birds and migrants coming through. One Osprey landed with a fish on a dead stub at the far end of Pine Neck where it juts out into the bay, a favorite perch for the local birds. Suddenly a Great Blue Heron dove it and actually drove the Osprey off, taking over the perch. The Osprey, still carrying its fish, tried several times to dislodge the heron without success and finally had to settle for a less lofty perch to finish its meal.

Eric Salzman

Northern Wheatear @ Montauk

We went to see the Northern Wheatear at Third House Montauk (Theodore Roosevelt County Park) this morning and found it almost immediately on arrival at c. 9 am. The favored habitat of this Eurasian bird is bare stony open country and that is exactly what it found all around Third House. The bird was active east and north of the buildings, hopping from fence post to fence post, from boulder to cow patty, diving down for insects and popping back up again, occasionally running along the ground and generally acting like a Wheatear should. Northern Europe has a lot of open land like this and Northern Wheatears are very common there both as breeders and in migration. From northern Europe, they have colonized Greenland and northeastern Canada but almost all of these birds follow the migration track of their ancestors going down the eastern side of the Atlantic to winter in Africa. This adds up to one of the greatest migrations of any land bird! Surprisingly few of the Greenland or Canadian birds end up in migration on this side of the Atlantic making this bird a rarity in these parts. I should add that our Montauk bird (like almost all the Wheatears that we see) was in its winter plumage without the black mask. However it has the rich coloration of the Greenland/Canada race and it retains the signature white rump and white upper tail of all the wheatears (the name means 'white arse'). The Wheatear belongs to a group of Old World birds known as chats (including the Nightingale, the original Robin, the original Redstart, and lots of others) which have always been considered thrushes but have just recently been reclassified as Old World Flycatchers! Our Wheatear wasn't catching flies in the air (at least not that I could see) but he -- if it was a he -- was certainly hunting insects on the run as well as perch-hunting.

Afterwards we went to the Point where there were great flocks of terns and gulls working the choppy waters. Among the flocks on the north side was a dark bird with a white wing flash. This bird, not much larger than the Laughing Gulls which abounded in the vicinity, was no doubt a Jaeger but which one? The odds favor the Parasitic Jaeger which travels with the migrating terns and loves to rob them of their catch.

Eric Salzman

Barcelona

To most people, Barcelona is a city in northeastern Spain, the principal town in the province of Catalonia. But to East Enders Barcelona is also the curiously named neck of glacial moraine that juts out into Gardiner's Bay just southeast of Sag Harbor. On one side is Northwest Harbor, on the other side the water passage between Shelter Island and the South Fork. Barcelona, along with most of the perimeter of Northwest Harbor, is one of the most pristine areas of the East End (if you can overlook the golf course at its base) and I was privileged to have been asked by SOFO (South Fork Natural History Society) to 'lead' a bird walk this morning with fall migration as its theme.

I put 'lead' in parentheses as I had never before ventured into the interior precincts of Barcelona. Fortunately, Barbara Blaisdell -- an old friend from SOFO, an excellent birder, and a frequenter of Barcelona -- knew exactly where to go! We started at the golf course, headed for the Northwest Harbor side and then followed an old woods road north, a side trail over the moraine and then back on the opposite shore. The walk itself is picturesque with beautiful views of Cedar Point and the Mashomack Preserve from the higher points (including several strange sand hill formations) on the second half of this route.

But we are here to talk about birds and the birds were good. The change in weather was certainly in our favor with cool temperatures on a northwest wind. We ran into several pods of migrants with a number of species of warblers sharing the leafy precincts with many Red-eyed Vireos and the usual B-c Chickadees and Tufted Titmice.

