Ocean's roar

I don't think I've ever heard the ocean's roar as loudly and as consistently as I have been hearing it today. The combination of off-shore storms and a steady south or southeast wind carries the sound over the barrier beach and across Shinnecock Bay to our enclave at the mouth of Weesuck Creek on the north/northwest side of the bay. This continuous, rough wash of sound across the landscape is also consonant (some might say 'dissonant') with the amount of water being pushed into the bay and the high 'spring' tides have again filled the pond up to the edge of its banks and flooded the marsh, turning it into a small, shallow inland sea. The flooding (and, presumably, the goodies that came in with tidewater) have attracted a few waders including Willets and several Great Egrets. The latter are in high breeding plumage with long plumes on the back (those plumes almost got them wiped out) and an extraordinary bright green face patch on the lores, the area between the yellow eyes and the base of the yellow bill. If you've never seen noticed this phenomenon, try to look a Great Egret in the face as soon as possible; this lime-green neon patch is on display only for a brief time in the spring (and the smaller Snowies don't have it).

A good-sized and very noisy flock of blackbirds -- Red-wings and Common Grackles -- has invaded the place every morning for the past few days with their array of trills and squeaks. These birds seem to be quite distinct from the local breeders who are on territory, mostly around the edges of the marsh and who venture back into the woods (or to a neighbor's bird feeder) on individual forays. In contrast, the flocking birds spread themselves through the woods, call vigorously, feed mostly on the ground, and tend to disappear later in the day. I would guess that they are either migratory birds still on their way north or they are made up of individuals who have not succeeded in establishing territories.

Eric Salzman