For my money, the most interesting warbler was a very well seen, fall-plumaged Bay-breasted Warbler, distinguished from the very similar fall Blackpoll by the following: bright green above, buffy below (I called it a striking mustardy yellow and it extended to the vent), no streaks below, dark legs, very bright wide white wing-bars, a very noticeable eye ring (or, rather, arcs broken by a black line extending back from the bill. Any one of these features might not be decisive in itself but the totality was definitive. I should add that the Bay-breasted jizz was particularly noticeable, not only in the structure of the bird but also in its green-above/buff-below coloration and bright wide wing-bars. This was probably a first-winter female and a good-looking one it was too.

There were no Blackpolls (at least none seen or ID'd) but, for contrast, there were several Pine Warblers, much lighter in color (more grayish on the back and a lighter yellow on the breast) with blurry streaking at the sides, no streaking on the back and thin wing bars. A very different-looking bird.

Other warblers included several Black-throated Green, a Black-throated Blue, a Chestnut-sided, several Black-and-white, and at least one American Redstart. Also seen were a fall Baltimore Oriole, several fall Scarlet Tanagers (male and female), two or three White-breasted Nuthatches, a Great Crested Flycatcher, a flock of Cedar Waxwings, several Eastern Towhees, and large number of American Robins almost everywhere. Strangely enough, only a few Gray Catbirds and no Common Yellowthroats at all were located. All three of our common woodpeckers (Downy, Red-bellied and Flicker) were present. The golf course was covered by the nasal caws of crows which I judged to be a coterie of young American Crows although some of them sounded a lot like Fish Crows. There was a Greater Yellowlegs in one of the fringing marshes and what looked like Forster's Terns with the D-c Cormorants on a fishing weir out in the bay.

The only mammals were a dead Short-tailed Shrew and a few squirrels. What happened to the deer? Munching on the neighbors' gardens, no doubt.

Eric Salzman

Is the chat a warbler? And why do titmice appear to mob nothing?

In spite of the change in weather (northwest wind, clear skies, low temperature and humidity), there was only a limited evidence of migration this morning: a few raptors, a fair number of Tree Swallows, and another pop-up Yellow-breasted Chat that was immediately chased by a Catbird.

Is the Yellow-breast Chat a warbler or is it not? If not, what is it? Stay turned. Otherwise the only warblers in sound or sight: Common Yellowthroats and Northern Waterthrush.

An unusual sighting on Weesuck Avenue and then, after turning around at the dead end, on Randall Lane was a big bulldozer sporting the logo of a company that does excavations and leading a parade of three heavy-duty trucks. The sight of these behemoths naturally aroused suspicions but it turned out that they were deputized by the Town to clear hurricane debris from the local roads and roadsides. Most amusing of all, the driver of the bulldozer turn out to be a pleasant young fellow from Orient who, on observing my binoculars, asked if I was a birdwatcher, wanted to know what I had seen and proceeded to tell me about the birds he has seen near his home (which was, he explained, right next to the Latham family property, the domain of the famous Naturalist Roy Latham).

The discussion about the Tufted Titmice who appeared to be mobbing nothing is continuing. One suggestion was that the birds were remembering the spot where an owl (or some other predator) was roosting. Another was that the birds were mobbing a snake (invisible to me). Bob McGrath (who suggested the remembered-predator theory) points out that, except perhaps for Black Racer, our snakes do not climb trees and a snake hidden in a thick patch of ivy on an old apple tree was unlikely. However the birds were only about six feet off the ground so perhaps they only appeared to be mobbing a broken branch and the object of their derision was indeed a snake hidden somewhere below on the ground (the other Titmouse mob that I saw was indeed aiming at the base of a dead cedar that was covered in leaves and debris).

But now comes Jean Held with an even more fetching theory. Suppose, she says, the adult birds were teaching their offspring what to do when you spot a predator (getting them ready for the dangers of the long hard winter perhaps). I must say it's a very elegant idea!

Eric Salzman

Confused? Who's confused?

I received two interesting explanations for yesterday's apparent mobbing of nothing by a group of Tufted Titmice. One idea came from Bob McGrath who suggested that the titmice may have been mobbing a spot where an owl had been seen recently -- a kind of "just-in-case" mobbing by memory. But this morning I observed another such mobbing incident in a completely different spot where the titmice were focused on the base of a dead tree which was overgrown and covered with debris from Irene; not a likely place for an owl (and no sign of a cat). This time they had more company including several B-c Chickadees, a House Wren, a Black-and-white Warbler and Song Sparrows. I'm leaning to Bob Adamo's suggestion that they were not confused at all but were mobbing a snake -- invisible to me but certainly an object of interest to a titmouse or, for that matter, any bird!

This morning dawned warm, wet and clear. The wet was, of course, dew which condenses in copious amounts on this early fall mornings when a cool overnight is succeeded by a warm humid day. As the sun comes up, the moisture condenses out of the air and covers everything. Not much showed up in this warm wet early environment but there was more activity as the sun rose higher. Aside from mobbing titmice, there were at least two excellent B+ birds: a Clapper Rail running around the open area in the middle of the marsh and a medium-size, very swift falcon, almost certainly a Merlin, that flew into and then out of the trees. Curiously enough, the Crows and Blue Jays that normally mob raptors, did not even notice this swift bird whose long, thin, knife-like wings sliced the air as the bird went one way and then, after perching for a few moments, up the head of the marsh before disappearing into the trees beyond.

As the day warmed up (and dried up), another small flurry produced a Northern Waterthrush and a tail-flicking empid in damp disarray: no visible eye-ring, buffy wing-bars and a lot of white-edging on the flight feathers. Either a Willow or, more likely, a young Alder Flycatcher. I have my eyes out for a Yellow-bellied, the only one of the Eastern empids that I haven't seen so far this season.

Eric Salzman

Paranoid or merely confused?

Can birds be paranoid? Confused? Do birds make mistakes? Could a bunch of Tufted Titmice mob a broken-off branch covered with ivy and dead leaves thinking it was an owl? The Titmice in question were right outside our back door and they were angry! Very angry! When titmice are angry, you know it. if only by the sound they make. These birds kept returning to the same spot over and over again. They couldn't make the 'owl' move but neither could they admit that they were mobbing a piece of wood and a bunch of leaves. When I first heard the commotion, I ran out thinking that for sure I was going to find an owl right out our back door. But there was nothing -- nothing but leaves, dead and alive, wood and a few berries. These birds were very clear about where their anger was aimed and they were both consistent and persistent but there was no owl (no cat, no hawk, no cuckoo, nothing remotely logical as a source for their anxiety). These mobbing scene usually attract the attention of other birds but, interestingly enough, the only others present were a couple of Downy Woodpeckers. Even the fabled owl-hating Blue Jays neglected to show up. Eventually I gave up and so did the Titmice.

There was heavy dew this morning, a fair amount of fog, and a good migration with lots of Catbirds and Yellowthroats bouncing around in the hurricane-delapidated 'migrant trap' -- the densely vegetated area just beyond the pond and at the foot of the oak and pine woods. Further up the marsh there was a small flock of Chickadees and Titmice accompanied by a few warblers: Am Redstart, Black-and-white and a Chestnut-sided in that beautiful fall plumage (eye ring, wing bars, green back) trying to shake off the dew and doing his toilette quite high in an oak tree. Besides the usual Osprey there was a Red-tailed Hawk over the marsh and a few Royal Terns flying up the creek.

Eric Salzman

wrens and woodpeckers

I saw a bird I didn't recognize this morning. It was round and small -- about the size of a Common Yellowthroat and in the same habitat (popped out of the bushes and onto the branch of a dead Red Cedar). But it was very dark brown above with reddish tints on its shortish tail, a rather bold eye ring and a trace of a supercilium, and a dirty white breast with no color. Although I did not make out any telltale barring on the back, tail or underparts, I finally decided that the bird was a House Wren of northern (or even western) origin. Our House Wrens are much paler but it is possible, even likely, that this was a northern or even a western bird that is darker, perhaps even dark enough to obliterate the effect of the back and tail markings in the early morning light. The bird was pointed away from me but I thought there was a slight curve to its thin bill and, after it flew, I heard House Wren sounds coming from cover in the area. I'm not sure that a dark House Wren necessarily represents a different subspecies than ours but this was certainly quite a different-looking bird.

There were two Hairy Woodpeckers working the hurricane-damaged wood in the woods this morning. One was a female and I think the other was a male. These birds are mostly residents but they occasionally turn up here and they have nested as near as Pine Neck where I once found two nests with young one fine spring about ten years ago. Maybe these are birds looking for a territory with lots of dead wood. If so, we've got it!

Just a few other things: American Redstart and Baltimore Oriole in the near woods, Royal Terns and Osprey on the creek, Belted Kingfisher and (young) Green Herons working the area in and around the pond.

Eric Salzman

hurricane effects are still with us

A couple of birds appeared yesterday afternoon that were not noted in yesterday's post. One was a medium-sized juvenile accipiter active by the shore near the mouth of the pond and seen perched on a bare Pitch Pine branch for some time. Although I first thought it might be a Sharp-shinned Hawk, I finally decided that it was a male Cooper's, mainly because of the large, flat-topped head (it even seemed to show a short crest behind the flat top). The tail was somewhat rounded but with only rather narrow white tips. There were two calling flycatchers: a Great Crested Flycatcher that made a continuing series of 'wheeps' and an Eastern Wood-Pewee uttering a short version of its typical call, repeating it over and over again as it flitted and hunted from one tree top to another.

This morning was disappointing. There was one small flock of Chickadees and Titmice, accompanied by a Pewee, some American Redstarts (including at least one breeding-plumaged male) and the other usual camp followers (Downy Woodpecker, Am Robin, etc.). A couple of Common Yellowthroats were seen; these birds have been anything but common since Irene.

Eileen Schwinn came over to look for birds; instead she mostly got to see the effects of Hurricane Irene on the local landscope. It is interesting to see which plants faced the storm and survived and which did not. The Red Cedars and Pitch Pines fared quite well if they did not actually tip over (even some of the tipped over trees are seemingly still alive). Most of the oaks at the edge lost all their leaves and shut down for the winter (if they didn't actually die). Tupelos, Basswood (Linden) and Hickories fared a little better but still lost most of their leaves; we'll find out about their long-range health only next spring. Many of the vines -- notably Poison Ivy and Bittersweet -- lost all their leaves exposing their berries. In general, most of the understory plants that were in the flood zone were wiped out but many of the Seaside Goldenrod plants survived and, although battered down, are down struggling to right themselves; amazingly, many of these plants have flower buds and are about to blossom. A more delicate species of goldenrod that is all through the woods is, in fact, flowering right now. Also, the Marsh Asters have flowered, starting right after the hurricane and a few Golden Asters are blossoming as well.

Eric Salzman

chats 'n' chucks

This morning's highlight was a Yellow-breasted Chat in the hurricane-battered trees at the head of the marsh. There was, in fact, a whole hive of activity here starting shortly after the appearance of the sun and ending abruptly at about 8 am. Most of the action was in the tupelo trees and adjacent oaks surrounding the head of the marsh. Numbers of Gray Catbirds reappeared with Black-capped Chickadees, a few Tufted Titmice, Am Robins, young Red-bellied and Downy Woodpeckers, a Flicker or two, N Cardinal and Starlings. Most of these birds appeared to be eating Tupelo and Poison Ivy berries (I specifically saw one of the Downy Woodpeckers take a Poison Ivy berry). In the warbler department there were, besides the Chat (which is probably not a warbler anyhow), two or three Black-and-whites and a couple of Am Redstarts (not eating berries). Also an Ovenbird seen burrowing through the piles of fallen oak leaves in another location.

Rocky Raccoon (or rather, Rocky Jr.) was at his occasional daytime sleeping post in the crotch of the big old Pitch Pine, his striped tail hanging down one side and his masked face and head on the other. But the mammal of the season was seen yesterday afternoon from my studio spot on our screen porch when I happened to catch a very large fat squirrel coming by the edge of the woods. Wait a moment, I thought, that's not a squirrel. It looked huge as it lumbered along the ground and clambered up a woodpile. A beaver? Well, no. It had a furry tail, a reddish brown glow to the back fur and it was quite paunchy. This was an animal that we usually see upright in open areas but that is quite capable of moving quickly through the woods. It was nothing less than a Groundhog, a.k.a. Woodchuck -- the very first I've ever seen on the property. Now I understand the attraction of that woodpile: a Woodchuck in the woods on a woodpile. Wow! How much wood do you think that Woodchuck could chuck? Alas, before I could find out, he clambered down the other side of the wood pile and dashed (well, lumbered as fast as he could go) into the woods.

Eric Salzman

Wrack and Ruin

This morning's high high tide flooded the main trail around the marsh and forced me to push my way through a much rougher trail at the very edge where marsh meets upland. There was a lot of hurricane debris which was pushed or floated in by the Irene storm tide but was stopped by the dense bushes and tree trunks at this intersection of land and water. The old dock that used to sit out in the middle of the main trail was in here along with piles of wrack and all sorts of ruin. The wind was from the northeast and the sound of surf came from the east rather than from the south.

There was quite a bit of evidence of bird movement, mostly somewhat away from the immediate edge. Robins were on the move in their usual fall pattern -- from south to north! A few of them seem to have located a Tupelo tree whose berries were not entirely blown off by Irene. Berries of this Tupelo plus the newly ripened Chinaberries and Bittersweet berries were being eaten by small flocks of Catbirds along with the Robins.

Black-capped Chickadees and Tufted Titmice, both also in flocks, were joined by a Rose-breasted Grosbeak and a number of warblers including American Redstart, Black-and-white, Yellow, and a handsome fall-plumaged Chestnut-sided Warbler. The fall plumage of this last bird -- green-backed, white eye-ring, yellow wing bars -- may be the most handsome 'off' plumage of any of the warblers. There was a big flock of Common Grackles mixed with some Starlings spread out through the woods and also around the house; they were even helping to clear our gutters of debris by tossing out the leaves that had accumulated there! A few Royal Terns still calling and flying up the creek.

Eric Salzman

A great hush

A great hush has fallen over the creek and marsh since Irene. Most of the swallows and martins are gone and so are most of the terns and gulls. No swans or geese in sight. Even the Red-winged Blackbirds and Song Sparrows, formerly numerous along the marsh edge, have vanished. Did the storm wipe them out or just force them to move on? Have they departed for the south or did they just pull back from the dangerous edge to safer areas inland and forget to return? Even the Chickadees and Titmice, usually seen and heard at the woodland edge have been faintly heard only inland. Everything looks like fall but the fall migrants are not here yet.

Still present are the Clapper Rail (seen yesterday, heard this morning), Green Heron (one or two flushed up from the marsh and seen in flight), Belted Kingfisher (on patrol; seen and heard on the usual kingfisher perches every day), and American Goldfinch (breeding-plumaged males still around). Three female-plumaged Mallards (perhaps young birds) were hiding in the marsh and flew up at my approach. There are still Osprey in the neighborhood although I am not sure if they are locals or visitors from elsewhere. Plenty of Crows and some Blue Jays although even they seem diminished in numbers. One migrant appeared: a Red-eyed Vireo.

A typo in yesterday's post: I seem to have written that I 'didn't' collect Black Walnuts when what I meant to say was that I DID collect them. Now all I have to do is crack 'em open.

Eric Salzman

assessing the damage from Irene

This morning was warm in a sub-tropical sort of way with a lot of haze but almost no dew and an almost unearthly quiet. That made it a good morning to work on the trails and do an assessment of Irene damage. We don't garden and we don't have isolated old trees standing in the midst of green lawns or other clearings -- the kind of trees that are usually the first to be toppled by storms. There were no trees down at all near the house and only a couple of big old Pitch Pines -- already leaning from winter storms of past years -- were serious casualties. One was just by the mouth of the pond in a lightly wooded area. The other was in a leafy glade near the head of the marsh, one of my favorite spots. Alas, this tree, covered with vines and surrounded by smaller trees of various denominations, took a lot of vegetation down along with it. What was a leafy glade is now an open spot near the edge of the woods.

Although a lot of branches and twigs snapped off, most of the damage came from salt water and salt spray. Where the storm tide rolled in on Sunday morning, the ground cover was nearly completely wiped out and the understory is now open with lines of debris marking the furthest advance of the waters. Otherwise, there is extensive browning of the oak, hickory and basswood leaves. Everything looks like the early arrival of fall. Hickory nuts are so widespread (it seems to have been a good year for them and most of them are now on the ground) that I expect new hickories to sprout everywhere. I did not attempt collect the hickory nuts even though there are some big ones lying around; it's a struggle to get the meat out and there is often very little of it. They don't call this tree Mockernut for nothing. However I didn't collect a pile of Black Walnuts. I'll try to crack them and get the meat out for Black Walnut Pie which, except for the little bits of shell that seem to be unavoidable, makes a formidable rival to Pecan Pie!

The one bird of note this morning was a Clapper Rail padding about in the open area in the middle of the marsh. Clapper Rails nest on the marshes on the opposite side of the bay from us but it is always special to spot one, especially when it's in your own back yard.

Eric Salzman

more hurricane birds

A report of a White Ibis (found by Jim Ash, the former director of SOFO) in Sagaponack sent Lorna, Eileen and myself scurrying to Bridgehampton early this morning to look for it. We didn't find it at the reported location although we did see a handsome nonbreeding-plumaged Boboblink (striking mustard yellow plumage, heavily striped) hanging with the Redwings in the reeds at the edge of Sagg Pond, and a young Brown Pelican at the southern edge of the pond. After riding around Sagaponack and Wainscott looking at open fields, we headed back to the original spot where a young man (Michael McBrien?) had his scope fixed on, yes, a juvenile White Ibis. The bird was at the far end of a plowed field just east of Sagg Pond (near the Bridgehampton bridge at Bridge Lane) with several Great Blue Herons. This bird had a yellow/orange bill and legs, and a dark back with a white rump. Here's one hurricane bird that did not hurry back home but hung around (see small pictures: one with a preening Great Blue Heron and an enlargement of same).

The Wildlife Rescue Center of the Hamptons at Munn's Pond in Hampton Bays, a major rehab wildlife hospice in our midst, is overwhelmed with casualties from Irene, with an inordinate number of young Gray Squirrels that came out of downed trees or limbs. Two somewhat more special guests were pelagics or oceanic birds that were found -- one on the beach, the other inland -- in East Quogue. One was described as a skua (species unknown) but turned out be a jaeger (a predatory group of larids which the English also call skua). Its small size, proportions and weight and its blunt-tipped tail feathers indicate that it is, almost certainly, a Long-tailed Jaeger, the most sought-after of the three Jaegers. And, in the very next cage, there was a big Cory's Shearwater, a very different bird and a very striking member of the tubenose family (the tubenose sits over the regular bill; it helps the bird's sense of smell and is also used to eject salt). Both of these species migrate offshore and were swept in by the storm. The Jaeger has a broken wing (the red is a splint on the wing) and its prospects are not great; the Shearwater is in better shape and has a better chance. All photos are by Eileen Schwinn (by the way, the relative size of the two seabirds in the pictures is deceiving; the Shearwater is much the bigger bird).

Eric Salzman